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Chapter 7
Never had Solo wanted to light a cigarette quite as much as he did now.
Anger warred in his gut with an even stronger urge to grab the hand Polly had placed on his arm, drag her out of the bar into the warm night air, find a dark alley somewhere and kiss her senseless.
Abruptly, he picked up the pool cue, turned and passed it to Polly, making sure his gaze didn’t fix anywhere in particular, because every part of her seemed to turn him on. He wouldn’t be surprised if her big toe turned him on… he flicked a glance down to see glittery silver nails on toes encased in strappy sandals, and had to turn away as his jeans tightened.
He put the coin in the slot and balls tumbled out. When he turned back, Polly was standing with one hip kicked out, busily chalking the end of her cue with fast little strokes of her fingertips. His gaze dipped to the dark stain at the v of her thighs, and he wished his eyes hadn’t been drawn there. Everything about this woman shouted sex, great sex, sex he wanted so much more of.
You’re just lonely, mate.
Of course, that’s why she was affecting him so much. He had no friends here; he’d buried his pop eight weeks ago and then there was the hideous mess with Drew.
He frowned fiercely at his pool balls as he scattered them on the table. Sydney was thousands of miles away, and right now he needed to focus on getting one up on Polly Fletcher. Whipping her ass at pool would do for starters.
“Who’s going first?” she threw at him with a little upward flick of her eyebrows.
“I’ll toss a coin.” He pulled out his wallet from his back pocket, winkled out a dollar coin and threw the coin in the air, catching it.
“What’s your call?”
“Heads.”
He drew his hand away, took a glance. “Tails. I start.”
“Pphhht.”
When she pouted like that it conjured up… oh fuck, never mind. He grinned to hide the fact that his brain had just migrated way down south. God, this girl hated to lose at anything. Feisty. A wildcat, in bed and out. Not like anyone he’d ever met before. Not at all like Emma…
Solo pulled himself up short. He was going to enjoy the moment, not let the past spoil it. He bent down, ordered his brain to be rational, and putted his balls with careful precision. Three scattered into separate corners, two netted. He cast Polly a glance over his shoulder and had the satisfaction of seeing her eyes flick quickly from his butt. She bit her lip and flounced past him.
She flunked, hitting so hard that one ball actually bounced off the felt liner. She swore under her breath. Solo smiled.
The game seemed to see-saw infuriatingly. One ball to him, one to Polly. He got distracted every time she bent down and her full butt cheeks wiggled in his face. And then, worse still, she started to ask questions.
“Okay, Dr Jakoby, since we have no choice, we might as well get to know each other,professionally.” She emphasised the word as she waltzed past with a little jab of her elbow into his ribs.
He leant on his cue and eyed her with the expression he used with patients whose moods were at risk of escalating. Calm, appraising. No emotion that could raise the stakes. Inside, his heart was hammering. “Sure.”
“How about we take it in turns?”
“Sure.”No, not fucking sure at all.
“Okay.” Polly thrust her cue with deadly precision and a ball went into the net. “My turn. What made you train to be a psychiatrist?”
“You’re clearly wanting a one-word answer?”
She cast him a dark look, suddenly realised he was joking and grinned. “Don’t be a tool.”
“Thanks. My parents were both doctors, so—”
“Were?” God, she sure latched onto small details. “Have they retired?”
Solo hesitated. Already things were going down a path he didn’t want them to.
“No. They’re dead.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
