Tempting Meredith Page 6

It seemed as if every eye was on her as she got the feel of the cue, the balls, the table. It was nerve-racking. She refrained from pocketing any of her shots. The first few didn’t go exactly where she wanted, but the last three were right on.

  She sighed. “I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Might as well get it over with.”

  “You need us to explain the rules?” Rick asked.

  “Don’t we just need to hit the pretty little balls into the holes?”

  “Well, it’s kinda more complicated than that.” He went into a long, involved explanation of 8-ball.

  Meredith listened patiently and when he wound down said, “Oh, dear. I didn’t realize it was so hard.”

  Rick laughed. “Don’t you worry none. Charlie’ll carry you. You gonna break, Charlie?”

  “Give me a minute to strategize with my partner.”

  Rick laughed again. “Sure thing.”

  Charlie put his arm around Meredith’s shoulders and guided her to the hall where it was quieter. “You’re yanking my chain, right?”

  “Your chain?” She shook her head. “If you fall for that load of BS, you deserve to not only have your chain yanked but your balls, too.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. So you wanna break?”

  “That depends.”

  “On?”

  She smiled and batted her lashes. “Whether the rest of you want to play or not.”

  His grin about split his face in two. “This is gonna be fun.”

  She suddenly doubted the wisdom of beating the pants off Rick and Pat. “They won’t get nasty?”

  “Nah. Rick’ll sulk, but he’s not mean. Might get a chuckle out of Pat.”

  They returned to the pool table. Charlie released her and stepped back. She placed the cue ball, leaned over the table and lined up her shot. She broke, and the balls clacked and scattered. The 5-ball rolled into the corner pocket. Solids. She chalked the cue tip and studied the table, planning her next seven shots, including the 8-ball. She loved physics. So precise. So clean. Even without a computer or pencil and paper. She saw it all in her head. Angles, vectors. Banks, kisses, stop shots.

  With her strategy planned out, she set her base, feet shoulder width apart, and bent at the waist before bridging the cue. “Two side pocket.” The easy stop shot sank, and she lined up the next one. “Seven corner pocket.”

  She banked the cue ball to go around the 1-ball, then it cracked against the burgundy 7—ball, sinking it in the targeted corner pocket.

  Ignoring Rick’s groan, she continued, her entire focus on the table. With only the 1-and 8-balls left, she paused and glanced at Charlie. He stood with one hip cocked, holding the pool stick, which rested on the floor. His expression was pure admiration. Her heart flipped again. He was special. How many men would let a woman show them up and be happy about it? She really should leave him a couple of balls. The thought made her smile. Yeah. Two balls would be appropriate. As her reward, she’d have a delightful view of his very fine ass when he bent over the table to pocket them.

  “One corner pocket.” She missed.

  She stood beside Charlie, purposefully not touching him so he could concentrate on the table. But he tucked her into his side and whispered against the top of her head, since the noise level in the room had diminished while she played. “Nice job, Doc. What happened to the one?”

  She turned her head into his shoulder on the pretext of answering him. What she really wanted to do was rub her cheek against his chest and slide her hand over his backside. Being this close to him probably wasn’t her best idea. The man smelled so good, she was a little light-headed. “Your reward for being such a good sport.”

  Rick didn’t say anything but immediately went to work. He pocketed two balls before scratching. It was a rookie miss, and she knew from observing him he was better than that. Her play had definitely bothered him.

  Charlie studied the table. She liked that he took his time, appearing to evaluate the angles. She wondered if he’d attack it the same way she would. When he placed the cue ball and lined up his shot, she had her answer. The 1-ball rolled into the side pocket. On his next shot, the 8-ball followed, exactly as she would have played it. It was strangely satisfying, as if she’d made the shots herself.

  “Rematch,” Rick said.

  “You sure?” Charlie asked.

  “You chicken?”

  Charlie chuckled. “Your break.”

  Rick called solids this time and pocketed two balls before calculating the angle wrong on a tough bank.

  Charlie tightened his arm around her shoulders. “Your go.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll take cleanup this time.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah. I like watching you.”

  Charlie sank three balls while she admired his form and concentration. Yeah, right. It was his ass that received her undivided attention. Well, not totally undivided, because the muscle play in his arms and shoulders was as fascinating as watching the birth of a new star.

  She managed to predict two of his three shots. He took a different tactic than she would have with the third. It was a more difficult shot, and it intrigued her. She held her breath until it dropped into the pocket. This man could give her a good game. He might even beat her every once in a while.

  Pat was even better than his brother. Maybe because he was calmer and more focused. Rick groaned when Pat missed on his fifth ball. The table was sparse. She and Charlie had five balls left. Rick and Pat had two. And then there was the 8-ball.

  Pat had left her a couple of tough shots, but she methodically pocketed each of their remaining balls before sinking the 8-ball. After it rolled into the pocket, a cheer erupted, and she was surrounded by women who wanted her to teach them how to play. As much as she’d enjoyed the evening, she wouldn’t be back, so she didn’t commit to anything. She searched for Charlie and found him in the center of a bunch of backslapping men. No help there. She checked her watch and was surprised that it was already past eleven. She looked to Charlie again, and this time he must have sensed her stare because he met her gaze and waded through the crowd.

