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"And, of course, you've been in here." Christian opens the door. I spy the green baize of the billiard table.
"Shall we play?" I ask. Christian smiles, surprised.
"Okay. Have you played before?"
"A few times," I lie, and he narrows his eyes, cocking his head to one side.
"You're a hopeless liar, Anastasia. Either you've never played before or - "
I lick my lips. "Frightened of a little competition?"
"Frightened of a little girl like you?" Christian scoffs good-naturedly.
"A wager, Mr. Grey."
"You're that confident, Miss Steele?" He smirks, amused and incredulous at once.
"What would you like to wager?"
"If I win, you'll take me back into the playroom."
He gazes at me as if he can't quite comprehend what I've said. "And if I win?" he asks after several shell-shocked beats.
"Then it's your choice."
His mouth twists as he contemplates his answer. "Okay, deal." He smirks. "Do you want to play pool, English snooker or carom billiards?"
"Pool, please. I don't know the others."
From a cupboard beneath one of the bookshelves, Christian takes out a large leather case. Inside the pool balls are nested in velvet. Quickly and efficiently, he racks the balls on the baize. I don't think I've ever played pool on such a large table before. Christian hands me a cue and some chalk.
"Would you like to break?" He feigns politeness. He's enjoying himself - he thinks he's going to win.
"Okay." I chalk the end of my cue, and blow the excess chalk off - staring up at Christian through my lashes. His eyes darken as I do.
I line up on the white ball and with a swift clean stroke, hit the center ball of the triangle square on with such force that a striped ball spins and plunges into the top right pocket.
I've scattered the rest of the balls.
"I choose stripes," I say innocently, smiling coyly at Christian. His mouth twists in amusement.
"Be my guest," he says politely.
I proceed to pocket the next three balls in quick succession. Inside, I'm dancing. At this moment, I am so grateful to Jose for teaching me to play pool and play it well. Christian watches impassively, giving nothing away, but his amusement seems to ebb. I miss the green stripe by a hairsbreadth.
"You know, Anastasia, I could stand here and watch you leaning and stretching across this billiard table all day," he says appreciatively.
I flush. Thank heavens I am wearing my jeans. He smirks. He's trying to put me off my game, the bastard. He pulls his cream sweater over his head, tosses it onto the back of a chair, and grins at me, as he saunters over to take his first shot.
He bends low over the table. My mouth goes dry. Oh, I see what he means. Christian in tight jeans and white T-shirt, bending, like that... is something to behold. I quite lose my train of thought. He sinks four solids rapidly, then fouls by sinking the white.
"A very elementary mistake, Mr. Grey," I tease.
He smirks. "Ah, Miss Steele, I am but a foolish mortal. Your go, I believe." He waves at the table.
"You're not trying to lose are you?"
"Oh no. For what I have in mind as the prize, I want to win, Anastasia." He shrugs casually. "But then, I always want to win."
I narrow my eyes at him. Right then... I'm so glad I'm wearing my blue blouse, which is pleasingly low-cut. I stalk around the table, bending low at every available opportunity - giving Christian an eyeful of my behind and my cle**age whenever I can. Two can play at that game. I glance at him.
"I know what you're doing," he whispers, his eyes dark.
I tilt my head coquettishly to one side, gently fondling my cue, running my hand up and down it slowly. "Oh. I am just deciding where to take my next shot," I murmur distractedly.
Leaning across, I hit the orange stripe into a better position. I then stand directly in front of Christian and take the rest from underneath the table. I line up my next shot, leaning right over the table. I hear Christian's sharp intake of breath, and of course, I miss. Shit.
He comes to stand behind me while I am still bent over the table and places his hand on my backside. Hmm...
"Are you waving this around to taunt me, Miss Steele?" And he smacks me, hard.
I gasp. "Yes," I mutter, because it's true.
"Be careful what you wish for, baby."
I rub my behind as he wanders to the other end of the table, leans over, and takes his shot. Jeez, I could look at him all day. He hits the red ball, and it shoots into the left side pocket. He aims for the yellow, top right, and it just misses. I grin.
"Red Room here we come," I taunt him.
He merely raises an eyebrow and directs me to continue. I make quick work of the green stripe and by some fluke, manage to knock in the final orange stripe.
"Name your pocket," Christian murmurs, and it's as if he's talking about something else, something dark and rude.
"Top left-hand." I take aim over the black, hit it, but miss. It skirts wide. Damn.
Christian smiles a wicked grin as he leans over the table and makes short work of the two remaining solids. I am practically panting, watching him, his lithe body stretching over the table. He stands and chalks his cue, his eyes burning into me.
"If I win..."
Oh yes?
"I am going to spank you, then f**k you over this billiard table."
Holy shit. Every single muscle south of my navel clenches hard.
"Top right," he murmurs, pointing to the black, and bends to take the shot.
Chapter Eleven
With easy grace, Christian taps the white ball so that it glides across the table, kisses the black and oh-so-slowly the black rolls, teeters on the edge, and finally drops into the top right pocket of the billiard table.
