The Duke's Wife (The Three Mrs #3) - Jess Michaels Page 0,14
asked softly.
She glared at him. He was baiting her, of course. And even knowing that, she couldn’t keep herself from taking it. She stepped into the space, her back to his chest. Her heart rate increased as he wrapped one arm around the front of her to offer her the cue.
She took it, willing her hands not to shake as she leaned over the table. He stepped to the side and his hand covered hers, fingers sliding across her gloveless knuckles, adjusting the grip on the cue. He tilted the back of it higher to change the angle.
His fingers pressed into her hip next and she caught her breath. It was like dancing really, one hand on her hip, the other touching her fingers. And yet it didn’t feel appropriate or as innocent as a dance might.
She felt, instead, incredibly aware of her body. No one had touched it but her in over a year. Even before Erasmus had been dead, for he hadn’t touched her for months before the events leading up to his death.
Now she was hyper-aware of the scent of Nathan’s skin, the slide of his rougher fingers on hers, the heat of his body at her back.
“Let me show you the pressure you’ll need,” he said, soft because his lips were so near her ear. He drew the cue back and then snapped it forward, and the ball did a bunny hop over the next one.
She yanked away from him and dragged the cue in front of her, though it did nothing to shield her. “I-I see what you mean,” she gasped out. “I will try for myself, if you don’t mind.”
He lifted his hands as if in surrender and stepped away, but he didn’t go far. No, he stepped to the corner of the table closest to her and removed his jacket as she leaned over the table and tried to ignore him. She aligned the balls and then drew a deep breath before she tried to find the correct position to repeat what he’d shown her.
She popped the cue forward, and the first ball bounced a little but didn’t do the bunny hop he had so easily perfected like the braggadocious lout that he was. She held back a curse as she realigned everything, tried a different angle and clicked the cue against the ball again, but with less luck than before.
She lifted her head to glare at him, to declare the impossibility of what he asked, but when she did so, she could not find air to chastise him. He had rolled his shirtsleeves to the elbow as she struggled, revealing taut, muscular forearms, lined with a few intriguing veins. She stared at them, her mouth watering slightly as she licked her lips.
“Need help?” he asked.
She blinked and forced her gaze back to his face. What was she going to say to him? It was all gone now because she was apparently so wanton and lonely after the last year that she was lusting…hatefully lusting…after the Duke of Gilmore, of all people.
It was unconscionable.
“Y-Yes,” she stammered. “Perhaps if you show me again.”
He nodded and slipped behind her. She tried to concentrate as he aligned everything again, adjusted the angle of her body and the cue again, let his fingers drag along her hand again. He stepped away. “Now give it a pop just so,” he encouraged gently. “A swift thrust of the cue.”
She shut her eyes briefly and tried not to focus on the word thrust. When she opened them again she blocked him and these odd attractions out as best she could and rapped the cue forward. The ball jumped over the next in line, and she smiled despite herself.
“Very good.” He reset the balls in the line. “Excellent. Now try to do it again by yourself swiftly so you don’t forget the feeling.”
She wanted to retort, despite him being correct, but fought the urge and instead did as he instructed. Once again the ball hopped. The third time she missed, the fourth she didn’t clear the line, over and over she tried until finally he stepped up and took the cue.
“Excellent. But your training time, as per the parameters of our agreement, is up. Would you like a drink before you attempt the shot for the wager?”
“I think you should try it first,” she said.
“Me? Oh, I see. You think I should make the shot first and then you match it?”