According To Plan Part 3

Chapter Five.

The sound of b.a.l.l.s being racked floated up the stairs while I prepared the drinks. Tank had gone for it. Tomorrow morning he'd be pretty embarra.s.sed about falling for my ruse. In a small way, I felt bad for him.

How could I even hint at having s.e.xual relations with Tank when we hadn't worked out our problems? Deceit had an insidious way of making a person do unethical things. On the verge of backing down, I mentally pictured him kissing another woman and twisted open the bottle.

I estimated an ounce for each drink and poured the amber liquid over ice cubes, followed by some cola. For extra insurance, and because I was still mad at him, I threw another splash of rum into Tank's gla.s.s.

I rummaged through my medicine cabinet, found the sleeping pills Polly gave me and shook out two little blue capsules. They were kind of small and Tank was pretty big, so I added one more. Three should keep him out of the way until I was safely in the air, enjoying my complimentary in-flight package of peanuts. After breaking them open, I poured the powder into his gla.s.s and threw the tiny casings in the garbage.

It took only a few seconds to stir the drink before heading downstairs and hand Tank his before placing mine on the bar behind him. I walked over to the wall-mounted rack and grabbed my cue stick. Confidence surged through me as I returned to where he stood, drink in hand. I reached around and picked up mine.

"Here's to me kicking your b.u.t.t." I tapped my gla.s.s against his and watched him take a nice long swallow. I hid a smile against my gla.s.s and enjoyed a sip too. It tasted good. Tasted like victory.

"Best two out of three?" I asked.

Tank nodded the affirmative, placed his drink on the bar and walked over to the table. He lined up his shot and with a quick, powerful hit, sank two b.a.l.l.s.

Lucky break.

He moved around the table, a.n.a.lyzing all angles and then sank one, two, three b.a.l.l.s in a row. Impressed, I sipped my rum. Two of his b.a.l.l.s were left on the table when he missed the fourth shot. With a slight shrug, he turned to face me. "Let's see what you got, darlin'."

"Ha. What I got is a perfectly executed game about to happen. Stand aside."

I chalked my cue stick while I walked around, checking out the lay of the table. I was pretty good at pool, I had to be. In my line of work, you hung out at bars and pool halls, talking to people and I'd picked up a few tricks. I made some fancy bank shots, double backs, and sank four in a row.

My fifth shot was impossible to execute, so as a nasty treat, I tapped my ball and left the white cue ball tucked behind it. The only way he could make the shot was by hitting the cue ball down the length of the table, strike a precise, exact location and roll back, just kissing his ball so it would slide into the pocket.

Laughing outright I said, "Let's see you get out of this one, big boy." I toasted him with my drink again.

"I've got moves you've never seen, babe." A wolfish grin crossed his lips.

Normal Tank was dangerous, but playful Tank was lethal and a familiar energy sizzled through my system. He threw back about half his rum, put down the gla.s.s and lined up his shot. Slow and deliberate he pulled the cue stick back-paused and winked at me-and made the shot.

I levelled a narrow glance at him. How long would it take for those pills to kick in? He was making some pretty impressive shots and if he won, I'd have to remove a piece of clothing.

Standing rules between Tank and I are this: in strip pool, we played best of three. When one person lost two matches, the game was called and the winner got whatever he, or she, wanted. I took a quick mental inventory of what I had on. Jeans, sweater, tee shirt and not much more. Maybe he'd let me take off my watch.

He dropped his seventh ball no problem and my eyes widened when he called and pocketed the eight ball, back left corner.

There were still three of my b.a.l.l.s on the table.

I went to remove my sweater, but a tap on my arm stopped me. Tank's cue stick rested on my forearm and I followed the smooth line of the glossy stick until my gaze reached his face. Amus.e.m.e.nt shone out of his eyes as he shook his head and with the cue stick, pointed to my jeans.

"You don't get to choose. I'll take off my sweater." No way would I parade around in my underwear. Not anymore.

