"Then why are you here now?"
He stops dead in his tracks, cocks his head, and stares at me for the longest time. With a slight curve of his beautiful lips, he tells me, “If there's something I want, I put in the time, I go where I need to go. I do the time…. and I always get what I want."
Wow. I think Liza was right. I need to be careful with this guy. I don’t know what his agenda is exactly, but something about him makes me very nervous. “Do you, now?" I tease.
"Every time."
A sudden discomfort builds slowly from my core. Who does this guy think he his? Does he not care that I'm married? Why me? I blow out a long breath.
"Listen… I don't know exactly what you're up to, Mr. Hall. Maybe you get off on this kind of thing,” I go on, not quite sure where I’m going with this little speech. “But just in case you have non-professional intentions… Guys like you love to swipe women from their husbands’ arms just because they can, but I happen to be very tightly hinged. So you're wasting your very valuable time… if that’s what you had in mind… or maybe this is all innocent. Anyway, I just thought I’d put that out there…” I trail off, realizing I’m rambling, feeling like a fool, but proud of myself for telling him off and protecting my marriage.
He stands there, shocked and speechless.
God, I’m such a fool. I really don’t want to play anymore. This has officially turned awkward. Typical me--turning a mole hill into a mountain.
He laughs softly. "You like Dean Brody?"
What?! How dare he change the subject so abruptly, just when I call him out on his bullshit? What a dick. "What about him? He's alright, I guess."
"You like his song…Whiskey in a Teacup?"
I smile. "I do."
A huge grin stretches across his face. "That's you. Whiskey in a teacup. You're all sweet-looking and frilly,but there's a fire in that belly. I can tell. And that… my beauty, is why I'm here. You've probably been wondering why you, right? Well, I can't answer that question. I wish I could, and I also wish I could control myself… but keeping with the whiskey analogies, you're a fine bottle of whiskey, and I do like the finer things. You intrigue me, I suppose."
I stand without words, mouth hanging open. I don’t think I’ve ever met a man this forward and unapologetically self-serving.
This man is trouble. And I know I should run. Right now. Far away.
But despite knowing better, I don’t move an inch.
CHAPTER SIX
"Listen, I know you're married. I know you have a kid,” he says. “I know you’re probably better off not knowing me at all, but I can't seem to help myself. I'm drawn to you. I'm a selfish asshole, right?!"
“Kind of,” I say quietly. “But seriously, let’s play. This is what I agreed to… playing some pool. And not the kind of games that can ruin marriages. Got me?!”
He nods in resignation, and we keep playing.
I can't help but feel embarrassed by my clumsy attempts to somehow match his skillset. But then he leans in close, his breath warm against my ear. "Don't worry, Jenna. I'll teach you all my best moves," he promises, and there's something in his voice that sends a shiver down my spine.
He keeps playing with me, and I’m not talking about pool, and I hate him for it. But I also kind of love it.
As we continue to play, Caine is unfailingly kind and attentive. He compliments my shots, even the ones that don't quite make it, and his praise feels genuine. I find myself drawn to his intelligence, the way he strategizes each play, the way his eyes light up when he explains the physics of a bank shot.
Every so often, I glance over at Reeves. He's watching us intently. There's a possessiveness in his stance, a silent claim staked. I can't tell if it's concern for my well-being or something more primal, but it's unsettling. This man, Caine, is still a stranger to us, and the unknown variables of his character hang in the air like a fog. So I get it.
Liza, meanwhile, is doing a poor job of disguising her interest in the unfolding drama. She flits around the room, her eyes darting back to us every few seconds, her mouth curled into a mischievous smile. She's always been a sucker for romance, even when it's as clear as day that it's nothing more than a very weird, fleeting infatuation.
As the games continue, Caine and I find ourselves leaning close over the table, our bodies aligned in an unmistakably intimate way. The air between us crackles with an electric charge, and despite myself, I feel awarmth spreading through me, a yearning that's both exciting and terrifying… and shameful.
The sensual talk resurfaces, almost imperceptibly at first. A casual remark here, an innocent touch there. But it escalates quickly, the subtext of our conversation becoming more and more overt. There's a promise in his eyes, a silent vow that he has the power to make me feel things I've never felt before.
"You like playing with me?" he asks playfully, and I can't help but blush a little.
"Yes, a little." I say. "I suspect you do this a lot. You obviously get off on this."
"Think what you want," he says and checks his expensive-looking watch. “Looks like we're done here. I'd like to speak with your husband."
