nt, Miss Steele?” He smirks,
amused and incredulous at once. “What would you like to
wager?”
“If I win, you’ll take me back into the playroom.”
He gazes at me as if he can’t quite comprehend what
I’ve said. “And if I win?” he asks after several shellshocked
beats.
“Then it’s your choice.”
His mouth twists as he contemplates his answer.
“Okay, deal.” He smirks. “Do you want to play pool,
English snooker or carom billiards?”
“Pool, please. I don’t know the others.”
From a cupboard beneath one of the bookshelves,
Christian takes out a large leather case. Inside the pool
balls are nested in velvet. Quickly and efficiently, he racks
the balls on the baize. I don’t think I’ve ever played pool
on such a large table before. Christian hands me a cue and
some chalk.
“Would you like to break?” He feigns politeness. He’s
enjoying himself—he thinks he’s going to win.
“Okay.” I chalk the end of my cue, and blow the
excess chalk off—staring up at Christian through my
lashes. His eyes darken as I do.