I slid my sweater off and draped it over the bar. So far, Plan C was not working the way I envisioned and there was no Plan D. Maintaining composure as best I could under the circ.u.mstances, I tugged my tee shirt back into place.

Because Tank won, I had to break. While I gathered the b.a.l.l.s and arranged them in the triangle brace, Tank leaned against the bar, crossing his long muscular legs at the ankles.

Easy for him to be all relaxed, he didn't have to win two games in a row. Stifling a big yawn, I took a firm grip on the cue stick.

"I love that tee shirt," I heard him say. "We bought it in Cancun. Do you remember? That was the best two weeks ever."

Oh, I remembered all right. We went to Cancun for our honeymoon.

Gritting my teeth, I concentrated hard and hit the white cue ball dead center. When I'd finished with the follow-through, only one ball dropped. The hit had been too hard.

Tank was distracting me, not the other way around. Another yawn stretched through me as I chalked my cue stick and walked around, checking my options. He nursed his drink, looking like a guy who didn't have a care in the world. Looking like a guy who only had to win one more game. Those stupid pills had better start working soon since I'd just delivered a lousy break.

No matter which angle I tried, the b.a.l.l.s were crowded too close together and there was no way to get a clean shot. As much as I hated playing 'dirty pool', I'd have to try and hook him without looking like I hooked him.

Tank continued reminiscing. "Yup, Cancun was a good time, but Connecticut... Now that's a holiday I'll never forget."

Whew, was it hot in here?

"I loved roughing it in Connecticut."

I gulped a big mouthful of my drink, and sucked in some ice to cool down. The heat intensified as I remembered how we 'roughed it.' After a long day hiking Tank said I'd walked through poison oak and insisted on checking me out, most thoroughly. While it turned out there had been no poison oak, not one spot on my body had been left untouched, kissed, or caressed.

"Tune him out," I muttered. "He's trying to side track you." And doing a good job.

I rolled my shoulders in a vain attempt to loosen the muscles. We both knew it was a stall tactic. Finally, I had the shot lined up, but my hand was damp and the cue stick slipped, breaking the b.a.l.l.s wide open. Not a single ball dropped. Defeated, I stared at the brightly scattered b.a.l.l.s like Napoleon must have done with his troops at Waterloo.

Tank pushed away from the bar and slid behind me, a solid package of heated testosterone and muscle. One large hand was placed on either side of my body, effectively boxing me in against the pool table.

"Loosen your shirt babe, I think you're time has come," he drawled against my heated cheek and dropped a kiss behind my ear.

Ripples of antic.i.p.ation careened through my midsection and there wasn't much I could do except watch in dumb horror while Tank moved around the table, making impossible shots like he'd done this all his life. Complete and utter silence followed the thunk of the eight ball landing on another ball in the side pocket.

What went wrong? I have always played better pool than Tank and now because he won, he'd get whatever he wanted. He plucked the cue stick from my nerveless fingers and leaned it against the wall.

"Come here," he said and pulled me against his chest.

Head lowered, my forehead touching his chest, I whispered. "How did this happen? I've always won at pool."

"Yes, because I let you. It was more fun that way," he whispered against my neck as his fingers blazed a trail down my back. Warm hands pulled me close, branding me through the thin cotton. Pushing one leg between mine, there was no mistaking his intentions.

"Do you want it hard and fast, or soft and slow?" His deep voice, thick and heavy with desire, flowed over me.

"Yes," I whispered.

G.o.d help me. I wanted it all.

Chapter Six.

Tank ran a hand over my rounded hip. Every inch of my skin tingled and my need for him outweighed any disappointment I'd felt at losing the game. Any hurt I'd felt when he'd left.

"Kiss me, Tank. Please." I whispered.

He lifted me onto my tiptoes and covered my mouth with his. His mouth was hungry and demanding and I kissed him back until my head swam and I was out of breath. He tore his lips from mine and lifted me onto the bar stool.

