Christmas with the Prince. Charlene Sands
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then she finally said, “There is one thing I’ve always wanted to try.”
“What’s that?”
“Billiards.”
Her answer surprised him. “Seriously?”
She nodded. “It’s actually very scientific.”
He grinned. “Well, then, you’re in luck. We have a billiards table in the game room, and I happen to be an excellent teacher.”
Ten minutes into her first billiards lesson, Liv began to suspect that choosing this particular game had been a bad idea. Right about the time that Aaron handed her a cue and then proceeded to stand behind her, leaning her over the edge of the table, his body pressed to hers, and demonstrating the appropriate way to hold it.
Hard as she tried to concentrate on his instructions, as he took her through several practice shots, she kept getting distracted by the feel of his wide, muscular chest against her back. His big, bulky arms guiding her. His body heat penetrating her clothes and warming her skin. And oh, did he smell good. Whatever aftershave or cologne he’d used that morning had long since faded and his natural, unique scent enveloped her.
It’s just chemical, she reminded herself. And wholly one-sided. He wasn’t holding her like this for pleasure, or as some sort of come-on. He was giving her a billiards lesson. Granted, she’d never had one before, but it stood to reason this was the way one would do it. Although the feel of him guiding the cue, sliding it back and forth between her thumb and forefinger, was ridiculously erotic.
If he did have some other sort of lesson on his mind, one that had nothing to do with billiards, she was so far out of her league that she couldn’t even see her own league from here. Although, she had to admit, the view here was awfully nice.
“Have you got that?” Aaron asked.
She realized all this time he’d been explaining the game to her and she had completely zoned out. Which was absolutely unlike her. She turned her head toward him and he was so close her cheek collided with his chin. She could feel his breath shifting the wisps of hair that had escaped her ponytail.
She jerked her head back to look at the table, swallowing back a nervous giggle. Then she did something that she hardly ever did, at least, not since she was a rebellious teen. She lied and said, “I think I’ve got it.”
He stepped back, racked up the balls, then said, “Okay, give it a try.”
She lined the cue up to the white ball, just the way he’d shown her, but she was so nervous that when she took the shot she hit the green instead, leaving a chalky line on the surface. She cringed and said, “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he assuredher. “Try it again, but this time get a little closer to the ball. Like this.” He demonstrated the motion with his own cue, then backed away.
She leaned back over, following his actions, and this time she managed to hit the ball, but the force only moved it about six inches to the left, completely missing the other balls, before it rolled to a stop. “Ugh.”
“No, that was good,” he assured her. “You just need to work on your aim and put a little weight behind it. Don’t be afraid to give it a good whack.”
“I’ll try.”
He set the cue ball back in place and she leaned over, lining it up, and this time she really whacked it. A little too hard, because the ball went airborne, banking to the left, right off the table. She cringed as it landed with a sharp crack on the tile floor. “Sorry!”
“It’s okay,” he said with a good-natured chuckle, rounding the table to fetch the ball. “Maybe not quite so hard next time.”
She frowned. “I’m terrible at this.”
“You just started. It takes practice.”
That was part of the problem. She didn’t have time to practice. Which was exactly why she was hesitant to try new things. Her motto had always been, If you can’t be the best at something, why bother?
“Watch me,” he said.
She stepped aside to give him room. He bent over and lined up the shot, but instead of keeping her eyes on his cue, where they were supposed to be, she found herself drawn to the perfect curve of his backside. His slacks hugged him just right.
She heard a loud crack, and lifted her gaze to see the balls scattering all over the table.
“Just like that,” he said, and she nodded, despite the fact that, like before, she hadn’t been paying attention. He backed up and gestured to the table. “Why don’t you knock a few around. Work on your aim.”
Despite her awkwardness, somehow Aaron always managed to make her feel less…inept. And after some practice and a couple of false starts, she was actually getting the hang of it. She even managed to keep all the balls on the table where they belonged and sink a few in the pockets. When they played a few actual games, she didn’t do too badly, although she had the sneaking suspicion he was deliberately going easy on her.
After a while, despite having slept most of the day, she started yawning.
“Maybe we should call it a night,” he said.
“What time is it?”
“Half past twelve.”
“Already!” She had no idea they’d been playing that long.
“Past your bedtime?” he teased.
“Hardly.” As if on cue, she yawned again, so deeply moisture filled her eyes. “I don’t know why I’m so sleepy.”
“Probably jet lag. It’ll just take a few days for your system to adjust. Why don’t you go to bed and get a good night’s sleep, then start fresh in the morning.”
As eager as she was to get back down to the lab, he was probably right. Besides, she really needed samples and her assistant wouldn’t be here until the next morning. Maybe she could take some time to catch up on a bit of reading.
“I think maybe I will,” she told him.
He took her cue and hung it, and his own, on a wall rack. “Maybe we can try this again, tomorrow night.”
“Maybe,” she said, and the weird thing was that she really wanted to. She was having fun. Maybe too much fun. She had a job to do here. That disease wasn’t going to cure itself. It had been hours since she’d even thought about her research, and that wasn’t at all like her.
“I’ll walk you to your room,” Aaron said.
“I think I can find my way.” They were somewhere on the third floor, and if she took the nearest steps down one floor she was pretty sure she would be near the hallway her room was on.
“A gentleman always walks his date to the door,” he said with a grin. “And if nothing else, I am always a gentleman.”
Date? Surely he was using that word in the loosest of terms, because she and Aaron were definitely not dating. Not in the literal sense. He meant it casually, like when people said they had a lunch date with a friend. Or a dinner date with a work associate.
She picked up her backpack from where she’d left it by the door, slung it over her shoulder and followed him out into the hall and down the stairs. She wanted to remember how to get there, should she ever decide to come back and practice alone every now and then.
“By the way, do you play poker?” he asked as they walked side by side down the hall toward her room.
“Not in a long time.”
“My brother, sister and I play every Friday night. You should join us.”
“I don’t know…”
“Come on, it’ll be fun. I promise, it’s much easier than billiards.”
She