I'm a little shaky when I get to the table, but miraculously pocket a hard shot.
"Good shot," he says. "So… would you ever consider modelling for me?"
The cue practically flies out of my hand as I miscue, shocked into mortifying clumsiness. "Fuck," I whisper.
"Uh… I'll take that as a no," he teases. "Maybe some day… I'd pay handsomely for your services."
I shake my head. "I bet you would."
He laughs.
"I like to paint," I tell him as I take a seat.
He perks up. "Really? What do you paint?"
"Well, not nudes… I'll tell you that. Usually flowers, and whimsical animals… really girly stuff. I find it relaxing."
He's completely stopped playing, just standing by the table listening intently as if I'm the most interesting person in the world.
"But I haven't painted in forever… between this place and my son, I don't have the time either. And I really can't afford the supplies, to be honest."
He bends to shoot again. "Well, if you'd pose for me, I could resolve that issue."
My mouth hangs open. How dare he? Every time he says something suggestive, he doesn't look at me at all, doesn't study my reaction. He just puts it out there.
"I think I'll pass, but thank you for the offer. I'm flattered."
He sinks the eight ball. "Well, it's too bad you don't have time to do what you love."
I watch him as I finish racking the ball for another game. There is a sweetness about him… it can't be denied. What is the man doing to me? For the love of God, Jenna… keep it together.
Like Reeves says… he wants to fuck me… maybe… I'm not sure.
But there's more to it.
I know there is. There's something else going on.
Does he have a beef with Reeves? He gives me that vibe.
And if I'm completely honest with myself, in another world, one where I'm not married, I'd love to climb that tall sexy tree. I can deny this attraction as much as I want, but last night's dream is all the evidence I need to face the brutal, inappropriate truth.
I break, and the six ball goes right in. I love that sound — the clank of a ball dropping on the break. I study the table for a beat, then lean down to pocket the three ball.
Oh yes… the dream… We made love in a tree house, of all places. A tree house, for heaven's sake. I have no fucking clue what possessed my subconscious to choose such a whimsical, precarious spot, but there we were, wrapped up in each other amidst the rustling leaves.
I remember the feel of his skin, warm and smooth against mine, and the prickle of his stubbled jawline grazing my cheek. It was an intoxicating mix of rugged and tender, a sensory overload that left me so turned on, I could barely breathe.
The scent of pine mingled with the smell of him, filling my lungs. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word echoed in the hollow of that tree. It felt so deliciously forbidden, and I couldn't have cared less. That's the beauty of dreams — there are no consequences in dreams.
I woke up breathless and feeling guilty as hell. But still, I haven't been able to stop thinking about that dream.
I attempt to draw back the cue ball, but I go too low and bounce the ball, resulting in a foul. I'm a little embarrassed and instantly blush.
Caine moves behind me to demonstrate the proper shot, his chest nearly touching my back. "Like this," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. "You want to go low on the ball, but you don't want to elevate the cue too much. You want to keep it level. The trick is follow-through… and loosen your grip a little.”
The feel of him right behind me is driving me crazy. I want him to stay there forever. I want every single person in this hall to disappear. God, I want him to take me right here on the table, bent over the green felt, his hands gripping my hips. The thought alone makes my breath catch and my cheeks burn hotter.
I'm a slut... that's all there is to it. I've never wanted anyone with this kind of desperate intensity before—not even Reeves in our early days. I can't be trusted with this man. Not when his warm breath on my neck makes my knees weak and my thoughts scatter like billiard balls across the table.
