HowMuchYouWantToBet (2 page)

“Let’s hurry up and get this over with, so I can go to bed.” Neil spoke beside him.

Not giving her any time to retract her statement, Gib grinned. “Well, if you’re that eager, I’m willing to skip dinner.”

She shoved her arms into the bulky coat. “I’d rather drop a brick on my foot.”

He grabbed his chest. “Ouch, you sure know how to kill a man’s ego.”

She sighed heavily and crossed her arms, giving him the most wonderful view of her cleavage. He’d never survive through this evening, if his mind continued to stray onto how she would feel under him.

He turned from the sight and indicated the painting. “I didn’t know you painted.”

“My father does.” As he opened his mouth to question her, Neil corrected the statement. “He did paint. Died a couple of years ago.”

Neil might as well have held a sign reading Subject Closed. Her movements became jerky as she removed the hair from the collar of her coat.

Gib didn’t push. He wanted tonight to be fun, so that he wouldn’t have to beat her at pool to get another date.

“Ready to go?” He said.

She shoved her hands into her coat pockets and moved toward the door. Starting to feel like a puppy on a leash, Gib caught up to her on the porch. Her keys were already out, but she at least waited for him before closing and locking the door.

Amused, Gib leaned against one of the posts at the end of the porch. Neil turned to him, face still slightly flushed.

“I’m being a good sport about this, but if you put one hand on me, I’ll break every manicured finger you have.” From the slits her eyes made, he knew she wasn’t threatening him, the action was guaranteed.

Oh, tonight was going to be fun. “To my car, then.”

This time he led. Neil’s neighborhood was quiet but as full of nosy neighbors as any other small town. Gib would bet that many of Neil’s neighbors were peeking out their windows. Word had spread that the champion of pool had finally lost, and if that wasn’t enough of a blow, she had to go on a date because of it.

Neil spent her evenings at The Tavern with her co-workers, she was the first to bring meat for the church cookouts, she was well known and well liked, though somehow she still kept to herself—Gib figured he must be the only person she didn’t really know or associate with. As he dug his keys out of his pocket and opened the car door, Neil gave a low whistle beside him.

“This is your car?”

“It’s a hand-me-down.” He stepped aside so she could get in.

“A 1952 Cadillac convertible is nobody’s hand-me-down.” She moved to the door, smiling, and ran a hand down the black paint. “Is this the original molding?”

Neil turned that smile on Gib and it took a moment for the question to penetrate his brain.

“Chrome and all. The only thing I changed were the seats. They used to be bumblebee yellow.”

Neil sank into a sleek red bucket seat, leaving him to close her door and round to his side.

When they were on their way, she finally spoke again. “I’ve been trying to figure this out.

What does a man whose idea of a hand-me-down car is this, and let’s not forget that it’s probably worth more than a trailer home, have in common with a construction owner?”

He knew she was talking about her boss, his friend. “Linny and I grew up together.”

“You were a child once?”

He glanced at her. “No, I think I was just small for my age until I turned sixteen. Anyway, I used to go to Linny’s house all the time. When my father was home, he’d take us to see the Red Sox. We’ve stayed in touch.”

She raised a brow in question. “Isn’t your father a CEO of a software company?”

“Glastic Games, but that’s just recently. He used to build cars.” He smiled, thinking how his father would cringe at the description. He had revamped the MacPherson strut, making suspension systems much more flexible, putting less wear on tires. “My father is a man who likes to reinvent the wheel, make it better, then make it lucrative.”

They left the city limits of Whistle Lake and hit the small freeway leading to Linton, another small town, but one catering to tourists. Closer to the coast, it had a small strip mall, supermarkets, and restaurants.

“I thought we were going to Pat’s little restaurant.” Neil’s hopes looked to be dashed, as the sign saying
Welcome to Linton
passed the window.

“I didn’t think you’d want to go there. Everyone knows you’re going out with me tonight. I’m sure Pat’s place is packed for the show.” His gaze slid to hers as he asked, “You’ve been asking questions about me?”

“What do you mean?”

His eyes settled on the rhythmic tapping of her fingers on the door panel. “I never told you about my father. Hell, before today you’ve only grunted at me.”

