Whatever Reilly Wants...

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She leaned one hip against the pool table, while she idly stroked her fingers up and down the cue stick. “Is there a problem?”

“A problem?” Connor’s eyes bugged out and his mouth worked a time or two, as if he was trying to speak but just couldn’t convince the words to cooperate. Finally he got a grip on himself, leaned in toward her and said in a strained hush, “Damn it, Emma, look at you. When you were bent over that pool table, I could see clear to—”

She raised one eyebrow and hid the delighted smile she felt inside. “Clear to where, Connor?”

He straightened up. “Doesn’t matter.” He inhaled sharply. “What does matter is that every guy in here is looking, too.”

Okay, there was just a tiny stirring of uneasiness. She’d wanted Connor to get an eyeful, and she’d known going in that she might attract some attention from other guys. But the thought of a roomful of Marines scoping her out gave her a chill that wasn’t quite the thrill she might have guessed. If anything, she felt a little…outnumbered.

But she wasn’t going to let Connor know it.

“And how is this any of your business?” she asked.

“Well,” he started, then stammered to a stop. He glanced around, giving the evil eye to one guy sidling a little too close for his comfort, then shifted a glare back at her. “We’re friends, Em,” he said. “I’m just trying to look out for you. That’s all.”

“That’s the only reason you came over here, then?” She didn’t believe him for a minute. There was a flash of something dark and dangerous in his eyes and it didn’t have a thing to do with feelings for his pal.

“Why else?”

Okay, fine. They’d play this out. She could go along. In fact, this worked out better for her. The longer he tried to hold out against her, the harder she’d make it for him.

Pushing away from the pool table, she picked up her cue stick, then ran the tips of her fingers along the top edge of her tank top, as if she were hot. She didn’t miss Connor’s gaze snapping right to where she wanted him to be looking.

“Well, thanks, Connor,” she said, licking her lips slowly, provocatively. “I appreciate the concern.”

He gritted his teeth, and she watched a muscle in his jaw tick.

“No problem. In fact,” he added, “if you’re ready to leave, I’ll just take you home. Make sure you’re okay.”

Emma smiled up at him despite the urge to smack him over the head with her cue stick. Instead she laid one hand on his chest and felt the drumbeat of his heart beneath her palm. “That’s so sweet,” she said softly. “But no, thanks, I’m not ready to leave yet.”

“You’re not—”

“Tell you what,” she said, sliding past him in a move that put her between his rock-hard body and the edge of the pool table. As she moved, she heard him hiss in a breath. Good. “Now that you’ve scared off my playing partner, you ready to take me on instead?”

He scowled. “Take you on?”

She snapped her fingers in front of his glassy eyes. “Pool, Reilly. You want to play me a game of pool?”

“Right. Pool. Sure.” He scrubbed both hands over his face, then looked at her again and blinked as if trying to clear blurry vision. “It’d be better if we just left and—”

“Oh, you go ahead,” she said, letting her gaze slide around the room, as if she were considering picking a different challenger from the men in the bar. “I can find someone else to play.”

“I’ll bet,” he muttered darkly. “Look, Emma, I just don’t think you should be hanging out here—not tonight. Not the way you look—”

One blond eyebrow lifted again, and slowly she hitched one hip higher than the other and tapped the toe of her shoe against the floor. Around them, people laughed and talked and a handful of couples danced on a small square of unoccupied floor. She paid no attention to any of it.

“What?” she asked. “I look what, exactly? Good? Bad?”

He scowled at her. “Different.”

She turned to hide her smile and offered herself a small internal whoop of congratulation. Mission accomplished. Connor Reilly had taken notice. In fact, if he’d noticed any harder, he’d be standing in a puddle of drool. A sense of power swept through her, and Emma hugged it close.

A heady sensation for a pal.

She picked up the triangle-shaped rack hanging on the side of the pool table, then set it down in position on the green felt. Not even looking at him, she said, “I wasn’t born in coveralls, you know.”

“Sure. I know that,” he said, and reached into the corner pocket to pull out a handful of the striped and solid balls. “It’s just…”

Emma sighed and muttered under her breath. Okay, she’d thought to surprise him, but this was ridiculous. It was as if he were staring at a dog who’d suddenly learned to talk. How was she going to seduce the man—make him lose that stupid bet—if she couldn’t get him to move past stunned into hunger?

She straightened up and moved closer to him. His gaze went right to the top of her scoop-necked tank top and stayed there. Her breasts looked high and full, thanks to the “miracle” bra that was currently strangling her. And Connor was certainly appreciating the view.

And that’s what she’d wanted, right?

