Wicked As Sin Page 5

  “Game of pool. You’re not interrupting. Stay. Like a lot of things, it’s a lot more fun when you’re not playing alone.” He winked.

  His seemingly suggestive words sparked a reaction low in her belly. “I-I’ve never played.”

  He raised a dark brow. “Ever?”

  “Daddy isn’t much for games. My friends aren’t, either.”

  “What about Cutter?”

  She shrugged. “He’s never shown any interest.”

  He sent her a stare that looked somewhere between stunned and dubious. “You sure? I’ve seen him play.”

  That didn’t surprise Brea. Cutter had a whole life she barely knew about. “I’m sure he does, but not with me.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  Were they still talking about billiards? “Anyway, I won’t keep you…”

  “Don’t go. One game.” He wrapped his arm around her middle and ushered her deeper into his house. “What do you say?”

  She risked a glance up at him. “You’re sure I’m not in your way?”

  “No. I’m thrilled as hell to have you here, pretty girl.”

  That low, deep declaration of his did something to her insides. Heat crawled up her cheeks. She ran her tongue across her suddenly dry lips. “O-one game, then.”

  “Let me get you a drink. Water? Tea? Beer?”

  Brea shook her head. “Nothing. I also wanted to thank you for the thoughtful birthday gift you left me at the salon yesterday. I’m sorry I wasn’t there, but I got it this morning. The wine was a lovely gesture.”

  He finished off his beer, then cocked his head at her. “You don’t drink, do you?”

  “Not much, but I’m looking forward to trying this.” One of her fellow hairdressers who was a wine enthusiast had assured her it was a more than decent bottle.

  Pierce led her deeper into his house. One wall was floor-to-ceiling windows. Movement outside hinted at trees in the yard, swaying in the dark. The adjacent wall was covered in white subway tile with dark grout. Over that he’d hung ten identically sized bright graphical pieces of art—skulls, poker cards, crossbones, masks, and the like—in two perfectly straight rows. Black modern furniture went with the vibe. A big vase of yellow daisies sat on top of a round, glass-top table, adding the lone homey touch. The living room was flanked by floating stairs with an angular steel railing that probably led to his bedroom. Beyond that lay a big pool table with a red felt top. His kitchen, with cabinets stained a warm, mid-tone brown, hugged the far wall.

  The place seemed so him—vivid, sexy, contemporary, unexpected.

  “This is really nice.”

  He smiled. “Thanks. I bought it a few months back. Gutted and rebuilt it.”

  That impressed her even more. “You did an amazing job.”

  Pierce grabbed a cookie from the plastic container and tossed it in his mouth. In fascination, she watched his sharp jaw work and his Adam’s apple bob. Even the way he chewed dripped masculinity. It did something wicked to her when he closed his eyes.

  “Hmm… Your cookies are delicious, pretty girl. I knew they would be.”

  The low dip in his voice nearly made her melt. “I like to bake them.”

  “I’m going to love eating them.” He licked his full lips. “I’ll do it all night if you let me.”

  He definitely wasn’t talking about anything she whipped up in her kitchen.

  She blushed. “Let me know when you run out. I’ll be happy to make more.” She turned for the door. “But I really should go.”

  He blocked her path. “You promised me one game, remember?”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “I’ll teach you.” He set the cookies and his empty beer aside, then sauntered closer. “Stay.”

  She probably shouldn’t…but Brea couldn’t resist. “All right.”

  Pierce gathered up the colorful balls on the table and racked them in a triangle, arranging each in numerical order. When he’d finished, he lifted the rack away, settled the plain white ball in front of the triangle’s point, then grabbed a cue. “Do you know the object of the game?”

  “To put your balls in your pockets?” When he laughed heartily, Brea realized her blunder. Her face seemed to heat to a thousand degrees. “I meant to shoot the balls you’ve chosen into their assigned—”

  “I know what you meant. And you’re mostly right.” He grabbed the blue cube on the rim of the pool table and chalked the tip of the cue. “I’ll explain along the way. Take this.”

