Whirlwind Affair

An automatic 'no' rose to her lips, but she hesitated. She desperately needed some diversion, and she was very fond of games. Her gaze drifted over the table. It was easily twelve feet long and six feet across. Certainly big enough to maintain a safe distance from him… much more distance than a carriage could provide.

'Why, yes, I believe that would be lovely.' And safe.

'Excellent. It's a very simple game. Only three balls-one red and two white-and a few rules. All the rest is practice, skill, and a bit of luck.' Striding across the room, he lifted another tapered stick from a holder on the wall, then returned to her.

'This is a cue,' he said, handing her the stick. 'The object of the game is to be the first to score the number of points we agree upon.'

'How does one score points?'

'Several ways.' He went on to describe the game, explaining unfamiliar terms such as 'potting,' 'cannons,' and 'in off.' Leaning over the table, he demonstrated as he spoke, educating her regarding cushions, pockets, the balk line, and the 'D.'

'Any questions so far?' he asked when he finished.

'Not yet, but I'm certain I'll have dozens once we begin.' In truth, the game sounded quite simple.

'Then let's start you off with some practice shots. The proper way to hold the cue is like this…' He demonstrated, and she mimicked him. 'Good,' he praised. 'Now line up your shot, slide the cue stick back, then bring it forward, nice and smoothly.' His actions mirrored his words. The tip of his stick hit the cue ball, knocking it into the red ball, which rolled across the baize surface and fell into the corner pocket. 'That shot would earn me three points for potting the red ball.' He retrieved the ball from the pocket and placed it back on the table. 'Now you try.'

Holding the stick as he had, she leaned over the table. Taking careful aim, she slid the cue stick toward the cue ball. And missed it completely.

Humph. She tried again. This time she firmly struck the ball. It shot up and forward, sailing off the table, and landed on the carpet with a dull thud.

'Oh, dear,' she said, dismayed. 'This is more difficult than it looks. I'm sorry. As much as I enjoy games, I fear I do not excel at them.' A memory suddenly assailed her, tightening her grip on the cue stick. She and David, sitting in their parlor near the fireplace. He'd tried to teach her to play chess, but quickly lost patience with her when she moved her pieces incorrectly. Shaking his head, he'd heaved a long sigh. 'Obviously the game is beyond you, Allie.'

She shook off the remnants of the past and looked at Lord Robert. Not the tiniest hint of impatience glimmered in his eyes. In fact, he appeared wholly amused.

'Quite good for a first attempt,' he said with an approving nod. 'Much better than mine. I broke a window my first game. To this day Austin is fond of telling anyone who will listen about my 'shatteringly' poor performance. And I tell anyone who will listen that my performance was merely a reflection of my teacher's dubious talents.' He retrieved the ball and set it back on the table. Then he walked around the table to stand behind her. 'Try it again. I'll help you.' Reaching around her, he placed his hands over hers on the cue stick. 'You just need to get the feel of it… like this.'

And suddenly she did get the feel of it… of his warm, hard body pressing against her back from shoulder to thigh. Of his large, callused hands covering hers.

'You're gripping the stick too tightly. Just relax.'

If her lungs hadn't ceased functioning, she would have huffed out an incredulous breath. Relax? How could she possibly hope to do so while his body surrounded her like a heated blanket, cloaking her in an onslaught of sensation?

'Ease up your grip, and move your arm smoothly. Like this.' His breath ruffled the hair at her temple, rippling tingles down her spine. With his hand covering hers, he moved her arm slowly forward and back, demonstrating the motion. But all she could concentrate on was the feel of his muscles bunching against her arm and back. The sensation of his skin touching hers. He'd rolled back his shirtsleeves, and her gaze riveted on his strong, sinewy forearms, dusted with dark hair. A brush fire of heat rushed through her, overwhelming her with its intensity.

Step away… get away from him! Her inner voice all but screamed at her. But it had been so long since anyone… a man… had touched her. Held her. She simply couldn't deny herself the pleasure. Her eyes drifted closed, and for one insane instant she allowed herself to absorb the feel of him. Just one more second… he's behind me… can't see me… he won't know…

Robert raised his gaze, intending to adjust his stance to offer further instructions, when his eye was caught by a movement across the room. There, reflected in the small mirror hanging on the opposite wall, he saw her. Standing in the circle of his arms, her eyes closed, her face flushed, her full lips slightly parted. She looked beautiful. Sensual. And aroused.

Everything inside him stilled. Heart, pulse, breath. A delicate shudder ran through her, a feather-soft vibration against his chest that reverberated through him.

Her silky hair tickled his jaw, and he had only to turn his head to touch his lips to her temple, yet he didn't dare move. Couldn't move. He was spellbound, riveted by the sight of her, of them, together. He drew in a slow, shaky breath and his head filled with her delicate floral fragrance.

Desire hit him low and hard. His jaw clenched, and he tried to will away the heat coursing through him, but there was no stopping it. Damn it, he shouldn't be feeling this toward her. He barely knew her. She lived an ocean away. She remained in mourning… Her heart belonged to another man.

Another man? Perhaps. Yet as he watched the color rising in her cheeks, felt the quickening of her breath, there was no denying that her body responded to him. He'd seen it earlier, when he'd turned around and caught her staring at him, but he'd convinced himself that that was an aberration. But this… this heat they clearly both felt, was very real. Fright-eningly so. And if he didn't move away from her, she would be left in no doubt exactly how much heat she inspired in him.

With an effort that cost him, he released her. Stepping back two paces, he watched her in the mirror. Her eyes opened slowly, then she blinked several times. She swayed slightly, and he fisted his hands at his sides to keep from reaching for her. Her tongue peeked out and moistened her lips, and it was all he could do to swallow his groan of longing.

In that instant, however, she clearly recalled herself. Her eyes widened, and crimson flooded her cheeks. Her back went ramrod stiff, and her knuckles turned white around the cue stick. There was no mistaking her distress, and guilt slapped him, branding him a cad. You have no business touching her. Smelling her skin. Desiring her.

Hoping to put her at ease and dispel the tension thickening the air, he said, 'I think you've got it now.' Damn it, his voice sounded like he'd swallowed a mouthful of gravel. Clearing his throat, he moved to the end of the table, putting more distance between them. 'Try it again.'

She stared at the table. What was she thinking? Was she angry with him? Should he apologize? He hadn't meant to touch her-

Liar. His inner voice sliced off the falsehood before his mind could even finish the thought, and shame filled him. Indeed, he rarely indulged in the useless exercise of lying to himself, and there was no point in doing so now. He'd wanted to touch her. Desperately. And billiards had offered him a seemingly innocent excuse to do so. But God help him, the lust she inspired was the furthest thing from innocent he'd ever experienced.

Well, he'd simply have to stop touching her. Yes, that should be simple enough. No more touching. He drew in a much needed deep breath, and her scent wafted into his head. Hmmm. Breathing around her was not a good idea. Unfortunately, that would be harder to avoid. His gaze skimmed over her and his jaw tightened. She was bent over the table, her full lips pursed with concentration. Desire skidded through him and he looked away. No more looking, either.

Yes, that was his plan. No more touching, no more breathing, no more looking. Or at least, no more breathing than absolutely necessary.

Cheered by his ingenious plan, he forced himself to focus on the game and his role as teacher. Keeping his distance and his gaze firmly trained on the table, he offered pointers and advice. Within an hour, she'd improved immensely and he suggested they begin a game.

'It's the best way to develop your skills,' he assured her.