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He laughed. Pierce Walker was menacing when he scowled, but when he smiled he was stunning. Something wild and reckless quivered in her belly, urging her to put her hands on him, press herself against him, beg him to somehow stop this breathless, fluttery yearning she’d only ever felt with him.
“Because I don’t have anyone baking me cookies.” He peeled the lid off the top and peered down. “These look good.”
“I baked the chocolate chip without nuts. I didn’t know if you were allergic.”
“I’m not.”
“I also included checkerboard, cinnamon sugar, and gluten-free almond wafer.”
“Thank you.” He curled his fingers around her shoulder. They burned like a brand as he scooted her breathlessly close to his naked torso and locked the door behind them. “Why don’t you come in and let me get you something to drink?”
“I shouldn’t stay. I would never want to interrupt your…” Goodness, what had he been doing? It was a Friday night. Maybe he was getting ready to go out. Or heaven forbid, planning to stay in…with female company.
“Game of pool. You’re not interrupting. Stay. Like a lot of things, it’s a lot more fun when you’re not playing alone.” He winked.
His seemingly suggestive words sparked a reaction low in her belly. “I-I’ve never played.”
He raised a dark brow. “Ever?”
“Daddy isn’t much for games. My friends aren’t, either.”
“What about Cutter?”
She shrugged. “He’s never shown any interest.”
He sent her a stare that looked somewhere between stunned and dubious. “You sure? I’ve seen him play.”
That didn’t surprise Brea. Cutter had a whole life she barely knew about. “I’m sure he does, but not with me.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
Were they still talking about billiards? “Anyway, I won’t keep you…”
“Don’t go. One game.” He wrapped his arm around her middle and ushered her deeper into his house. “What do you say?”
She risked a glance up at him. “You’re sure I’m not in your way?”
“No. I’m thrilled as hell to have you here, pretty girl.”
That low, deep declaration of his did something to her insides. Heat crawled up her cheeks. She ran her tongue across her suddenly dry lips. “O-one game, then.”
“Let me get you a drink. Water? Tea? Beer?”
Brea shook her head. “Nothing. I also wanted to thank you for the thoughtful birthday gift you left me at the salon yesterday. I’m sorry I wasn’t there, but I got it this morning. The wine was a lovely gesture.”
He finished off his beer, then cocked his head at her. “You don’t drink, do you?”
“Not much, but I’m looking forward to trying this.” One of her fellow hairdressers who was a wine enthusiast had assured her it was a more than decent bottle.
Pierce led her deeper into his house. One wall was floor-to-ceiling windows. Movement outside hinted at trees in the yard, swaying in the dark. The adjacent wall was covered in white subway tile with dark grout. Over that he’d hung ten identically sized bright graphical pieces of art—skulls, poker cards, crossbones, masks, and the like—in two perfectly straight rows. Black modern furniture went with the vibe. A big vase of yellow daisies sat on top of a round, glass-top table, adding the lone homey touch. The living room was flanked by floating stairs with an angular steel railing that probably led to his bedroom. Beyond that lay a big pool table with a red felt top. His kitchen, with cabinets stained a warm, mid-tone brown, hugged the far wall.
The place seemed so him—vivid, sexy, contemporary, unexpected.
“This is really nice.”
He smiled. “Thanks. I bought it a few months back. Gutted and rebuilt it.”
That impressed her even more. “You did an amazing job.”
Pierce grabbed a cookie from the plastic container and tossed it in his mouth. In fascination, she watched his sharp jaw work and his Adam’s apple bob. Even the way he chewed dripped masculinity. It did something wicked to her when he closed his eyes.
“Hmm… Your cookies are delicious, pretty girl. I knew they would be.”
The low dip in his voice nearly made her melt. “I like to bake them.”
“I’m going to love eating them.” He licked his full lips. “I’ll do it all night if you let me.”
He definitely wasn’t talking about anything she whipped up in her kitchen.
She blushed. “Let me know when you run out. I’ll be happy to make more.” She turned for the door. “But I really should go.”
He blocked her path. “You promised me one game, remember?”
“I don’t know how.”
“I’ll teach you.” He set the cookies and his empty beer aside, then sauntered closer. “Stay.”
She probably shouldn’t…but Brea couldn’t resist. “All right.”
Pierce gathered up the colorful balls on the table and racked them in a triangle, arranging each in numerical order. When he’d finished, he lifted the rack away, settled the plain white ball in front of the triangle’s point, then grabbed a cue. “Do you know the object of the game?”
