HowMuchYouWantToBet

How Much You Want to Bet? Published by Melissa Blue

Copyright 2012 Melissa Blue

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Dedication

For my mother,

who got me off that typewriter to a computer. I love you.

Also for my baby girl,

I love you even when you make me watch EMOlight.

CHAPTER 1

Neil Sullivan shook back the mass of curls crowning her head, stared herself down in the mirror, and said through gritted teeth, “It’s just a date.”

Amazingly, pigs could fly, too. If honest with herself, Neil would admit her extended preparation for this date was avoidance. Being done meant being ready. The prospect didn’t excite her, but if she shook her hair back one more time she might suffer whiplash. She stepped from the mirror to stand in front of the closet, quietly cursing herself and her damn pride. It was constantly at war with her common sense, but a deal was a deal.

The act of defiance, to wear the red dress lying on the bed, didn’t sit well with her. Despite its color, it shouted “old maid” with its square neckline and a hem that touched the tops of her ankles. She eyed the little black dress hanging placidly on its hanger. Its looks were deceiving.

Why did I have to be born with a pride as stubborn as a mule?
Neil asked herself, still fuming from the night before. It made no sense. One stupid kiss had set her off, broken all her vows to blend into the community, made her forget her determination to be visible, likeable, but under the radar.

Before moving to Whistle Lake, she’d promised herself she wouldn’t sink into the shadows this time. The dire need to be incognito had lessened with time. So she had become an insider for a change, volunteered for committees, done fundraising for the local Brownies and Girl Scouts. She’d worked hard to be normal instead of outright mysterious.

“No, my pride wouldn’t let me do that,” Neil mused aloud, with all the frustration she felt.

Talking to herself now. Ugh, over a kiss. She yanked the black dress from the hanger. All her hard work, gone in one pool game—well, one three-hour-long game. She’d been doing well. Had even settled in the house the construction company offered, instead of finding one by her own means.

Talk about progress—she bought her groceries where everyone else did. Her co-workers finally saw her as a peer, which was a huge step in her career, considering she was the only female working for Whistle Lake Construction. Even the church ladies had gotten used to the earth beneath her nails.

It was his fault.

Neil gritted her teeth at the thought of Gibland Winnfred the Third. What kind of person named their child that, in this day and age? Yet his long-winded name fit him perfectly. He didn’t look like a fun-loving Mike or a boring John. Gibland Winnfred the Third. Perfect. Her mouth thinned into a straight line.

Men like him, with a smile that could warm a woman’s insides just by being turned in her direction, were dangerous. The moment he quirked that aristocratic mouth her way Neil had disliked him, from his military-pressed white shirt to the way his designer-labeled shoes shone in the midday sun.

Yesterday, if he’d beaten Neil at pool and won her money, she’d have bought him a beer to congratulate him for his good fortune. But the way Mr. Pressed-White-Shirt strolled in last night, smirking at her, had urged Neil to do something that would wipe that look off his face.

Blowing out a breath, Neil hoped to dispel the memory. She turned to the mirror. The top of the dress dropped to display the curves of rounded brown breasts. Her cleavage wasn’t much to look at, but a nice enough view. The rest of the dress, far from demure, hugged her waist and clung tightly at her hips. Her stomach jumped to think she would be walking out of the house in it.

“A deal is a deal,” she repeated like a mantra.

The momentary acceptance settled on her for just that long. Why hadn’t she gotten up and left the bar last night when Gib strode in looking arrogant, one hand casually in his pocket, his curly chestnut hair too defiant to stay combed back? She should have paid her bill and gone as soon as those mischievous brown eyes of his met hers.

Nope, she hadn’t.

She’d had to get up and stand next to the pool table, hoping he’d follow. Hindsight being 20/20 and all, it was much to her misfortune that he had.

“How about a game of eight-ball?” she’d asked, dropping her voice an octave in challenge.

And, feet spread, Gib had rolled up his sleeves and smiled at her. “You do know how to play, don’t you?” His smile became a grin as she slammed the rack on the table.

“Rack ‘em.”

“My pleasure.” He’d fished in his pocket for a quarter and dropped it idly into the coin slot.

“What are we playing for?”

The warning came as a glint in Gib’s eyes as if he were ready for the kill. Neil had ignored it.

“Fifty bucks.”

One of his eyebrows rose, seeming to question so little an amount. Her adrenalin had kicked at the thought of wiping the look off his face.

“That’s it? I hear you’ve beaten everybody in this joint.”

Neil had pursed her lips, noticing for the first time his forearms were not those of a paper pusher, though he dressed like one. His thick, muscled legs were spread like a fighter, poised and ready to pounce. Of course Neil had ignored that, too, because she’d been close enough to see his nails. They were manicured. He’d forgone the clear polish, but they looked shiny. A man like that couldn’t beat her, so she’d smiled, and dug her hole.

“$200, and if you win—a huge if—I’ll buy you dinner.”

Gib had nodded, chalking his cue stick. “I’ll pick you up around seven tomorrow.”

Light chuckles from around the room had made her realize everyone was watching, and when she’d turned her gaze to the few men she recognized from work, all of them were exchanging bills. Dan had nodded toward her, while Jason pointed to Gibland.

“Deal, but I hope you’ve brought your wallet.” Neil’s voice was flinty.

“Don’t worry. By tomorrow you’ll be blowing the dust off your little black dress.”

Neil had curbed her tongue and showed Gib better than she could tell him. She split the balls, sinking one yellow-and-maroon-striped ball. Her luck had held, but, damn him, he was an incredible player. When Neil slipped, he matched her move for move. His arrogance and her stubbornness took up the room, making it stifling and hot. Sweat dripped between her shoulder blades, and at the time she’d thought nothing could break her concentration.

