Page 42 of My Office Rival

“Hold on.” His hand landed on mine. “Take it slow.” He stepped in, still so careful. “Can I touch your back?”

Yes. Please.I wanted to beg. But instead, I just nodded.

His palm was a brand on my lower back, and I was suddenly drowning in lust. He feathered his thumb over the gap between my sweater and my jeans, just the barest movement, and I so badly wanted to push back into him.

His voice was rough when he spoke. “Don’t rush. You need a better line of sight with the ball.” He pressed me down gently and I bit back a sigh. “There you go. Breathe out. Try to keep your arm steady.” I couldn’t focus with his possessive hand on me. My heart was thumping in my chest, and I swung too hard, glancing the cue ball and causing it to spin to the side.

“Ugh. I guess my beginner’s luck is over.” I turned and saw him smirking at me.

“You did great.” His quiet approval sent a little frisson of delight through me. “Now watch and learn.”

He turned and analyzed the table, then sank one, two, three balls in quick succession. His hands were strong and sure, and his confidence in his skill was apparent.His careful distance, his controlled reactions.It so badly made me want to grab his attention, mess up his self-control. I was like a little kid with a blank canvas and a giant can of paint—all I wanted to do was ruin his neat perfection.

He cocked his head and then took his time sinking another ball. As he rose from the table, he gave me a cocky grin and I rolled my eyes.

“Why are you so good at this, anyway?” I asked.

His smiled dropped at my words. “I used to play a lot.” He grabbed his beer and took a long swallow.

“Okay, so here and there in college?” I couldn’t help but press him. I wanted to understand the mystery that was Jason Elliott.

“For money,” he responded shortly.

I raised my brows, waiting for more, and he sighed.

“I needed the money when I was in school. I bartended throughout college and law school, but it wasn’t always enough. I spent a lot of time at dive bars when I was younger and I started playing pretty young. I got good.” He shrugged, but the casual movement couldn’t hide how tense his shoulders were, how tight his eyes were.He really hates talking about this. “You know Blue and Gold downtown?”

“One of my favorites. Margo and I once spent Christmas Eve there.”

He gave me a half smile. “I used to play there all the time. I started offering to play people for fifty dollars, then a hundred. One hundred bucks for just fifteen minutes. It paid better than being a lawyer does now.”

“More fun too.”

At that, he laughed.Finally.“Yeah, it was fun sometimes, but it got old.” He ran a hand through his hair, mussing the shining gold strands.

“But you grew up playing? Did your foster parents play?” I knew nothing about him and I suddenly craved any drop of information I could get my hands on.

“No. They didn’t.” His expression shuttered, and he set down his beer.

We played the rest of the game in silence, Jason handily winning. He played with a ruthlessness and intensity that I was familiar with from our conference calls and negotiations. He didn’t offer any more tips, didn’t put his hand on my back again. He drove me home in silence, and I wondered what I had done wrong.

25

JASON

Something had shifted tonight. Cynthia no longer felt like an opponent, or notonlythat. She felt likemine.Wrapping my arm around her in the bar, talking about her dating life, playing pool with her, it was all so damn normal. Could I have something like that with her?Why not?It was working now, wasn’t it? Well, working might be giving me too much credit. I’d still shut down completely when she asked about my family.

I grimaced into the darkness of my bedroom. Just what every woman wanted. A man so fucked up he couldn’t talk about his past. Whose needs in the bedroom sent most women running.

The beer had sent me straight to bed when we got home, but now, in typical fashion, it was three a.m. and I was wide awake.Might as well be productive.I scrubbed a hand over my face and swung my legs over the side. The bed creaked, and I stilled.Shit.I crept from the room on silent feet, eased open the door, and slunk down the stairs to the living room.

At this time on a weeknight, I’d typically review a document or get some emails done. I tried not to do that on weekends, though. Mitchell already owned my days. He didn’t get my Saturday nights too. Maybe some TV would distract me enough to fall asleep onthe couch. It was worth a shot. But first, another beer to make me tired.

Two hours later,I woke on the couch to a rustling noise in the kitchen. My body went on high alert. Was it an intruder? I hadn’t heard Cynthia come downstairs. I crept up and through to the kitchen, grabbing a decorative candlestick as I went. The rustling happened again and then stopped. I snuck up, closer, closer, and thensprang.

I pinned the intruder with my hips and it,she, let out a shriek.

“Ahh! What the fuck, Jason!”

---