“Look,” she said, “I want to play pool. If you don’t want to, I’ll just ask Mike, or one of these other guys, if he wants to go another round and—”

“Leave him and anybody else out of this,” Connor muttered thickly, lifting his gaze to hers. “I’ll play.”

Now, a girl could take that one of two ways. Play what exactly? Pool? Or something else, entirely? For the moment, she’d go with pool. “Twenty bucks a round. Eight ball.”

“You’re on.”

“Then,” she said, walking past him to circle the table and head for the opposite end, “as the challenger, you rack ’em.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Connor couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Damn it, who would have guessed that little Emma Jacobsen was packing concealed weapons?

And man, she had weapons to spare.

The tops of her breasts pushed teasingly against the edge of her tiny tank top. Her hips swayed when she walked and the hem of that incredibly short skirt just barely managed to cover the gateway to paradise. And her legs. God, her legs.

He dropped one of the billiard balls and had to bend down to snatch it up off the floor. Which gave him much too good a view of those amazing legs as she walked away from him. And why had he never noticed the sweet curve of her behind?

How could he have missed it?

His whole body was stiff as a board. He felt hot and eager and pushed to the very edge of self-control. Damn it, it had been a mistake to come here. He’d known it before and he was sure of it now. But if he hadn’t, he might never have seen this side of Emma.

The very side that was making it an effort to walk. He suddenly wished that his jeans were a hell of a lot baggier.

And even as he thought it, he straightened up, his grip on the fallen billiard ball tight enough to crush it to dust. This is Emma, he reminded himself. Good old Emma.

Pal.

Buddy.

He shifted his gaze to her and felt his throat close up. Her blue eyes looked wider tonight. Her mouth looked edible. Her tanned, smooth skin was the color of warm honey and looked just as lickable.

Oh, man.

She was watching him with a curious expression on her face and he really couldn’t blame her. Hell, they’d been hanging out together for a couple of years now and he’d never stuttered around her before. Just like he’d never taken the time to notice that her breasts were just the right size to fill a man’s palm.

Damn it.

She held her cue stick in her left hand. Idly, she slid her fingers up and down the slim, polished wood, trailing her touch delicately enough to drive him insane by wondering how those fingers would feel on him.

“Man, get a grip, Reilly.” His voice was thick and his muttered whisper was soft enough to be buried beneath the onslaught of rock music pouring into the room. At least, he hoped it had been.

He really didn’t want Emma knowing that he was getting hard just watching her.

It’s just the bet.

That’s all it was.

He was hard up.

Frustrated.

Walking the fine edge of sanity.

But man, she looked good.

“How long’s it take to rack some balls?” she asked.

Connor winced and shot her a quick look. “A little patience goes a long way.”

She laughed and the deep, throaty, full sound of it, rippled over the conversations in the bar and danced to the rhythm of the music. It seemed to reach for him and grab him by the throat.

“You?” she asked. “Patient?”

Her fingers were still caressing the cue stick and he had to force himself to look away. But meeting her gaze wasn’t much safer. Had her eyes always been that color of blue? Sort of summer skyish? He gritted his teeth.

“I can be patient when I have to be,” he countered. Like now. It had been a long month. The stupid bet with his brothers was making him crazy. But he was patient—even if Emma didn’t think so. And he’d make it through the next two months.

As long as she didn’t bend over again.

“Yeah?” She tilted her head, and that fall of hair swung out past her shoulders. “How are you at pool?”

He lifted the rack off the triangle of balls, hung it on the hook at the end of the table and forced a nonchalant shrug. “Take your best shot and let’s find out.”

She nodded slowly. “Twenty bucks a game.”

“High stakes.”

“What’s the matter?” she asked, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Scared?”

Well, that helped. His dignity won out over his hormones. “Hell, no. I can take you.”

“Really?” she said softly. “And just where did you plan on taking me?”

She didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, she bent over the table, lined up her cue stick and drew it back and forth between her fingers while she aimed her shot.

Unfortunately, this gave Connor way too much time to appreciate the view of her breasts, practically spilling out of her tank top.

His body went to DefCon 2.

And he suddenly knew just where he’d like to take her.

A back room.

A flat surface.

On the damn pool table.

Crap. He rubbed his face and damn near slapped himself. He wanted Emma. Now. More than he could ever remember wanting anything else in his life.

The only thing that stopped him was he was pretty sure it wouldn’t have worked. Just because he was acting like a slobbering horn dog didn’t mean she was feeling the same thing. And the only thing worse than falling off the wagon and losing the bet would be trying to lose the bet and having Emma tell him thanks but no thanks.