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She was wearing an elegant black pantsuit. He couldn’t tell if there were any pockets but a methodical search would tell him.

He was about to begin when she stopped him, placing one hand gently on his chest. That simple, delicate gesture, her hand over his heart sent his blood surging like high-octane fuel as he felt his entire body accelerate.

“I thought I just took care of you,” she said.

That calm and cool tone of hers sounded practiced.

“I need to see if you can match what I put on the table.”

“I can.”

“You haven’t even counted it.”

She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I think we both know I’m not missing that shot.”

“And what if that”—he glanced at the money on the table—“isn’t what interests me?”

“All right, then, name it. Although you don’t need to. I know what interests you.”

He arched his left eyebrow. “You do, do you?”

Her eyes told him— yes .

He grinned. “All right, then.”

She made a move to turn around, but he stopped her, placing his hands in that niche that was her waist. How perfectly they fit. His fingers snug in that bend in the road. Her hips were ample. The arc from her waist, a dramatic curve like the women in old Hollywood movies.

“Don’t you think the wager warrants something a little more difficult?” he asked.

The cue ball and eight ball were perfectly lined up; the eight ball only a couple of inches from the corner pocket.

“What do you suggest?”

He made a swift calculation as to what he thought would be the most difficult shot.

He leaned into her, placing his hand by the corner pocket nearest him on the left. “How about you sink the eight ball into this pocket?”

There was no way she could make the shot.

She’d have to be crazy to say yes .

“As you wish,” she said.

His brow wrinkled. “What’s that?”

“As you wish.”

Maybe she was crazy. Either that or she wanted to give him what really interested him because it was what interested her. It had to be the latter. Although he wasn’t as certain as he usually was when it came to women.

He fisted his hands, resisting the urge to hoist her over his shoulder and take her back to his hotel room. Even that felt like too much foreplay.

He drew a deep breath.

Just a little longer.

After she missed the shot, she’d come back to his hotel room and they’d have mind-blowing sex.

There was something raw, primitive, practically feral about the woman.

She might even be into a bit of kink. Some women weren’t.

Whether she was or wasn’t didn’t matter.

What did matter was what happened after sex.

But he was confident that wouldn’t be a problem with her.

It was no good to be involved once the season began. Besides all the travel, he needed his mind focused on one thing—and one thing only.

Racing.

He could not believe he was done with it.

Would not believe it.

He needed to race. Had to. That was the end of it. Period.

She didn’t wait for him to move away. She turned around, causing him to lose his footing and stumble backward.

She bent over.

“Eight ball in the corner pocket,” she said, glancing back at Rocco.

It took him a moment to realize she was looking at him because his attention was on her ass.

She wants my hands on that ass.

I want my hands on that ass.

He waited for her to turn around before he wiped his palms on his pant legs.

“This corner pocket,” she added, indicating the one just to the left of her before pulling back the stick and hitting the cue ball.

She skimmed the eight ball with it. He’d thought at least she’d make a reasonable attempt and bank it.

Is she looking to lose?

Sure enough the eight ball was moving the right direction. Problem was, it didn’t have enough momentum. It was going to come up short.

And then he blinked, realizing she’d done something he hadn’t thought of; bank the cue ball, which came speeding to this end of the table just behind the eight ball and, after impact, sank the eight ball in the designated corner pocket.

She tossed the stick on the table and picked up the money.

“Turn the lights back on, boys. Race over.”

Rocco glanced over at Dario. “What did she just say?”

He didn’t wait for his cousin to respond. He caught sight of her backside as she walked out of the bar and took off after her.

Once outside, he yelled, “Hey!”

She stopped and turned around.

“I have a question for you,” he said.

She walked up to him and got so close, her breath tickled his skin.

Before he realized it, his back was up against the wall.

“Why’d you say what you did just before you left?” he asked.

She must have been a racing fan to say something like that. But she hadn’t let on that she knew him.

She leaned in, grazing his lips with hers. Her breath smelled like chocolate-covered strawberries. He felt a humming in his chest and his groin. And for a moment, she just left her mouth resting lightly on his.

“Make every easy shot, Rocco,” she said, her words vibrating on his lips.

“Do I know you?” he murmured back.

“And make every shot easy.” She pressed her lips on his, opened his mouth with her own, and kissed him.

It was a slow and gentle, languid and luscious kiss. Her tongue, plump, wet, and warm.

He hadn’t kissed a woman like this in—how long? Had he ever?

It felt as though she had her mouth on his cock. She might as well have , he thought as he felt both heart and breath accelerate and a guttural groan throttle low in his throat in syncopation with the throbbing between his thighs.

But there was something else.

Something almost—tender.

It was the kind of kiss you would give a lover, and a lover you actually loved—deeply loved.

He cupped her cheek with one hand and gripped her waist with the other, pulling her deeper into him.

He wanted to put her back up against the wall. He made a move to swing her around. But just as he tried to, he felt a sudden sharp sting.

She pulled away and brushed his lower lip with her finger.

That’s when he saw the blood. That’s when he tasted metal.

She bit me.

That’s also when he realized her eyes were so dark they could have been mistaken for black. There was no light there, no light at all. But just as he had the thought, he saw something. A spark? A glimmer? Whatever it was, it came and went so fast he must have imagined it.

Her lips curved but so slightly he couldn’t call it a smile.

“Game over,” she said before turning and walking away.