  She wrapped her fingers around the stick he proffered in her direction. “Now what?”

  “Bend over the table, behind the cue ball…”

  Brea did, more than vaguely aware of her shorts creeping up her thighs, dangerously close to the under curve of her derrière, then glanced over her shoulder. “Like this?”

  He tore his gaze away from her backside, then frowned. “Damn, you really are a little thing. You might have to stand on the tips of your toes to get your arms on the table for a good shot.”

  She did, feeling the muscles in her legs tighten and her butt lift in the air.

  “Yeah.” Pierce’s voice sounded rough. “Like that.”

  Brea glanced back. She didn’t want to notice that the bulge behind his jeans had grown…but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t. The notion that a man like him found her attractive made her feel a little feverish and giddy.

  The man is only after you for a piece of ass, Cutter had warned.

  She straightened and turned—only to find him suddenly plastered against her body. She gasped, automatically setting her hands on his chest to put space between them. But he was like solid stone under her touch.

  Pierce’s hands dropped to her hips. “Would you rather do something besides play pool?”

  Yes, please. “No. This is fine.”

  His fingers tightened on her. The heat of his touch penetrated the khaki twill of her shorts. Suddenly, she found it hard to breathe.

  “Then turn and bend over the table again.” He waited until she complied, and Brea was achingly aware of his body heat bracketing the backs of her thighs, of the sexual stirrings his closeness roused. “You’re right-handed?”

  “Um, yes.”

  “With that hand, hold the cue about five inches from the bottom. Now place it near your hip. Don’t hold it so tight. You want to be relaxed but controlled. Good. Align your body with the cue ball. This will help your aim. Exactly. With your left hand, make a V with your thumb and index finger, like this.” He demonstrated. “You’ll balance the tip of the cue in that crevice.”

  Brea watched, acutely aware of the veins bulging in his forearms, the size of his hands, the length of his fingers, the hair dusting his knuckles.

  Then he took hold of her hips again. “Spread your legs, pretty girl.”

  Her stomach tightened. “Why?”

  “Your feet are too close together. You’ll find it hard to stabilize when you take your shot. Go on. Yeah, just like that. Now lay the rest of the fingers of your left hand on the table and make a bridge for the V to rest on. You got it.”

  “Now what?” she asked.

  Brea only half listened to his answer. She was excruciatingly aware of his body heat blistering her, of his hips packed against her backside as he leaned over and utterly surrounded her with his big body.

  “That means you need to bend over a bit more.”

  “Oh,” she breathed as she rushed to comply.

  “Good. Now hold the cue steady and eye the ball. Like that.” He sounded hoarse as his fingers gripped her tighter. Then he pressed his entire chest over her back and breathed against her neck. A shiver wracked her. “Hold still. Yeah. Now take your shot.”

  How the devil was she supposed to concentrate when he was all over her? When his musky scent swam in her head and she kept closing her eyes to drink him in? It was hard to concentrate on balancing the cue when her body kept urging her to press back into him with a moan.

  But Brea did her
best.

  The tip of her stick barely poked the cue ball. The white orb rolled lazily across the table, made a polite clap with the first of the balls in the triangle, barely jostling them before rolling away.

  “Not a bad first effort. Next time, put a little more force into it.” He eased away, seemingly reluctant to put space between them.

  “It was horrible.” She straightened, and her hungry stare climbed him again. “Show me what I should have done?”

  He hesitated, then set his pool cue aside. “You didn’t come to play pool. Cutter made you promise not to talk to me, so why are you here?”

  “To thank you.”

  “You could have left cookies for me at the office. But you came to my house. On a Friday night. With your hair curled and your makeup done, wearing pretty white lace.” Pierce fingered the scooped neck of her top before he wrapped his hand around her neck and tilted her face up to meet his stare. “Look me in the eye and tell me why you’re here.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do. You’re afraid to admit it.”

  Goodness, Pierce could see right through her.

  She swallowed. “Terrified.”

