Night Heat (Forged of Steele 2)

“So you want to play pinball?” she finally asked, cocking her brow. “Didn’t you learn anything from our last game?”

He flashed a quick grin. “Oh yeah, I learned a lot. I know not to let my guard down again.”

“Is that what happened?”

“Yes. I concentrated more on you than the game.”

She hadn’t expected him to admit that. “So what’s your game plan this time?”

“Do you really expect me to tell you?”

She chuckled. “No, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask.” She stepped aside. “Come on in and let the game begin.”

An hour or so later Jocelyn glanced over at Bas and narrowed her eyes. He was leading by over one hundred thousand points and she was the one who was finding it hard to concentrate on the game. Frustration began to surface. It wasn’t that she didn’t like losing; she just didn’t like the reason she was losing—her inability to focus.

“Winning this rematch means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” she finally asked when he scored once again.

He grinned over at her. “Worried about losing?”

“No. But it does seem like you’re deliberately dragging this game out.”

“While staying ahead in points.”

“For the moment, yes.”

“Um, I’m just consolidating my shots and economizing my ball time,” he said. “A strategy that works best for me.”

“You’re working too hard as usual,” she said coming to stand close to him, but not close enough to mess with his concentration. “All I do is focus on the shots I can hit consistently and patiently repeat them. In a game of pinball you can never lose control.”

“Or concentration, so please step back, Jocelyn. Your perfume is getting to me.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“In what way?”

His eyes flashed to hers. “I don’t think you really want to know.”

Jocelyn raised an arched brow. Did she or didn’t she? She was pulled out of her thoughts by his muttered curse. He hadn’t used his flippers fast enough and it was now her turn.

“Move over Steele. Time for me to recoup.”

Deciding not to crowd her, Bas took the chair a few feet away and watched her in action. He liked seeing the way her eyes sparkled with the feel of victory and the way she licked her lips each time she deployed a ball. Then there was that simple turn of her head, the smile that tilted her lips whenever she hit a shot that made the machine flash.

And last but definitely not least was the way she leaned her body just so to the machine, breasts perked, hips aligned at an angle that had heat drumming through him. Even with her trying to best him at this game, he detected a gracefulness in the ease in which she was attempting to do so. The woman had style, something he noted even when she was holding a hammer, saw or a drill.

She had taste. And she tasted good.

He rubbed a hand over his face wishing he hadn’t thought about her taste.

When the machine flashed that the game was over, he barely heard her unladylike curse, which let him know he had won this go-round.

“Want to do another game?”

He smiled. “No, we agreed on five and I won four of the five, which means I’m on top of you this time.”

Although Jocelyn knew what he meant by those words, her mind suddenly conjured up something else and heat clawed viciously at the lower part of her stomach. She could just imagine him naked and on top of her beneath silken sheets. “Okay, so now I want a rematch,” she said, needing to get her mind back on track and wondering how she had allowed it to veer into such an outlandish fantasy in the first place.

“I’ll think about it.”

Her eyes flamed. “What do you mean you’ll think about it?”

He stood and slowly walked in front of her. “Just what I said.” He smiled. “Now who’s the sore loser?”

“I’m not a sore loser,” she denied.

“Then why are you mad?”

“I’m not mad.”

“If not, you’re awfully close,” he said in a husky tone.

He reached out and took her hand in his, letting his fingers run across her wrist to feel her pulse. “Those are anger beats.”