“You mean…? No!” Alicia yelps. “God, no. I’ve only known him a little while, and even then, just through Carina.”

Relief floods through me. “Good.”

Alicia studies me, a smile playing on her lips. “Are you jealous?”

“What? No,” I growl, still on edge. “I just wondered, is all.”

Alicia doesn’t look like she believes me, but she’s interrupted by Garrett arriving to bring us a couple of beers, “Sorry, I can’t stay,” he says, looking stressed. “The lunch rush is crazy.”

“A couple of burgers would be great, when you get the chance,” I add.

“Sure thing,” Garrett nods, already heading back to the crowd by the bar.

We’re alone again in the corner, just the two of us.

Alicia takes a sip of beer, her pink lips closing around the neck of the bottle in a way that makes my breath rush out of my lungs.

Damn, I need that mouth on me.

“So is this your local hangout?” she asks, oblivious to my X-rated thoughts. She looks around, taking in the homey, casual vibe and motley collection of families, vacationers, and regular townsfolk. “I like it.”

“Garrett’s a good guy,” I nod, dragging my eyes from her perfect lips. “I’m glad I don’t have to have to kick his ass.”

Alicia’s eyes widen as she realizes what I mean. “You’d have done that?”

“If he was the guy who’d blown you off?” I scowl at the thought. “Damn right I would.”

“I told you, he doesn’t even know how I feel about him,” she protests.

I don’t know why the hell she feels like she needs to defend him, but it just makes me hate the guy even more.

“It’s not his fault,” she adds, “I’m the one to blame.”

“I don’t care.” I reach over and grab her hand. I brush my lips across the knuckles and then turn it over, pressing my lips against her palm like I could brand her with my kiss. “He hurt you, that makes him a fucking chump in my book.”

“Enough about him,” she smiles shyly. “Unless he comes walking out with a cheeseburger right now, he’s the last person I want to see.”

Good.

“Because we made a deal, remember?” I yank her hand, pulling her suddenly into my lap. The feel of her curves against me is heaven, and I have to hold myself back from laying her out on the table and ravaging her right here in front of the whole damn town. “You’re mine for the week.”

I feel Alicia’s breath hitch, her body melting against me like clockwork, the sweetest feeling in the world.

We’re in a crowded bar, but I still can’t resist pulling her closer, kissing a blazing path along her collarbone and up the soft skin of her throat. It’s intoxicating, the fire in my blood from the touch of her; the crash of desire just holding her close.

I want all of her, I want it soon.

“And sweetheart?” I add in low, possessive growl. “I don’t like to share.”

12.

ALICIA

We enjoy a lazy lunch tucked away in the corner, sharing food and kisses with nothing much on my mind. It’s a fun hangout, and I can see that Dex is at ease here. Aside from the odd double-take from across the room, nobody pays him a second look. But I find it hard to focus on the casual conversation with his dark eyes devouring me, and the thrill of heat suffusing my whole body.

He was jealous.

I know I shouldn’t like it. I’m not his possession, he doesn’t have any claim to me, but the truth is, my knees went weak when Garrett hugged me and I saw that territorial flash in his eyes.

I’ve never had a man feel possessive of me; never inspired that kind of instinct before.

It made me feel thrilled, powerful.

It made me feel like I matter.

Dex pushes out his chair when he’s done with the food and glances around. His gaze lands on the pool table in the back. “You play?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.

I give a casual shrug. “Not for years.”

“C’mon, I’ll go easy, I promise.” Dex pulls me up and heads over to the table. He racks the balls in a few seconds flat, then takes his time picking out a cue and chalking the tip. He’s clearly an expert at this game, so I let him break, running the table with clean, precise hits.

He’s good.

But I’m better.

I didn’t lie to him before. I may not have picked up a pool cue for years, but freshman year of college, I worked as a camp counselor upstate. Most evenings we wound up in the rec room, playing for tips. A couple of guys taught me the game, and that summer, I wound up reigning champion of our unofficial league.

Not that Dex needs to know that right now.

Rule one of hustling, don’t show your cards until there’s something worth winning on the table.

“Try putting your weight in your support hand,” Dex instructs me when I take my turn. He leans over from behind me, shifting my stance, his hands light on my hips.

I catch my breath, feeling a shock of heat from the contact of his body. My head spins so much, I don’t even have to fake a bad shot; my hand shakes, sending the cue ball skittering wide, bouncing off the far bank and rolling uselessly into the middle of a cluster.

“Tough break,” Dex says, grinning. He lines up his cue ball and runs the rest of the table, sinking all his balls in quick succession.

“Can we go again?” I ask brightly. “I barely got to hit any.”