  His fingers on the back of her neck tightened. “I’m more than happy to give you what you want, but you have to look me in the eye and say it out loud.”

  Brea dug her nails into his forearms, her heart pounding. “I don’t understand.”

  “I won’t settle for less than your enthusiastic consent when I take you to bed.”

  She gaped. “Don’t you mean if?”

  Abruptly, he released her. “If you really think it’s still a question, you’re bullshitting yourself. And we don’t have a whole lot more to say.”

  “Wait. This is happening too fast.” Brea looked up at him, not even sure what she was silently begging for.

  But he knew. “I’m cutting to the chase, pretty girl. Let me tell you what isn’t going to happen. I’m not going to seduce you. I’m not going to push or pressure or force you. You’re coming to me because you want it. From me. And no one else.”

  “C-can’t we get to know each other?”

  Brea was grasping at straws. Pierce wasn’t the sort of man who formed cute, benign friendships with girls. He had sex with women. Which meant he had no use for her.

  As she’d feared, she was in way over her head.

  “I’m sorry. That was a stupid question. I’ll go.” She looked away, humiliation blazing her cheeks as she charged for his front door.

  Now if she could just manage to make it outside before her composure disintegrated…

  Pierce grabbed her elbow and pulled her back. “It wasn’t stupid. I want to know more about you than your body. But I know exactly where this attraction is heading. Whether you want to admit it or not, we’ll wind up in bed. I’m just saying that I want your full consent when we get there. If you can’t give me that when the time comes, say goodbye now.”

  Brea dragged in a deep breath. As far as he knew, she belonged to another man. Of course he would want her consent before anything happened between them. And she respected that he wanted a completely willing sexual partner.

  That wasn’t her.

  She shook her head and backed away. “I shouldn’t have come.”

  Brea whirled around and darted for the door again. She’d embarrassed herself enough.

  Behind her, she heard Pierce give chase, his footsteps heavy as he spun her to face him. Brea expected him to pull her close, but she gasped when he shoved her back. Her spine made contact with the foyer wall. His hands spread on either side of her head. He pressed every inch of his body against her. Then he dipped his head as if he intended to kiss her here and now.

  Brea’s belly flipped with excitement. She gripped his bare shoulders, thrilled by his satiny skin over hard, steely muscle. Anticipation rolled through her as she tilted her head up to him and closed her eyes in surrender.

  She wanted Pierce Walker’s kiss so badly…

  It never came.

  Seconds later, Brea blinked, her lashes fluttering up until she focused on him. He studied her with a dissecting stare even as he pressed the hard length of his manhood against her belly. “I know you want me.”

  She looked away. “Let me go.”

  Pierce merely thrust his fingers in her hair and tugged until she had no choice but to look at him. “I want you, too, pretty girl. So fucking bad I can almost taste you. That’s why I waited for you outside your church a week ago last Sunday. That’s why I followed you to Lafayette. That’s why it’s taking every bit of my restraint now not to kiss you.”

  “Why don’t you?” She really wished he would.

  “Because you have to be willing to admit what you want between us. Until that day…” He eased away with a shake of his head, then opened the door. “Unless it’s an emergency, don’t come back. If you do, Brea, you better be ready to confess that you want me—and me alone—to strip you down, get deep inside you, and give you every bit of pleasure I’m dying to.”

  Every cell in her body flashed hot. She gaped at him. Some wayward, wanton part of her ached to give in. She was a grown woman. She wasn’t saving herself for marriage, just until sex meant something. If she spent the next hour with him, who would know? Or care? And why should it matter to anyone but them?

  Before she could make up her mind, Pierce nudged her onto the porch. He cradled her face in his hands and lifted her face to him. Hope leaped. Please God, let him have changed his mind. But he merely pressed his lips to her forehead before shutting and locking the door between them with a final click.

  Chapter Three

  Thursday, August 14

  “It’s okay, Bre-bee. Don’t be upset.”

