Take Me On

Gabriella sighed, twirling her glass on the polished bar. “Don’t be too sure about that. At the ballgame, sure. Otherwise…not so much.”

He began to relax a bit, though it occurred to him that maybe it was a huge mistake to go off his guard around her. She was far more disarming like this. “I’ll be honest,” he said. “I knew a little about what happened to you before you came in. Brian didn’t tell me much, so don’t get mad at him. But I started working for him around the time it all went down, so yeah. He was so pissed about it.”

“It’s okay. The entire town and all of the Dallas medical community know, so why should you have been any different?”

What the hell did he say to that? How did someone go through something like that and come out on the other side as this fierce creature? He could see now, though, beneath the veneer of the seductress who had slithered up to him tonight, real pain. The same pain he’d glimpsed earlier today. “I can see how it would be hard to go back home and face everyone after something like that.”

“I’ll be going back. I just figured I’d wait out the summer, let a few more scandals erupt, and by the time I head back in the fall, no one will really care about my stupid wedding.” She chuckled without much humor.

“Non-wedding,” he reminded her.

This time, her laugh had humor, and he couldn’t help joining in. “I call it The Wedding That Wasn’t.”

“Fuck weddings. Be anti-wedding.”

“Oh my God, right? Be damned before I go through that stupid shit again. My other brother and his wife got married on the beach in Hawaii. I could do that. But the whole big-church, hundreds-of-guests, fairy-tale thing…yeah. Fuck that.” She held up her glass, and he clinked his bottle against it.

“In fact…we’ll go picket against all weddings now,” he said.

“It just makes me want to go speak out at every one, and not hold my peace.”

“Right on. They’re all making a terrible mistake anyway.”

She seemed to consider a moment and finally shrugged. “I don’t know so much about that. I mean, I can look to my own parents—they made it. Both my little brothers seem to be madly in love. I’m surrounded by so much freaking happiness, while being deprived of my own, and it’s sickening.”

“Hmm.”

She killed her drink and turned to face him fully. “So how about you? Was I making a play for a taken man or something?”

A prickle of warning crept up his spine. He drank his beer, not meeting her eyes. Because then he would be doomed. “Making a play, huh?”

“Wouldn’t be much use in denying it.”

Yep, just keep staring at the bar. Don’t look at her. Eyes down. “No, not taken. No wife, no girlfriend.”

She nodded, then pulled her purse around and dug inside for her wallet. He looked at her only when he was certain he wouldn’t meet the magnetic pull of her eyes.

“Hey, I’ll get your drink. Really, let me. I want to,” he said.

Ignoring him even when he reached back for his own wallet, she tossed some money on the bar and stood. What the hell had he said?

“Are you leaving?”

From his vantage point, he had to look up at her as she spoke. “Well, Ian, it’s pretty obvious to me that you’ve been ready to jump out of your skin ever since I approached you. I began to take it as I was intruding on someone else’s property, something I would never dream of doing. But now you tell me that’s not the case at all, so I can only speculate that you’re that f**king scared of my brother, or you just don’t like me. In either case…I’ll see you at our next appointment.”

“I’m not scared of your brother,” he said, standing from his stool and towering over her. Her gaze didn’t leave his during his entire ascent.

“So you don’t like me?”

“I’m not finished. I’m not scared of your brother, but I respect your brother. And…goddamn, are you always this direct?” How did a woman like this not realize her fiancé wasn’t keen on meeting her at the altar, like, months ahead of time? Seemed she would’ve grilled it out of him.

“Listen, man, you go through what I’ve been through, you don’t have time for anything less.”

“Well, then, allow me to reciprocate.” He moved his mouth to her ear and spoke directly into it, allowing his lips to brush against the soft shell. Close enough to smell her hair, close enough to feel its softness against his nose. “I’d love to take you home and f**k you senseless, if that’s what you’re after.”

A full-body shudder went through her. He stepped back, seeing the desire clearly in her heavy-lidded eyes. She definitely wanted him to. “But I’m not going to,” he finished, watching it crash and burn. “For reasons I’ve already explained. So you can go on telling yourself I don’t like you if you want. Whatever makes you feel better about this.”

Collecting his beer from the bar, he cast her one last look over his shoulder as he moved off toward the pool tables.

He’d had the earlier thought that Satan had slid up on the barstool next to him. Oh no. Now she was Satan, and if looks could kill…he’d have her pitchfork buried in his chest. Or elsewhere on his anatomy where she could do maximum damage.

He couldn’t claim total victory, though, because those particular parts of his anatomy throbbed in time with the beat of his heart. Uttering those words to her and her visceral reaction to them had flooded his dick with heat, and the last thing he needed was to be sporting wood right under her nose.

Leaving was his best option, but a few guys he vaguely knew motioned him over to start up a game of pool, so he headed in their direction.

Aware all the while of Gabriella’s eyes on him. They were like f**king laser beams. Aimed right at his crotch. Jesus.

He tried to concentrate on the game, but damn if she didn’t move over to one of the neighboring tables and start up a game of her own. While he pretended to be aiming his cue stick, he was really scoping out her black-skirt-clad ass as she bent over to do the same.

He shot. And missed. She made it, as evidenced by her whoop and her male partner’s high-five.

“Fuck!” Ian bellowed, straightening and getting too much attention from the crowd over there—namely Gabriella’s.

“Dude, it’s all right.” His partner laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. Ian rubbed the back of his neck, eyeballing the way that one drunk ass**le kept trying to put his hands on her. And the way she was allowing it, until she was ready for her next shot. Then she shoved him away and took up a position that had her facing Ian, bending over so her cle**age was shown off to its best advantage.

Ian felt a sudden sharp nudge in his side. “It’s your turn, man.”

Already? He snapped out of his funk, looking down at his own table. Naturally, the best shot he could take had him still facing her. He set up, trying not to glance up at her—don’t f**king look at her, you ignorant ass**le—but yet again he found his gaze tangled up in hers. She moved that f**king cue stick back and forth through her fingers in an almost obscene rhythm. Just as he was about to moan aloud and embarrass himself, she smiled. Her eyes flickered down at her shot, and she took it.