“I’ve always been civil to you.” Neil’s cool tone proved otherwise, and maybe that was why he had challenged her the day before.

He didn’t consider himself conceited, but the way her gaze had always bounced off him, quietly dismissing him, irritated. He slowed and turned into the town. The streets, filled with people carrying shopping bags and families walking in groups, had a relaxed atmosphere. Gib loosened his grip on the steering wheel and turned back to Neil with a smile. “Civil is nice when meeting an employer or in-laws.”

“After a hard day of work, smiling nicely at someone is the last thing on my mind. Come to think of it, what type of work do you do?”

He parked in front of the SeaSide Restaurant. “Lately I’ve been a reporter, but I’m thinking of becoming an architect.”

She shook her head, chuckling lightly. “The sad things is, I think you’re serious.”

“What’s not to be serious? If you don’t like your job, change it.”

Neil blinked several times, looking unsure of what to say. A first. When he reached across her to open the door, she practically jumped out of the car. “I said, no touching.”

“I barely touched you.”

“The gleam in your eyes told me your intentions weren’t completely gentleman-like.”

“Really?” Gib closed his door. “I must watch out for that. I don’t want you to see it coming.”

Neil turned from him to the restaurant, mumbling what sounded like, “Me and my pride.”

CHAPTER 2

Gib had taken her to a swanky restaurant where the dinner napkins looked pressed, and every few seconds the sudden urge to take her elbows off the table nearly overwhelmed her.

Despite that, and Neil couldn’t believe it, she was enjoying herself. She dipped her finger in the remnant of chocolate mousse cake on the plate in front of her.

“So tell me, Gib, I’m still trying to grasp how you beat me at pool.”

His gaze followed her finger to her mouth. Her face heated as she licked off the chocolate. He hadn’t broken the no-touching rule, so why did she feel naked, sitting there with her finger in her mouth and him looking very jealous of it?

“My uncle taught me. It became a hobby, and when I was in college I won a few tournaments. How’s the cake?”

She cleared her throat. “Good.” She leaned forward at the easy way he had slipped in tournaments. “What kind of tournaments?”

His brown eyes roved over her face. “This is supposed to be a date, right? Let’s get to know each other.”

“You’re going to make this hard for me, aren’t you?”

“I’m an Aquarius. In my down time I like long walks on the beach. What do you do in your spare time?”

“I…”
Paint
is what she wanted to say, but caught herself. “I win pool games at The Tavern.

Since we are back on the subject, what kind of tournaments?”

“I like to travel, and read, and there isn’t a bet that I can’t win.”

“Oh, please. You’re hedging,” Neil quipped, but the corner of her mouth quirked. “Travels, hmm? Any related to the tournaments you entered, oh, yeah, in your free time?” Gib chuckled. Neil hated to admit she liked the relaxed, sensual sound of it. She sat up straighter in her chair. “So, what tournaments?”

“I lift weights, read poetry, and devote my time to those in need.”

“This is my alter ego and I’m really a superhero,” she challenged.

“You don’t believe me.”

The charm he exuded was effortless. If she didn’t watch herself, Neil would be in big trouble. “It’s not because you can probably use money as Kleenex. It’s who you are. You come off as a carefree, no-attachments kind of guy.” She narrowed her eyes as his lips pulled into a smile.

“Not withstanding, you could probably talk a nun into leaving a convent.”

“My mother always taught me you can do anything you put your mind to.” The word
trouble
blared in her mind’s eye in big red letters. “You want to talk about yourself. Let’s talk about the tournaments you’ve won.”

Gib suddenly checked his watch. “Whew, look at the time. I have to get up early tomorrow.” He reached for his wallet.

She held up her hand, knowing he was still hedging. “You won, and I told you I’d pay for dinner.”

He signaled for the waiter. Before she could reach for the check, Gib handed the man a few bills. “Excuse me, waiter, but hand the man back that money and give me the bill.” Her words were sharp. The warm feeling she’d harbored since the beginning of the dinner vanished. The young man stepped slowly to the table.

“You can just tack that onto the $200 you owe me.” Gib waved the man away. The gesture had the waiter scrambling from the table.