  Through the open door of his boss’s office, One-Mile heard Cutter’s crooning tone. He risked a glance at Logan Edgington. How quickly could he wrap up this pointless chat with his boss and eavesdrop on the douche who didn’t deserve his girlfriend? Because One-Mile hadn’t stopped thinking about Brea Bell in the last six days. He didn’t care if he had to fight dirty. He wasn’t giving up on her.

  “Uh-oh. I don’t like your expression…” Logan grumbled.

  One-Mile didn’t give a shit.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” his boss pressed.

  “Gotta pee,” he lied.

  “Wait—”

  One-Mile didn’t. He dashed out the door to plaster himself against the wall, around the corner from where Bryant was having his low-voiced telephone conversation with Brea. Thank fuck that, despite a life spent around firearms, he still had superb hearing.

  “You know your dad,” Cutter murmured. “He’s a perfectionist and he cares about the people of his congregation. Since he’s recovering from surgery and can’t handle his responsibilities without help, it makes him cranky. Besides, the doctors told you he might be irritable until they stabilized his meds.”

  “I know. I don’t blame Daddy, just saying he’s being difficult,” Brea said on speakerphone. “I’ve been telling him for the past few years that he needs to rely on Tom more. He’s the associate pastor, after all. And I think the stress of trying to do everything himself is one of the reasons Daddy had a heart attack. But when I pointed all that out, along with the fact that Tom wouldn’t appreciate me taking over his duties, Daddy nearly blew a gasket.”

  Cutter sighed, sounding slightly impatient. “He’s just not himself right now. It’s not fair of him to put you in such an awkward position or force you to juggle your own job and his, but he’s not being difficult on purpose. If it helps, I’ll make a few phone calls, see if I can get the church van fixed before you need to pick everyone up for Sunday services. Will that free you up to run over to the Rutherfords’ house this evening and pray with them? Shame about their son’s overdose.”

  “Just awful. Aidan was only sixteen.” Compassion filled her voice, along with real tears. “If you could find someone to fix the van, that would definitely give me more time to spend with tho
se poor people. But I’m not stepping on Tom’s toes. He’s coming with me.”

  “I think he should. Stephanie Rutherford must be devastated.”

  Brea sniffled. “She loved Aidan so much. I want to give her and her husband all the comfort and fellowship I can.”

  Despite how frazzled and stretched thin Brea was, she was still worried about everyone else. She had such a big, beautiful heart. One-Mile ached for a chunk of it.

  “Where’s the van now?” Cutter asked.

  “At the church, ’round back. Keys are in the glovebox. If you find a mechanic, can you leave me the bill in Daddy’s office? I’ll pick it up tonight after I drop Tom off.”

  “Sure thing. Just take a deep breath, Bre-bee. This will pass.”

  “Thanks. I know you’re right. Hey, my three-thirty client just walked in. It’s a cut and color, so I won’t be able to answer for a bit if you have an update.”

  “Got it.”

  Cutter hung up. The SOB ended the call without a single romantic word. Hell, without even saying goodbye. No wonder Brea wasn’t excited about their sex life. Hard to be thrilled about a cheating, dismissive asshat…

  When he heard Cutter sigh and start across the tile floor, One-Mile peeled away from the wall and turned to head down the hall—only to find Logan right behind him.

  His eavesdropping boss hustled them into his office and speared him with a vivid blue stare. “So it really is like that, huh? Damn it. Shut the door.”

  One-Mile hesitated, then complied. “Like what?”

  “Dude, everyone saw how you looked at Brea during the party. You get that she’s Cutter’s, right?”

  One-Mile shrugged. “He’s wrong for her. And if he can’t treat her well enough to hold on to her, that’s his problem.”

  “You’ve got some giant balls. How serious are you about her?”

  His feelings didn’t much matter until he could figure out how invested she was in Cutter.

  When Brea had delivered the cookies to his house last week, she hadn’t withheld her consent because she wasn’t feeling him. One-Mile knew that. Hell, her amber eyes had darkened with desire every time he even came close. His guess? She’d hesitated because of the Boy Scout. Did she think she was in love with Cutter?