address, he was absolutely certain she wouldn’t spill.
Her bustle twitched as she moved, her waist begging for a man to span it with his hands. She bent over . . . and he nearly groaned. Sweet Jesus. That brought forth recent fantasies starring her arse and his palms.
He needed to move this along before an erection prevented any bowling whatsoever. “Try the dark brown one,” he said, his voice low and rough.
“Stop rushing me.”
The sass did little to ease the lust simmering beneath his skin. She might have the nobility of a nun, but she had the fire of a three-star general. Damn, if that contradiction didn’t arouse him.
“Ready.”
She held the dark brown ball, but he made no comment as to selecting his suggestion. With the flick of a switch he powered up the lanes. Light ran above the alleys and pins, making everything easier to see.
Rye entered at that point, and Jack suspected his second-in-command had been lurking in the basement until this precise moment. Jack tipped his chin. “We’re ready for you back there.”
“Right-io,” Rye said with a small salute. He walked down the lane, around the pins, and jumped up on the bench to wait.
Jack swept his hand out. “After you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Good heavens. He’d merely removed his coat and Justine was suddenly sweating. Had the temperature in the room climbed by forty degrees?
Mulligan had a bowling alley. In his fancy house. Never would she have imagined it. He was so much more than he appeared. Dangerous, yes, but he was also intelligent and cultured. Kind, as evidenced by his speech at the fundraiser. And something about him set her stomach afire every time he walked into a room.
Taking a deep breath, she decided to focus on this one game. Then she could return home and . . . What? Face an empty house? Perhaps Mulligan was right. Perhaps she would benefit from a little hedonism.
Honestly, though, bowling wasn’t what came to mind when she considered a walk down Hedonism Lane. She’d pictured sweaty limbs and passionate kisses. A big bed and hooded blue eyes. Bowling felt more like a turn along Spinster Alley.
Stop complaining. Do you wish for him to ravish you right on the lanes?
She sort of did, actually.
Oh, she was perfectly aware that she wasn’t the kind of woman to inspire passion in a man, but it would be nice just once to drown in desire. Billy had kissed her a few times, but they had been tepid, almost polite kisses. Perfunctory. Boring. She hadn’t craved his touch or kiss like women were supposed to. Florence and Mamie discussed these things all the time when they thought Justine wasn’t listening, so she knew women lusted every bit as fiercely as men.
But, the most desire she’d ever felt was the other night when Mulligan had licked that spot behind her ear. One quick press of his tongue—and she’d nearly combusted. Then she’d run away.
He must have thought her a complete fool.
Exhaling, she pushed all those worries aside. She couldn’t change the past, anyway.
So, bowling. Her one attempt had been ages ago. But, really, how hard could it be? Roll ball, hit pins. She started to step onto the lane.
“Oh no, you don’t.”
Mulligan’s deep voice startled her. “Have I done something wrong?”
He crooked a finger at her, his expression slightly devious. “You cannot step on my lanes in those boots.”
Her black low-heeled boots? They were practical, everyday shoes. Not fancy in the least. “Why not?”
“They’ll ruin the wood, cara. Come here.”
Confused, she closed the distance between them. Was she going to sit this game out? What was happening?
He patted the seat next to him. “Sit down.”
Oh. Disappointment pressed on her chest, just like all the times her sisters had excluded her from fun in the past. They thought Justine hadn’t noticed or cared, but she had.
She dropped into the seat and presented the ball to him. “Here you go. I’ll watch you.”
“No, that isn’t what I mean.” He took the ball from her and set it on the ground. Then strong fingers wrapped around her ankle. She squeaked and tried to jerk away. “Stop,” he said. “All I am doing is removing your boot.”
“You cannot remove my boot. It’s . . . improper.”
Straightening, he lifted her foot and placed it on his knee. She stared at her boot . . . resting on Mulligan’s leg. Her heart galloped in her chest, a wild rhythm keeping time in this unchartered territory. When she met his gaze, she was