“What hotel will you be staying at while you’re here?” he asked, lifting his head to look at her.
“Are you trying to be funny?”
Dak didn’t have to glance at her to know she’d moved closer to him. Her scent had given her away. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
Amelia then surprised the hell out of him by coming closer, leaning over the table to look directly in his face. The moment his gaze connected with hers, he almost forgot to breathe. The temptation to draw her into his arms was one he could barely handle.
“Umm, you seem unhappy about something. Since I’m sure it has nothing to do with me, it obviously has to do with your game here.”
He frowned. “What about my game?”
“It needs improvement.”
There was no way he could argue with such a preposterous statement, so he simply laughed. She smiled, flashing those dimples. “I know how to play pool, Amelia. Ask your brother.”
“So do I, Dak. And you can ask that same brother.”
He leaned against the pool table. “So you think you can play better than me?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t say that. What I said was that your game needs improving. And I should know—I was trained by the best. And before you ask, it wasn’t Stonewall.”
“And who do you consider to be the best?” he asked.
“Mario Arnold.”
Dak recognized the name immediately. The man had been the national eight-ball champion for a number of years. “The two of you know each other?”
She nodded. “We dated in high school and are still good friends. A date with Mario always had us hanging out in some pool hall.”
Why did the thought of her and some guy she’d dated way back in high school unnerve him? “Where is he now?”
“Mario lives in New Hampshire. He’s married with three kids. I went to his wedding.” She smiled. “Mario owns a huge pool hall, one that attracts celebrities who are looking for some real competition.”
He nodded, wondering if she cried at the man’s wedding, too. “So, you think you can beat me at pool?”
“Don’t twist my words, Dak. All I said was that your game needs improvement.”
Dak didn’t say anything for a minute, then he reached to the wall and pulled down another pool cue. “I want to see what you can do.”
She took the cue from him, then walked over to the wall and put it back. “The first rule of pool is to never let your opponent select your cue for you. You select your own,” she said, looking over the assortment in the case before taking one out.
“Whatever. Ready?” he asked, chalking his cue.
“I am. Are you?”
• • •
He won, but barely. Amelia had been a worthy opponent, and some of her moves had been so smooth and her concentration so riveting, they’d held him spellbound. It was a wonder he’d come out the winner. Each time she stretched, his eyes stretched with her. And when she concentrated on a shot, she had a tendency to lick her lips, which drove him crazy. He’d been so very tempted to pull her into his arms and lick them for her. When he made a good shot, she’d only smile…and wrinkle her nose. That was the only indication she gave that things weren’t going her way.
What he liked was that she didn’t engage in endless, unnecessary chatter like some women. Not that he’d ever played pool with a woman before. Typically, pool was a man’s game, but she played it well. Even better than Stonewall. And she’d been right when she’d mentioned his technique needed some improvement. He noticed how, in some shots, she rose on the balls of her feet. So he decided to try it and found it gave him the leverage to make difficult shots a bit easier. Right now, he’d bet she wished she hadn’t said anything—that switch is what had helped him win.
“Congratulations, Dak,” she said, placing her cue back in the case.
“Thanks. You played a good game.”
“Yet you still beat me.”
She hadn’t said it in a sulky tone. In fact, she seemed fine with losing. That was a first for him. “Still, you almost had me. Mario taught you well.” He pushed aside the question of what else Mario might have taught her. He had no right to feel envious. When she’d been in high school, Stonewall had been serving time and hadn’t been around to protect her.
“Yes, he did.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s late. If you wouldn’t mind showing me to a guest room, I’d like to shower and get to bed.”
It looked like she was staying then. And it was late. A glance at the clock on the wall behind his bar indicated it was after midnight. Had they been playing pool that long? Obviously, they had. Because he hadn’t been expecting anyone, he’d already allowed his household staff to go home until next week, after his trip. He still had half a mind to suggest she go to a hotel, after all, but knew it would be a waste of time. Had he made a mistake by not heeding to Stonewall’s warnings about his sister?
“Come on then, I’ll show you to your room.” The thought that he wouldn’t be showing her to his room seemed odd at best. After all, before the week was out, they would be sharing a bed. However, if she felt she needed to get to know him better, then he would tolerate that minor indulgence. “Where is your luggage?”
“In your foyer.”
He climbed upstairs to the main floor and found her luggage right where she said it was. He couldn’t help wondering what she had packed when she’d had no idea where they were going. Taking the handle of her bag, he said, “Come on.” Then he moved toward another set of stairs. “You’ll be using the first guest room on your right.”
Nodding, she moved ahead of him and he followed her, drawing in a deep breath of her scent with every step he took. He tried to avoid staring at her, but he’d never seen so tempting an ass. He knew she wasn’t deliberately swaying her hips—it seemed to be perfectly natural. But damn, it did something to him. He honestly couldn’t picture her wearing scrubs. She was one hell of a sexy doctor.
When she opened the door to the room she’d be staying in, he heard her sharp intake of breath. Joy had had the same reaction to it when she and Stonewall had stayed for the weekend to celebrate Dak’s thirty-fifth birthday. Stonewall had refused to let Dak celebrate alone, so he and Joy had made the trip. And by the time the weekend was over, Dak had no doubt that Lieutenant Joy Courson was the best thing to ever happen to his friend.
“I hope it meets your approval, Amelia,” he said, walking past her and rolling her luggage into the room.
“It’s beautiful. Joy and Stonewall told me you had a beautiful home, but—”
“You had to come see it for yourself?”
She frowned at him. “I told you why I was here.”
He studied her posture. Like her response, it was defensive. “I take it you’re not seriously seeing anyone.”
“If you’re trying to piss me off, Dak, you’re doing a darn good job of it.”
“Why would I want to do that, Amelia?”
But she just glared at him. “I don’t know about the women you usually socialize with, Dak, but if I was involved with someone, I wouldn’t be here. Nor would I have kissed you last weekend.”