'That's bull.'
'No, indeed. I have some very nice documentation of an event. Registered a forty-two-degree temperature drop in less than two minutes.'
He took another drink. 'Your fancy equipment needs to be overhauled.'
His reaction amused her, intrigued her. 'You're very resistant. Do you feel threatened?'
'Why would I feel threatened by something that doesn't exist?'
One brow cocked up under her fringe of bangs. 'Why would you?'
'Because I—' He caught himself, narrowed his eyes. She was smiling blandly and, he noted, very much in control. 'Is that how you analyze your patients?'
'Do you feel like a patient?'
'Cut it out.'
'Sorry.' She threw her head back and laughed. 'It was irresistible. I don't really do individual therapy, but you'd make a terrific subject. Want to try word-association?'
'No.'
She arched both brows this time. 'You're not afraid, are you? It's very simple. I say a word, you respond with the first thing that comes to mind.'
'I'm not afraid of some silly parlor game.' But he was irritated, just enough to jerk his shoulders. 'Fine. Shoot.'
'Home.'
'Family.'
It made her smile. 'Bird.'
'Feather.'
'Car.'
'Truck.'
'City.'
'Noise.'
'Country.'
'Land.'
'Sex.'
'Women.' Then he brought their joined hands to his lips, nipped lightly at her fingers. 'Rebecca.'
She ignored the jingling spurt of her pulse. 'It's the first thing that comes to your mind that counts. All in all, I'd say you're a very elemental man, set in your ways and happy with them. Consider that a thumbnail analysis.'
'Why don't I try it with you?'
'As soon as you get your degree, farm boy.' She waited a beat. 'If you're hungry, why don't you try the peanuts?'
'I like your hand better.' To prove it, he continued to nibble, all the way around to her palm. 'It's long and a little bony. Like the rest of you.'
In a casual move, she scooted her chair closer, leaned her head toward his. 'Do you really think I'd let you seduce me over a couple of beers at the local tavern?'
'It's worth a shot.' He brushed his lips over her wrist. 'Your pulse is racing, Dr. Knight.'
'A basic chemical reaction to stimulus. Nothing personal.'
'We could make it personal.' He glanced ever his shoulder, saw that the pool table was free. 'You up for a bet?'
'Depends on the type of bet.'
'How about a game of pool, a friendly wager?'
'Pool?' Her brows drew together. 'I don't know the rules.''
Even better, he thought. 'I'll explain them. You're supposed to be a quick study. Anybody smart enough to have a bunch of initials after their name should be able to learn a simple game.'
'All right. What's the bet?'
'I win, we go out to my truck and neck. I'm really hankering for a taste of you.'
She took a slow breath, made sure her eyes stayed cool. 'And if I win?'
'What's your pleasure?'
She considered, then smiled. 'When I move my equipment over to the farm, you'll help me with my project, on a purely professional level.'
'Sure.' With the confidence of a veteran hustler, he rose and led her over to the table. 'Since you're a beginner, I'll spot you two balls.'
'That's generous,' she said, without having a clue whether it was or not.
Being a fair man, and one who rarely lost at this particular game, he explained the procedure carefully. That also gave him the opportunity to snuggle up behind her, his mouth at her ear as he gave her instructions on how to hold and use the cue.
'You want control,' he told her, sniffing her hair. 'But you don't want to force it. Keep the stroke smooth.'
She tried to ignore the fact that her bottom was snug against him and, following his guiding hands, struck the cue ball.
'Nice,' he murmured. 'You've got good form. And great ears.' He nipped at one before she straightened. But when she turned, rather than backing away, he set his hands comfortably on her hips. 'Why don't we pretend we played and just go neck?'
'A bet's a bet. Back off, farm boy.'
'I can wait,' he said cheerfully. He could already imagine wrapping himself around her and steaming up the windows in the truck. 'You want to break?'
'I'll leave that to you.' She stepped away, chalked her cue as he did.
The rules were simple enough, she mused. You were either solid or striped, depending on which type of ball you managed to sink first. Then you just kept sinking them, avoiding the black eight ball. If you hit that in before the rest were dispatched—unless you struck it with another ball first—you lost.
Otherwise, whoever sank all their balls first, then the eight, won.
She watched Shane lean over the table, long legs, long arms, big hands. The look of him distracted her enough that she didn't see how he broke the triangle of balls, but she did see the results. Three balls thumped into pockets, and he called solids.
Lips pursed, she studied his technique, the speed and direction of balls rolling over the green felt. She'd seen the game played, of course. There was a billiard table in the country club where her parents had a membership. But she'd never paid much attention.
It was obviously simple geometry and applied physics, she decided. Quick calculations, a steady hand and a good eye were all that was required.
Shane pocketed another two balls before he glanced at her. Her brow was furrowed, her head cocked. It was interesting to watch her think, he mused. It would be even more interesting to watch her feel. But it wasn't quite fair to run the table on her when she hadn't even had a chance to shoot.
To balance the scales a bit, he attempted a nearly impossible shot. He nearly made it, but his ball kissed the corner of the pocket and rolled clear.
'You're up, Doc.'
He moved around the table to help her with her stance, but she shrugged him away. 'I'd rather do it myself.'
'Fine.' He smiled at her with affection, and superiority. 'You should go for the one with the yellow stripe. It's a clean shot into the side pocket.'
'I see it.' Muttering to herself, she leaned over the table, took careful aim, squinting a bit to keep the balls in focus, and sent it in.
'Nice.' Genuinely pleased, he walked back to their table to fetch the beer. 'You even left your cue ball in good position for the next shot. If you—'
She lifted her head, aimed a bland look in his direction. 'Do you mind?'
'Hey.' He lifted a hand, palm out. 'Just trying to help. You go on ahead.'
He did cluck his tongue a bit as she set up for a bank shot. Couldn't the woman see her three ball was clear?
