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‘Now, now, Mr Brophy. You can’t tell me you’re not a rule follower from way back?’
‘What
makes you say that?’
‘Your job, for one.’ I move around the table, eyeing the balls. I have no experience, but there doesn’t seem to be a single easy shot.
‘You don’t think being a defence barrister requires me to view rules with a level of flexibility?’
‘Sure.’ And flexibility is what I want. Flexibility with his rules, because I’m going to sleep with him tonight, to hell with whatever gradual seduction he’s got planned. I lean over the table, but knowing he’s watching me makes my fingers shake a little. I stand up straighter again. ‘Help me?’
His eyes hold mine as he rests his beer bottle on the lip of the pool table and moves back to me. He frames my body once more but I don’t line the cue up. I stay as I am, breathing him in, revelling in his proximity and perfection.
‘Don’t forget you can use the table’s edge to your advantage.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Bounce back. Look.’ Once more, he guides my hand and, with his help, I make the white ball connect with a striped ball. It flies across the table, hits the edge and comes close to rolling into the pocket. But not quite.
I make a sound of disappointment, but in truth I don’t care.
‘My turn.’ When he stands up, he lets his hand run down my back, just lightly and quickly, so it’s a second or two at most, but I shiver at the contact, yearning for more.
I don’t bother to hide my watchfulness as he crosses to the wall and pulls out a different length cue.
He strikes the ball and sinks two of his own in the pockets. I pull a face. ‘You’re not going to go easy on me, huh?’
He grins. ‘Would you want me to?’
I shake my head. My pulse pounds through me.
‘You might be inexperienced, Millie, but something tells me you’re a quick learner.’
My heart races at his double entendre. ‘Why do you say that?’
He moves around the table and frames his next shot. ‘Am I wrong?’
I watch as he leans forward, looking like a pro pool player. He taps the ball lightly this time and it saunters across the table top, convincing a solid colour to tip into the corner with a lazy nudge.
‘No.’
He smiles at me, and then comes around to my side. ‘Want to play my next shot?’
‘Sure.’
‘Which ball would you aim for?’
Two of his are near pockets. I choose one at random.
‘Let’s try it.’ He waits for me to take up a place on the edge of the table then hands me his cue. His body wraps around mine and we lean forward. The angle is difficult and, in order to get close, I have to flatten myself across the table. He matches me, his chest against my back, the pool table hard beneath me.
His weight on me is a pleasure and a distraction.
‘Ready?’
‘Uh huh.’ The sound emerges as a thick whisper.
‘Good.’ His hand curves around my butt cheek. ‘Just spread your legs a bit wider.’
