By Hook or By Crook (22 page)

He forced his attention away from her and onto the pool table. He’d better focus or he’d find himself knocking balls out onto the tiny dance floor.

“No, thanks. I can break,” Ivy said, bracing her cue on the end rail and lining up her shot with surprising authority.

The move drew his attention to the backs of her thighs as her skirt rose, and the sight sparked a fleeting fantasy—easing her skirt up, bending her over with a hand to the small of her back, and taking her from behind. He desperately wished they were alone, somewhere he had a chance of making that fantasy come to life. With a jab of her wrist, the cue ball streaked across the felt and shattered the rack as it shattered his reverie, sending stripes and solids streaking in every direction.

Daisy smirked at his open-mouthed shock. “Did we forget to tell you we played a lot of pool with Dad when we were growing up? Too bad! Maybe you wouldn’t have insisted on guys versus girls if you’d known.” From her spot at a nearby table, Daisy nearly had to shout over the din of the bar.

“Eleven ball in the corner pocket.” Ivy pointed to the pocket in question, lined up her shot, and sank it cleanly.

“I take it we’re playing call shot?” a still-stunned Joe said as he watched the ball roll in, referring to the version of rules where each player had to name in advance what ball they intended to sink and where.

“Of course,” Ivy said matter-of-factly. She paused in the midst of lining up her next shot, peering at him over her shoulder with a raised brow. “You didn’t want to play slops, did you?”

“Of course not,” he assured her hastily. Only jokers played slops.

She called and sank her next four shots before finally missing an attempt on the 15-ball in the side pocket. Joe stifled his sigh of relief.

He’d gotten the uneasy feeling she might run the table, sinking every shot before he or Pock even got a turn. He’d once thought Ivy was a frail thing who would be out of place at a Blackhawks game or shooting pool.

Obviously he needed to rethink that.

Masculine pride at stake, he called the one ball and sank it on a bank shot. He muffed the shot, but it still rolled gently and fell in with a plop. Buckling down, he sank his next two shots with more authority, but he missed the fourth. Daisy stepped up to sink the rest of the stripes and the eight ball for the win.

Ivy hung her cue on the wall and returned to the table for a slice of the pizza their waitress had brought while they played.

“Good game, guys.”

Ivy’s innocent expression would have fooled him if he didn’t know her better. He knew a taunt when he heard one.

“If you think you’re getting away without a rematch, you’re crazy,” he advised her, pulling up a chair next to her and lifting three slices of pepperoni to his own plate.

Ivy eyed his plate, smiling as he tore into the deep-dish pie smothered with cheese. She spread napkins across her lap and chose a slice for herself.

Silence reigned as the four of them ate.

“Not as good as Gino’s pizza, back home, but not bad,” Joe judged.

“I agree,” Ivy said, carefully cutting off a small square of pizza and lifting it to her lips with her fork.

He stopped his assault on his own plate long enough to eye her in disbelief. “I can’t believe a Chicago girl is eating pizza with a knife and fork. What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“I don’t like to eat with my hands,” she said with a dainty shrug.

“Oh, come on.”

“I don’t like it. Why do you care?”

“Because you’re a Chicago girl, and eating Chicago pizza with a knife and fork is an insult to the pizza culture you grew up with.”

Ivy rolled her eyes. “Sorry. I won’t tell the pizza police if you won’t.”

“I
will
tell the pizza police if you don’t change your evil ways, woman,” he scolded.

Ivy tilted her head, a smile playing around the edges of her mouth. “I can’t believe you’re making such a big deal of this.”

“It
is
pretty lame to eat pizza with a knife and fork, Ivy,” Daisy chimed in, lifting her own hefty wedge with her hands.

“
Et tu
, Daisy?” Ivy questioned.

“Tell you what,” Joe said. “After we eat, we’ll play another game. If you lose, you have to eat a piece of pizza with your hands.”

Before she could weigh in, Daisy scoffed. “Lame! What kind of a bet is that? I’ve got an idea for
you
, sweetie,” she said, leaning into Pock and capturing his earlobe between her teeth. “Whoever wins gets to be on top later.” She spoke in a low growl, but loud enough for Joe and Ivy to hear.

