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God, he was attractive. Strong, male and capable. So sexy in his tight black shirt and painted-on denim jeans, black cowboy boots on his feet.
His hair was brushed off his face in short, haphazard waves.
Scott called out to Sean. Sean’s attention diverted from her and Pete as he waved and greeted Scott. But his gaze barely shifted from her, as he walked toward them. Sean stood in front of Pete and said, “Could I have a word with you, Lana?”
“O’Neill,” Pete said, “she’s talking to me right now.”
“I wasn’t talking to you, Meadows.” The tone of Sean’s voice had a keen edge to it. The chatter between the two men at the pool table ceased as they watched the standoff.
Pete backed up. “Okay, O’Neill. You don’t have to get so uptight.”
Irritation and heat at Sean’s obvious jealousy jetted through her.
Pete retreated and went to the pool tables and conversation started up again.
Sean leaned down until he was very close to her ear. “Looking to get yourself another souvenir?”
Lana stiffened and anger simmered in her gut. Sean withdrew and nodded to Rosa. Picking up Lana’s bottle of beer, he took a swig.
She watched as he swallowed, his lips moist from the brew. And she wanted to kiss him, wondering what he would do if she did just that in this crowded bar, in front of their friends. People who had no idea what had transpired between them in the last twenty-four hours.
“I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“I got your messages. I was busy.”
“Sean, can I have a few words with you outside?”
“What for, Lana? We were both jerks. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Sean,” Lana said, rising from her chair and laying her hand on his forearm. Her fingers reacted on their own, curling around his hot, male flesh.
“You want to talk to me. I’ll play you for it,” he said, indicating the newly vacated table.
“Play me…pool?”
“Sure, why not? I think you like games, Lana.”
A nasty little flutter took off in Lana’s throat, and she felt the blood rush to her middle. It got unnaturally quiet in their corner, and she tried to swallow. She reached out and grabbed a cue. “Fine,” she said, her tone flat.
Sean walked over to the table and picked up a cue from the edge and chalked it; then he looked at her, not a trace of expression in his eyes. “Best two out of three.”
Still gripping the cue, she nodded. She had to talk to him tonight or his anger would fester, and their friendship would be damaged. This was her one chance.
He stared at her for a good ten seconds, then spoke, his tone like steel. “Your break,” he said.
She went to the head of the table and with a quick line up and a hard move of her shoulder, the balls scattered, two solids going into pockets. She lined up another shot and sank that ball, too.
“I need to get by,” she said. This particular table was a few feet away from the wall and Sean was blocking the space.
“Go ahead,” he replied without moving a muscle. It irked her that she either had to walk all the way around the other side of the table or squeeze by him.
“Fine,” she countered. Deliberately, she slid her body along his in a slow caress. Sean’s smoky-gray eyes flared and narrowed. The heat of his body seeped into her, and she hesitated only a fraction of a second before moving on. Unnerved, she missed her shot.
Sean took over the table and he was good. Very good. But she was lucky that his anger was so thick, he missed a ball, and Lana took over.
The first game was close. But it was his win.
He never even gave her an opening in the second game.
