Making of Them (Beating the Biker 3)

“Sweetie, I can match you dollar for dollar, and,” he said, pulling a ten and twenty from his wallet, “move for move.”

CHAPTER NINE

Standing next to Saks, Chrissy felt lightheaded. Maybe it was because she hadn’t had much to eat, or maybe the travel was to blame, or seeing her father after surgery... Or maybe it was just from seeing Saks in the flesh.

For once he wasn’t wearing that damn jacket. She got a good glimpse of his muscled biceps and broad shoulders, with his abs tapering to a perfect ‘v’ on his hips under his jeans. Not because she could spy that part of his anatomy, but because burned into her memory was every inch of his naked self. It was if he’d taken a smoking etching tool and carved every taut muscle on his tall, lean frame on the neurons of her brain. Her stomach fluttered at the memory of Saks naked under her, and moaning with pleasure.

Damn it. She didn’t come here to simmer in a sexual stew of want and desire. It was bad enough that her heart thumped against her heart, chanting, “I love you, I love you” with the regularity of a Timex watch.

“Tell you what, Miss Big Money, I’ll give you the break.” He turned his back to her to pick a cue from the wall, and her breathing hitched. Saks had one fine ass, and if there was one thing she appreciated in a man it was round, firm glutes. She held onto her pool cue, her knuckles turning white while she fought for control. Saks was the only man who could turn her into a puddle of mush. Her overly-damp panties were evidence of that.

She was so fucked. Chrissy counted off the reasons she should leave.

No good could come of this. Serafini and Roccos did not mix. The two families had tried to come together, but it just didn’t work. Her grandfather and her parents wanted her to stay away from Saks Parks, the further away the better. They didn’t want her associated with a Rocco who was also involved in a motor cycle gang with a history as fucked up as either of their families. They didn’t want the complications of the Hades Spawn who were at odds with the Rojos, an incendiary one-percenter motorcycle gang. A gang who, if rumors had it right, hired two goombahs from Jersey to make it look like the Serafini wanted to take out Saks and start a gang war.

But Saks turned and aimed a bright smile at her. It flashed sexy and innocent at the same time, as if there was nothing he wanted more in the world but to play a game of pool.

Chrissy stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, fixed in place as surely as the moon circled in orbit around Earth.

“So,” he said, “you going to break the balls?”

Chrissy almost whimpered, because everything he said was turning into sex show in her lust-fueled brain. When he said the word “balls,” she flashed on the time when she’d tasted his. Then the scent of his cologne filled her nose, making her squirm with anticipation.

“You’d like me to,” she said in a husky voice. She didn’t intend this, but her vocal cords had other ideas.

“Well, not my balls, but those balls there,” he said, flashing another sexy grin. He pointed his cue to the carefully racked balls on the table.

Chrissy walked to the other end of the table, aware that Saks watched her every movement as if he was a jungle cat stalking his prey. She put the cue ball off center, and she noticed Saks’ eyebrow arched. He knew what she was going for, and it took a steady hand and deadly accuracy to make the shot. She chalked the end of the stick and stretched over her cue exactly as her dad had taught her in the basement of their house, where they’d had their own pool table. Lord, it had been years since she’d done it, but she hoped it would be like riding a bike. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Saks studying her ass jutting from her stance, his eyes a mixture of lust and longing. She almost broke then and there. Her only thought then was to drop the cue and fling her arms around his neck and do whatever he wanted her to.

“Hey, guys,” Hawk said. “I’m going to hit it.”

“Hey, before you do, shut the gate and set the codes,” Saks requested.

“Sure thing,” the younger man said. He went to the door and fiddled with a panel. The lights in most of the bar turned off, leaving them in the lighted alcove with the bar only lit from light spilling from it.

“Goodnight,” he said.

“’Night, Hawk.”

A door opened then shut.

“I guess,” Saks said, “we’re alone. Take your shot.” He moved in closer and leaned on his cue, watching her intently.

“You can’t distract me, Anthony Parks,” Chrissy warned.

“I’m not trying to distract you,” he said.

Oh, but you are just by standing there.

Chrissy focused on her shot, recalling everything her father had taught her, trying to shut out Saks standing close to her. She pulled back her arm, and with a sure and swift jab sent the cue ball crashing into the triangle of balls. They shot off, and one of the two she hoped would land in the side pockets did.

“Yep,” Saks said. “You lied to me.”

“How?”

“Told me you were no good at this.”

“Beginner’s luck,” she lied as she studied the balls on the table. She put the cue to the balls, one after another, hitting balls into the pockets, and laying up shots as she did so. She put three into the pockets before she looked over her shoulder at Saks, who stood with the cue on the floor watching her.