Neil didn’t want to be indebted to him. Some debts could never be repaid. “Sullivans keep their word, and I said I’d pay for dinner.” Other patrons turned toward her raised voice.

“You can pay me when I drop you off.”

Neil would have argued her point, but his words were practical. It was a point of pride for her, something she needed to get control of. Plus, what bothered her more was how he kept brushing off her question about tournaments. If her father had taught her nothing else, he’d taught her when to choose and pick battles. She’d let him stew, think she’d forgotten, and then she’d pounce.

Her opportunity came on their way back to town. The chatter on the ride was amicable enough. He seemed back to his relaxed state, fooled by her complacency. Ha! “You never answered me.”

“About what?”

Neil turned completely in her seat to face him. His face held no guile. Probably took years of practice, she thought. “What tournaments did you win in pool?”

He shrugged. “Nothing too big. You know the kind of games that really don’t matter at the end of the day. Kind of like what you’ve been winning down at The Tavern.”

“The Tavern is full of drunken men with bad eyesight. Nothing I would call a tournament.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “The Eight-Ball Nationals.”

“A tournament, my foot. That’s like calling the Super Bowl backyard football.” Gib winced, and Neil realized she was almost screeching. She took a deep breath. “What was your rank?”

He coughed something unintelligible, then said, “Look we’re almost at your place.”

Neil glanced out the window. They were at the end of her block. She could see the hedges of her yard, but Neil wasn’t getting out of the car until she had answers. She’d been swindled.

“That’s nice. I didn’t hear your rank in the competition.”

“It’s not important.”

“The hell it isn’t. You made me think you were the average pool player.”

“You challenged me to a game, as I do recall.” He leaned over and jerked the door open.
Hmm, so he’s finally losing his cool. Temper settles well on him.
His usually nonchalant attitude faded under it and his calm brown eyes flashed with heat. Neil shook herself from the observation and stepped out of the car.

As she turned to round on him once more, she reassessed the situation. Maybe being pleasant would get the answers she wanted. “You’re right. I did challenge you to a game. I’ll get my other purse and pay you the money you’ve earned. The game was very close.” She shrugged. “I would like to know where you ranked.”

“You’re a good player. You almost had me there a few times.”

Maybe her head swelled some more, because the compliment made her warm. “Thank you.

Your rank?”

He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his the navy trousers. “I won the tournament three years in a row. The fourth year, I decided to retire.”

Neil hadn’t expected to hear that, and it took a moment to get her breath back. “Good night, Gib.”

He angled himself between her and the door. “Can I just say one thing before you storm into the house mad?”

He was close enough for her to smell him now. The smell made her feel nervy and hot, because the scent smelled good enough to bottle and drink. She’d agree with anything if he’d just move—closer.
No, no, no, stay on point.
“What is it, Gib?”

His gaze slid down to her mouth. “I want you to know that I believe you’d have won if I hadn’t kissed you.”

“You arrogant pig.” She emphasized each word with a poke to his chest. “If you think that you threw me off my game because of that wimpy kiss, you’re wrong. I was angry that you embarrassed me in front of my co-workers.”

“You were so hot for me, you couldn’t see straight.”

“You think, because all the women in Whistle Lake swoon when they hear your name, that you are something special. Sorry to inform you, I’ve been kissed better.”

But the “better” was nothing that made her want with a need so fierce that she could still feel the imprint of his lips. Those lips curved into a smirk and he looked more tempting than water in the Sahara Desert.

“Prove it. Let’s kiss again, and if it does nothing for you…” He shrugged. “You can keep your money.”

“Fine,” she shot off.

Angry enough not to care, she pulled him to her. His brown eyes seemed to be laughing at her, and he took his time placing his mouth over hers. The contact was light, as if he was savoring her taste. His tongue slowly trailed her bottom lip.

She fought the need growing inside her and let him take his time. He drew out the moment until her breath caught in her throat. His gaze never left hers. The amusement was gone, replaced with something much more primal. Neil moved her hands from her side to his chest, telling herself that if she had to push him away she could. For now, she let them sit fisted on his dress shirt.