  “You ready to go?” he asked.

  “Do you mind?”

  “Are you kidding? Let’s get out of here.”

  They left among handshakes, backslaps and invitations to return tomorrow night. The dining room wasn’t as crowded. Tables had been moved to make room for couples who were dancing. Meredith didn’t realize how warm she’d been until she stepped onto the porch and cool air bathed her skin. It was nice, better than nice with Charlie’s heat next to her.

  His hand pressed against the small of her back as he guided her to her car. His care, his touch made her feel special, sexy. When they reached her sedan, she leaned back against it and dug around in her purse for her car fob, hoping he would take the hint to extend the evening.

  She found her fob and punched the unlock button, but she wasn’t ready to leave him. She looked up, and his gaze caught hers and held. His hand settled on the side of her neck, and she tilted her head to rub her cheek against it.

  His lips whispered over hers, his beard grazing her skin, so seductive. “I’m not ready to let you go.”

  She almost purred.

  “Come home with me.”

  Her breath caught. It was what she wanted. Or what she had wanted. Her body still wanted, but then she remembered that treacherous and unexpected flip of her heart. She wouldn’t be able to keep her emotional distance with Charlie. He was dangerous.

  Chapter Five

  “My car.” Meredith’s murmured protest was feeble.

  “Follow me. Better yet, leave it here. I’ll bring you back tomorrow.” Charlie’s lips hovered over hers. “After breakfast.” Again his mouth brushed her lips so lightly that she leaned into
him, wanting more. His touches, as light as the cool evening air, were the perfect aphrodisiac. “A late breakfast.” His lips slid to her cheek.

  Her head was spinning and she grasped his waist, trying to stop it.

  “Is that a yes?” he murmured.

  She nodded and croaked, “Uh-huh.”

  He helped her climb up into his truck. While he walked around to the driver’s side, she regained some of her sense and halfheartedly debated the wisdom of leaving her car behind. There would be no sneaking out after he went to sleep. No escape if he changed into Mr. Hyde. A wisp of panic curled in her gut. No one knew where she was or who she was with. This was a bad idea.

  Charlie slid into the driver’s seat as she tightened her fingers around the door handle and opened the passenger door. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ll take my car.” She held her breath, anticipating an argument.

  Charlie gave a sharp nod. “Okay.”

  The wisp of panic dissipated at his easy acceptance.

  “I’m staying at the gun club,” he added. “Follow me back?”

  She didn’t bother to hide her surprise. “You’re living at the gun club?”

  “I’m only here for a month. Well, two weeks now. Then I head home.”

  “This isn’t your home?” It sure had seemed like home when he’d been surrounded by his friends in the restaurant.

  “I moved away a while ago. I just came back to help out Mike, the gun club owner.”

  “Oh.” A twinge of disappointment before she realized this was the ideal hookup. If tonight went well, she could have two weeks of meaningless sex and then he’d be gone. No ties. No commitments. It didn’t get any better than that.

  Except she’d be useless after she opened that envelope. She’d be lucky to struggle through work.

  “You sure about this?” he asked. No veiled references to checking out his playlist or—she mentally rolled her eyes—reading her feet.

  “Yes. I’m sure.” Except for the breakfast part. She’d be gone long before then.

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  He helped her into her car and followed her out of the parking lot. While she drove back to the gun club, she revisited what she knew about him. Not much. Between the shooting range, the people who’d stopped by their table during dinner, and the pool games, they’d engaged in minimal conversation. Were his parents still alive? Did he have brothers or sisters?

  This was crazy. She didn’t know a damn thing about him except that he was proficient with firearms and good with a pool stick. Oh, and he’d kissed Emma Scott in high school and he could read feet.

  But maybe that was the attraction. Charlie was different. And a stranger. Not a friend of her sister’s or a friend of a friend or someone from work.

  After turning into the gun club parking lot, she stopped and let Charlie drive in front of her. The lot was well lit, but it was empty, and she had no idea where he wanted her to park. She eased off the brake and followed his truck to a small building north of the club.

  He opened her door and helped her out of the car, still a gentleman despite the fact that she was a sure thing. Unless he was worried she might bolt.

  He held her hand as he led her inside the dark house. He flipped a switch by the door that lit a floor lamp in the back corner of the room. Boxes were stacked along the walls as if someone was in the process of moving. Him, she guessed. Although it seemed like an awful lot of stuff for just one month. A stationary bike was in the middle of the room. She doubted he used it. He had a great body, but she suspected he got it naturally. She couldn’t see him lifting weights and artificially aerobicizing.

  A long, harvest-gold-and-brown couch positioned along the back wall bumped up against the floor lamp. She’d stepped onto the set of That 70s Show. On the middle cushion was a laptop, closed. It seemed incongruous that this pickup-driving, gun-loving, cowboy-boot-wearing man would have a computer, much less a laptop. But she’d known he was connected. They’d exchanged emails.

