Night Maneuvers. Jillian Burns
“Apparently, you do,” he snarled back.
She reached behind her for a cue stick and brandished it like a sword. “You’re the one who’s going to need protection by the time I’m through with you. Rack ’em, McCabe.”
Mitch blinked. This was the old Hughes. “You’re on.”
She chalked her cue stick. “I’ll even let you break.”
“Let me?” With shaky hands and his pulse pounding in his temple as if he’d just climbed out of his cockpit, Mitch broke and called solids, but missed the first shot. Damn it.
She messed with his mind dressing up like this. He needed to get his mojo back, pronto, or she’d end up beating him.
Hughes was all business as she approached the table. She took her time examining possible shots from every angle, leaning over the edge until her heels lifted off the floor.
God, those heels. His gaze traveled from them to her delicate ankles and up her beautiful, smooth legs until they ended at the hem of her skirt. His imagination filled in where sight left off. He pictured his hands caressing their way up her thighs beneath the dress. What kind of panties would she wear? Would they be—
Holy crap, was he actually wondering about Hughes’s underwear? What was the matter with him? He’d seen plenty of ladies in short red dresses. He’d taken dozens to his bed in all kinds and colors of under things.
But this was Hughes. In the twelve years he’d known her, he’d never seen her like this. He needed another beer. Hell, he needed ten beers.
Finally, she took her shot and sunk the ball. She moved around to the other side of the table and bent over to line up her stick for the next shot.
Mitch swallowed. He could glimpse the rounded swell of her breasts. His palms were sweating and, against his will, his body tightened. He’d never noticed how sexy her small breasts were. In fact, he hadn’t thought about her actually having breasts since they’d first met. And worse, he could see the lacy edge of a red bra clinging to the soft flesh. She probably wore matching panties….
No matter how many quantum physics equations he went over in his head, he couldn’t get ol’ Mac to make a tactical retreat. At another time, with any other woman, he would have already suggested they go back to her place. But this was obviously what Hughes had planned. To torment him. What had ever made him suggest that idiotic bet to Jackson?
No, he should leave now and take care of his problem the only way left to him. And wouldn’t Hughes just love it if she knew. After that smart-ass remark at the wedding…
Mitch swiped the back of his hand over his upper lip as he watched Hughes move around the table, bending over, the dress tightening around her cute backside. And she sank damn near every stripe. She finally missed the ten and Mitch got his chance to redeem himself. As she walked past him, she shrugged. “Let’s see what you can do with your balls, McCabe.”
Normally, Mitch would’ve laughed and maybe shoved her shoulder. The line was pure Hughes. But the woman who said it…wasn’t. He took a deep breath and cracked his knuckles. He ran a hand through his hair and rechalked his cue stick. He took another deep breath while he studied the table. Then bent over and lined up his stick. He could do this.
Just as he drew back his stick and hit the cue ball, she came into his line of sight, bending over from the waist to fiddle with her shoe, and he scratched. Not just the shot, but the damn cue ball. Goddammit! Hughes had beaten him at eight ball before. But never because he’d been distracted by her.
In a temper, he rounded the table, closed the distance between them and grabbed her arm. “All right, Hughes! You’ve had your fun.” He gestured at her dress. “But this isn’t you.”
She jerked out of his grasp, braced her hands on the edge of the pool table behind her and hoisted herself up to sit on it. She overshot the table and her dress hiked up, but he wasn’t about to help her. He wasn’t going near her.
With a toss of her head she crossed her shapely legs and the hem of her dress rose halfway up her thighs. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?”
Her brows drew together and she bit her bottom lip.
Aw, man. Mitch had seen her do that a million times, but tonight it looked so damn sexy. Made him want to take her bottom lip between his teeth.
Her stubborn chin lifted and she folded her arms beneath her breasts. “I have a tattoo.”
A tattoo? That was no surprise. Most guys in the military had something on their arm or—
“Down where no man has ever seen it.”
He swallowed, pImages** flashing through his mind. Would it be on her ass? Or maybe in the front, down low inside her little red panties…
“And I love to slip into a hot bubble bath at night.”
Bubble bath? Hughes? Now he was picturing her wet, glistening skin, rising from a steaming tub. He blinked the image away. That was just what she wanted him to picture. “Next you’ll be telling me you read romance novels and drink White Zin while you’re in there.”
“And what if I do?”
“Aw, come on, Hughes. Now you’re just being ridiculous.”
“McCabe, you dog.” Major Sanders, a desk jockey in Civil Air Patrol, came up to them. “What do you think you’re really going to do with this gorgeous woman, huh?”
Flanked by his two buddies, Sanders slowly moved over to Hughes, took her hand and bent to kiss the back of it. “Enchanté, madame,” he drawled. “What brings you to our humble officers’ club?”
“Oh.” She graced Sanders with a sultry smile. “I’m interested in having some fun.”
“Is that so?” Sanders glanced back at McCabe with a triumphant smirk. “You realize McCabe here has taken a vow of chastity?” He smiled into her eyes and his buddies laughed. “He can’t do anything tonight but beat you at pool, darling.”
Hughes’s gaze darted to Mitch, uncertainty crossing her features. “He’s not even doing that.”
Mitch raised an eyebrow at her. Sanders wasn’t a bad guy. A bit competitive, but mostly harmless.
Her expression hardened, and she turned back to Sanders, who still held her hand. “Buy me a drink, Major?” She jumped off the table and sidled up next to him.
Sanders grinned. “Sure thing, uh…you’re going to think this is a line, but you look familiar. What’s your name, darling?”
Mitch smirked. Sanders didn’t recognize her.
“Alexandria.” Mitch winced as Hughes tried fluttering her eyelashes. It appeared as if she had something painful in her eyes.
“What’re you drinking, Alexandria?” one of Sanders’s buddies asked.
“I’ll take a JD, clean. And make it a double.”
Sanders’s buddy took off to get her drink.
“That’s a hard drink for such a soft woman, Alexandria.” Sanders’s overt flirting knew no shame as his hands came to rest on her waist.
Mitch curled his fists to keep from interfering. What was it to Mitch if she slept with the guy? Or all three of them, for that matter. Besides, he knew good and well she could throw a mean punch. He’d seen her defend herself in worse situations. Like that night in Guam when he’d gotten revenge for the practical joke she’d played on him…
But she’d been in her camos then, and her steel-toed combat boots. He shook his head. Not his problem. Those heels of hers were lethal enough.
Mitch cleared his throat and tapped Sanders on the shoulder. “Uh, if you could move your little party