Ivy’s gaze flew to Joe’s and then away. She sawed her next bite of pizza even more carefully, devoting all her attention to the task as if her life depended on it.

Next to them, Daisy and Pock were all over each other, apparently competing to see who could do the most public groping, but Joe only saw the flush rising up the column of Ivy’s neck to fan out over her face. Had Daisy’s words planted the same vision in Ivy’s brain as they had in his? The fantasy of Ivy atop him, moving in a sinuous rhythm, taking her pleasure, made his groin tighten. When he spoke, he wondered if his rough voice betrayed his thoughts.

“I have an idea,” Joe said. Her eyes flew to his, startled and aroused, and he knew she’d read his mind. He cleared his throat. “I say we play for a kiss.”

Ivy frowned. “If I win, I kiss you, and if you win, you kiss me? That doesn’t sound like much of a wager.”

“You don’t have to worry about what you get if you win, because it’s not going to happen.”

His reckless challenge narrowed Ivy’s eyes. “Oh, yeah? You’re very cocky for someone who lost to a girl. And not just any girl. What did you call me, ‘ice princess’?”

Joe winced at the reminder. He must have gotten under her skin for her to bring it up again. Interesting.

“No, just ‘princess,’” he corrected. “You may be a princess, but nothing about you is icy.” He didn’t bother trying to keep his gaze above the slim shoulder bared by her dress.

If the room had been hot with sexual tension before, it absolutely sizzled now.

“You’ve got a deal,” she said softly. “If you win, you get a kiss.”

“And in the extremely unlikely event that I don’t?”

“I’ll demand my forfeit, to be named later.”

He frowned. “You expect me to agree to a wager when I don’t know what the stakes are?”

“You seem to be pretty confident that you will win.”

“Hell, yeah. I know it.”

“Then you shouldn’t have to worry,” she said.

He shoved his chair back and rose, extending one hand. “Chalk your cue and put on some more of that lip gloss, woman. I want to find out if it tastes as good as it looks.”

Her blue eyes darkened. “You’re on.”

****

What had she gotten herself into? Ivy waited for Joe to break the rack. The cocky gleam in his eye had gotten to her and she’d allowed him to goad her into a challenge. If she lost—unlikely, but not impossible, Joe and Pock weren’t bad—she would have to kiss him. And with the electricity that had been zinging between them all night, they wouldn’t stop there. One kiss would lead to another, and an embrace, until they ended up in bed together.

She wasn’t sure she had the power to resist any longer, or that she wanted to. A pull as sure as gravity seemed to be drawing her and Joe together—the only question was when it would happen, not if. Was she ready for it tonight?

The clatter of the break drew her attention back to the game. She couldn’t be distracted by the sight of his fine butt bending over the pool table, or the slide of the cue through his strong fingers.

“One ball in the corner,” he called, and sank it with ease.

He sank another two solids, including a tricky bank shot in the side pocket, before missing on the seven ball in the corner.

Then Daisy’s turn came. Her sister didn’t let her down, sinking three balls before she missed. Each team had four balls left on the table. Pock sank two, his big body hunched comically over the cue, relying more on luck than skill.

Then it was Ivy’s turn.

She studied the spread. None of the shots would be easy. Most of the remaining stripes huddled near the end rail. Ivy sent the cue ball spinning to kiss the right side of the 12 ball, just enough to spin it into the corner pocket. She moved to the other side of the table, gauging the best remaining shot she had. Probably the nine ball in the corner pocket. A stripe lay between it and the pocket, but with the right kind of English on the ball, she could knock it aside and still sink the stripe. She did.

Daisy hooted. “Joe, you better hope she takes it easy on you when it comes time to collect on the wager!”

“It’s not over yet,” Joe said, eyes narrowed.

Ivy said nothing. Her father had trained her well. Never antagonize an opponent with trash-talking. Let your play speak for you. She lined up two more shots and sank them in rapid succession. All the stripes were gone. That left only the eight ball, lined up on a fairly direct shot to the corner pocket, but hiding behind a couple of other solids. She usually won with finesse, not power, but she broke through the clutter cleanly and sent the eight ball zinging into the pocket.