Oh, man, had she been wrong. She’d been so close: one shot from sinking the eight-ball. Right before the end—that’s how she thought of it—she’d said, “Start pulling out your wallet now, Gib.”

The shot had been child’s play. She could already see herself knocking the eight-ball into the side pocket and going to buy herself some nice tools with the money. She had her eye on a new stainless steel sledge hammer.

“Hold on.”

She’d straightened, knowing, just knowing, he was about to back out. Her lips had curved into a smile. “Want to make one last speech? Go ahead.”

The bar had quieted, every motion stilled, waiting. The tension in Neil’s shoulders built as Gib rounded the sea of green to her. His gait, slow and sure, had exuded the confidence of a man who had traveled this particular path many times before. Naive of her, but Neil hadn’t been wary of the grin. He always grinned.

“Wanted to give you a good-luck charm before you win.”

She’d laughed and put out her hand. He grabbed it and, like a backwards sucker punch, pulled her to his lips. Those lips had turned hot as they moved over hers. The taunting quip fell from her mind. There was no way to think beyond his mouth on hers. He’d nipped at the corners of her mouth, and Neil forgot she was in a smoky bar full of her neighbors and co-workers. It had been close to a year since she’d let a man touch her. The hard body pressed against hers was not that of someone she disliked but that of a man, and she, a woman, had been more than willing to take the passion offered. Neil had fisted her hands in his hair.
More.

More. More. More.
The word sounded like a chant in her head as his taste teased. She had needed more. Their tongues mated, hers darting in and out, lapping at the spicy tendrils that clung to the taste of him—beer, peanuts, and temptation. The thought had flitted through her head, the only one able to seep through, that there was more to this man than starched white business shirts. Neil had been on the edge of a moan when she felt the corners of his mouth lift.

Then he’d damned her in one breath. “Good luck.”

When a roar of applause sounded through the room, Neil broke from him. Yeah, she had made an attempt to get her mind back on the game, but when she went to sink the eight-ball in the corner left pocket she’d scratched. The black-and-white ball had sailed off into someone’s lap. When she’d left the Tavern, with Gib surely grinning at her retreating back, Neil was positive that from that moment on she would never forgive him.

Childish maybe, but as Neil yanked at the dress, silently hoping more material would appear, she mentally added Always Being Right to his list of sins. She flicked a glance over her shoulder at the clock. Fifteen minutes past seven.
Serves him right to wait.

Her mind went back to all the wiggling eyebrows she’d had to pass in order to leave the bar after that kiss. She worked with those men, and with one kiss she’d lost their respect. Now she’d have to start all over again by working overtime, breaking her back, while trying to ignore the snickers. With a move of her shoulders, Neil headed downstairs, where she was sure it was Gib leaning on the doorbell.

*****

Gib didn’t feel even one inch sorry for kissing Neil. He’d been wanting to do it for the past two months, while Neil had looked like she’d coldcock him if he tried. Instead, her body had melded with his, giving as much as it took. He rocked on his heels, still tasting her sweet and dangerous bouquet. All that fire he saw in her hazel eyes had gone straight down to her mouth and erupted over his own lips.

He jabbed the bell again, knowing it would irritate her and not necessarily make her move any faster. Gib had to commend her. Neil was a good pool player. For what seemed like months, he’d watched her bend over that table, arousing fantasies of laying her on it and…Clipping the thought at the bud, he leaned harder on the doorbell.

Neil Sullivan was a mystery. He wanted to know just who and what made Neil Sullivan tick. Gib wasn’t obsessed with finding out, but the fact she still intrigued him made her a must-know, and what was wrong with having a little fun doing it?

His thoughts were shot to hell the moment Neil opened the door. The bulky clothes she usually wore had hidden a fountain of curves and legs—he’d just became a leg man.

“Jesus,” he choked out.

“Are you ready to go?” Her voice was smooth and laced with impatience.

He figured his eyes must be bugging out of his head as he let his gaze travel over the slender curves detailed by the slinky fabric she wore. Yet it was the face that made him dumber than spit. Her full mouth was curved into a sardonic smile and irritation lit her slanted hazel eyes.

Her face would have been plain if not for her nose. It gave her face that saucy character—rounded at the tip, it crooked slightly to the left. Her honey-toned skin looked soft and smooth, urging his hands to find out for sure. Neil tilted her head and the mass of black curls fell over one shoulder. He willed his brain to work.

“You clean up well.” Remembering his manners, Gib pulled the long-stemmed white rose from behind his back and offered it to her.

Her gaze dropped to it and he could have sworn her features softened, but the look disappeared so quickly he might have imagined it. For another moment she eyed it as if the thorns were poisoned, then took it carefully.

“I just need to get my jacket.” Neil turned, leaving the door open, not inviting him in but not slamming the door. Gib took that as a good sign.

He followed, closing the door behind him. The foyer opened up into a large room. Instead of a light fixture, a chandelier hung from the ceiling. It lit the room in a soft and welcoming yellow light. The classically modern room was decorated in blacks and grays with small touches of color. A wide fireplace ate up most of the wall space. On the opposite side of the room sat a television, exactly in the center of the left wall. Steps led up into the kitchen, next to Neil at the closet door.

He stuffed his hands in his trousers and went to gaze at the artwork above the mantel, a painting of a log cabin. Smoke trailed out of the chimney and the dark red wooden logs clashed perfectly with the green pines. Beyond it, a lake glittered gold from the setting sun. A child slept, cuddled in a rocking chair on the wraparound porch. In the corner of the canvas were the initials
N.S.