  A touch at the small of her back made her jump.

  “Whoa. Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  She forced a smile. “It’s okay.” To cover her nervousness, she slipped away from him and tossed her purse on the Parsons table at the opposite end of the couch from the lamp. “Are you going to read my feet?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “It might prove amusing.”

  He grinned as if he already knew all her secrets. “Oh, I think it’ll be more than amusing.” He nodded at the couch. “Have a seat.”

  She sat at the end closest to her purse, her hands tucked under her thighs, palms down on the worn nubby fabric. She was kind of nervous about what he might learn, which was silly. Foot reading? Really? It was like palm reading. A fun party game or a scam to bilk the supernatural believers out of their money.

  Charlie relocated the laptop to the gold shag carpet and sat on the middle cushion. Sliding a firm, sure hand behind her calves, he lifted her legs and placed them across his lap. She scooted around until her legs stretched out in front of her, then she clasped her hands together in her lap.

  When she was settled, he caught her gaze and smiled. “You look skeptical.”

  She lifted her brows. “I can’t imagine why.”

  “And sad. What happened?”

  “What do you mean?” She forced a small chuckle. “Did my feet tell you that?”

  “I noticed it first thing this evening.” He frowned and rested the tip of his finger between her brows, making her aware of the tension there, despite her efforts to appear nonchalant. “Your eyes are sad and—”

  “And?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing.”

  He withdrew his finger then slowly drew an imaginary line from the hem of her jeans over her ankle. She held her breath when his light touch grazed the top of her foot just above the strap of her shoe and sent shivers of pleasure up her legs to lodge in her sex. He slipped a finger under the strap, and some of the stiffness in her spine faded. He slid off one high-heeled sandal, and it thumped on the carpet. He brushed his thumb back and forth across the sensitive arch of her foot then applied pressure. Her eyes rolled back in her head. God, that felt good. The second shoe followed the first. Both arches received the same surprisingly sensual attention. Her clasped hands loosened, and she melted into the sofa.

  “Interesting.”

  She jerked and opened her eyes, not realizing she’d closed them. “What do you see?” she asked then almost bit her tongue at the ridiculous question. He didn’t see anything. It was a party game.

  “You have a pet.” He paused. “A cat.”

  Okay, that was a little freaky. Or maybe not. Most people had pets, and most of those pets were cats or dogs. “Is her name written down there?” she asked sarcastically.

  “No, but her coloring is.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “She’s dark. Black—” Meredith began shaking her head, but Charlie held up his hand and stopped her. “Let me finish.”

  She took a deep breath and held her tongue.

  “Black, brown and...she’s a tortoiseshell,” he said triumphantly.

  Her jaw dropped before she had the presence of mind to snap it shut. “How did you know that?”

  “I told you. It’s a gift.”

  “That’s BS.” She checked her feet for cat hair. Nothing. “Did you access my Facebook page? Do we have friends in common?” She couldn’t imagine they did, but weirder things had happened, like him guessing the color of her cat. Besides, she didn’t post photos of Huggins online. “Did Darrell tell you?” Sometimes her TAs earned extra money cat-sitting when she went out of town.

  “No.” He grinned, his blue eyes twinkling with secrets. A flush of red across the bridge of his nose and his cheek bones made him
seem younger, more vulnerable. “Ready for more?” he asked smugly. Yeah, so much for vulnerability.

  He’d gotten lucky with the cat. No way could he pull another fact like that one out of his bag of party tricks. “Sure. Go ahead.”

  “This vein running along the top of your foot is your heart line. You have secrets.”

  The ache in her chest throbbed, but she ignored it and said brusquely, “Everyone has secrets.”

  He cocked his head and studied her face, not her feet. Although her feet were very happy with the attention his hands were giving them. “Yours are deeper than most. That’s why this vein is so prominent.”

  She tried to make her voice light and teasing. “What kind of secrets?”

  “Sexual.”

  She laughed and relaxed. Everyone had sex secrets.

  “You like a little kink.”

  She stiffened. “No.” Not anymore. That hadn’t worked out well for her.

  “Have you ever tried it?”

  “I thought you were reading my feet, not playing twenty questions.”

  He chuckled. “So that’s a yes.” He lifted one foot and peered at the bottom. “You don’t like being short.”

  She rolled her eyes. “My feet didn’t tell you that. My shoes did.”

  His thumb pressed into her arch again, sending her protests skittering. “You have a high arch, which means you like to be in control.”

  “Actually, it means I’m missing a joint in the top of my foot. But never mind that. Don’t you like control?”

  “Depends on the situation.” He lowered her foot back to his lap and began that bone-melting massage again. He looked thoughtful but didn’t speak for a while, long enough that she relaxed.

  “What didn’t you like?”

  “Hmm?”

  “About the kink?”

  She sighed. “The way the guy dumped me after.”

  His hands stopped. “He couldn’t handle it?”

  “I guess hypothesizing that your girlfriend is a whore is more exciting than the actual experiment required to prove it.” No, that wasn’t right. Dylan had loved the actual experiment. He just hadn’t loved her afterward.