“Yes!” Daisy shouted, jumping up to give her sister a hug. “Looks like I’m going to be on top tonight!” she taunted Pock.

If his sheepish grin indicated anything, Pock didn’t mind. Neither of them noticed the stares from other bar patrons who overheard the boast.

Joe approached Ivy, his hand extended. “Good game.”

She shook his hand, glad he made no reference to Daisy’s outburst. She didn’t know how to handle the heated atmosphere between them, and Pock and Daisy’s perpetual public lust only made it worse. He didn’t move away after she released his hand.

“So you’ve won. What’s your prize going to be?”

His green eyes glittered. Her pulse pounded, intoxicated by his nearness and the possibilities and pitfalls of claiming her prize. She hadn’t even thought about what forfeit she would demand. On the PA, a soulful old song started, one of her favorites, “Tell It Like It Is,” by the Neville Brothers. It was a welcome change from the country tunes the jukebox had been pumping out all night. Near the cluster of pool tables, couples moved together on a tiny dance floor.

“Dance with me,” she said on impulse.

“What? Now?”

“Sure. I like this song.”

“I’m not much of a dancer,” he hedged.

“Too bad. That’s your forfeit.”

His eyes narrowed as he took her hand. “Come on.”

They staked out a small corner of the dance floor, settling into a slow rhythm to the accompaniment of the pulsing piano line. Ivy first tried to keep him at arms’ length, but Joe pulled her close until their bodies brushed. Sort of a metaphor for how things had gone since they met, Ivy thought with a trace of panic. She tried to keep him at a distance, but he reeled her in relentlessly, using her desire for him to overcome her doubts.

“So you like this song?” he asked, speaking softly in her ear.

The timbre of his low tone sent shivers down her neck. Her breasts brushed against the swell of his chest. The fleeting contact heated her body. She slid one hand slowly from his upper arm to drape loosely around his neck. Her fingertips tangled in his hair.

“Yes. It has beautiful lyrics.”

“Oh, yeah? I never paid any attention.”

They both fell silent and listened to Aaron Neville’s sweet voice imploring his woman to forget her foolish pride and tell him how she felt. The words sent awareness straight to her brain. Her eyes met Joe’s and she knew they were thinking the same thing. The song described them perfectly.

“You should tell it like it is, Ivy.” She could barely hear his hoarse voice over the music, but she understood him loud and clear. “Do you want me?”

His honest question demanded an honest answer. She swallowed once and decided to be braver than she felt. “You know I do,” she returned, unable to look away.

“Are you going to be mine tonight? No changing your mind once we get home?”

“No changing my mind,” she vowed.

He pulled her tight and spread his hands across her lower back. Closing her eyes, she moved until her cheek nestled against the warm solidity of his throat. She inhaled the scent of aftershave on his warm skin, savoring the masculine fragrance.

“Good. Because I’m going to hold you to it.”

“You won’t have to.”

Chapter 13

Regardless of her boldness on the dance floor, by the time they returned to the chalet, nervousness had set in. Pock and Daisy deserted them at the first opportunity. Well, it didn’t matter, Ivy thought, gazing at the fire. She had no intention of backing down from her promise to Joe, but she had hoped to stall a bit. The long drive home in the chilled dark had ruptured the sensual dream world their dance had created. Would they be able to rekindle that spark? Given her current level of anxiety, she doubted it.

“Hey.” Ivy started when Joe sat beside her, surprised out of her reverie. “I made some coffee,” he said, handing her a mug.

“You cold?” Joe asked when she shivered.

Before she could answer, he rose and went rummaging in a wooden chest behind them. He reappeared with a throw, which he draped over both of them. She tried surreptitiously to edge away, to put a little distance between them, but he clamped one arm around her shoulder and pulled her tight. She tensed, but after a few minutes of silence, when he didn’t make another move, she relaxed. His body heat under the throw warmed her.