"Don't move," he warned in a low voice.

Are you kidding? I was a hot mess, quivering with need and he said don't move.

"Why?" I asked, and sucked in a breath when his fingertips feathered across my collarbone and down my arms.

"This is the soft and slow part, sweetheart."

Something akin to remorse flickered behind his eyes. I'd changed my mind. I wanted it fast and hard. And now. Did he know I wanted it now? Finally, after an eternity of waiting, he cupped my face and pressed his lips against mine and I whimpered. This unbearable need, this thirst, could only be quenched by Tank.

He drew back from the kiss and looked straight into my eyes. Hypnotized at the sight of his tongue moistening his lips, I gripped the arms of the chair and swallowed hard. He stepped back and began to unzip his jeans, then stopped.

"Is this what you were playing for?" His voice was cold, devoid of his usual humor.

A coil of unease snaked its way down my back at the question, but I was too far gone to care. I wanted him. I hopped off the bar stool and reached for his jeans.

In a blur of motion, I found myself on the pool table, large hands holding me against the rich felt cloth. With his full weight on one hand, he cradled the back of my head with the other. Raising me, he covered my mouth with his, a frantic meshing of lips, teeth and tongue, broken only when we came up for air. Then he lifted his head and looked at me. I smiled and raised my hand to caress his face, but his diamond hard eyes pierced my soul.

"Don't ever screw with me again. You want s.e.x, just ask nice."

My hand dropped to the pool table and another part of me died, burrowing deep within my inner humiliation. He left me on the pool table and his quiet voice filtered down as he made his way to the main level. "I switched drinks with you. Sweet dreams."

Reality slammed into me as his dead tone washed me over like cold water. What had I done? Why did I think I could treat him like that? I'd take it all back if I could. Gathering my clothing, I headed upstairs. How did he know? Any dreams that he could love me again were shattered and I had no one to blame but myself.

My head felt fuzzy, I could barely put one foot in front of the other and my tongue began to swell in my mouth. I made it to the bedroom, dragged off my jeans and tee shirt, leaving them in a pile by the door. When I reached the bed I fell face down and was asleep before I could even crawl under the covers.

When I awoke, I found myself under the blankets, spooned against Tank's warm front, his arm flung over me. This was how we always slept and for a brief, quiet moment I savored the feel of his arm around me. Grit filled my eyes and I had a headache which made me wish I were dead.

Thankfully, I'd drunk only half of the doctored rum or I might have slept the whole day away. The room, bright with sunshine gave me sinking feeling I'd missed my alarm. Or Tank had turned it off. Either way not good, as my flight was at noon.

I eased out of Tank's grip in an attempt to see the alarm clock. If he woke before I could slip away, I'd never get out of bed. There was never a morning he hadn't awakened with an intimate agenda. And when we were still together, I'd happily shared. Finally, I'd inched close enough to see the time.

It was almost ten o'clock. There was no way I'd get to the airport, clear security and make my plane. Now I'd have to take a later flight or go tomorrow. First thing I had to do was call Polly, reschedule the flight, then-Tank's hand tightened.

Any plans to escape were doomed. He pulled me back against his solid chest, making me lose my hard-earned s.p.a.ce and rocked his hips. I froze in place and closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep.

"I know you're awake." He nuzzled my neck. "And I'm sorry about last night."

Tears p.r.i.c.ked the back of my eyelids. Even though I was the one who tried to drug him, he was apologizing. Turning my head, ever so slightly, Tank captured my mouth with his.

"I'm sorry, too." I whispered against his mouth.

Time slowed as he gathered me close and smoothed his hand down my back.

"I need you, Shelby. Will you let me show you?"

Mute, I nodded yes. I wanted this as much, if not more than him. Firm lips brushed along my collarbone and then moved lower. Much later, he covered us both with the duvet and held me tight.

Chapter Seven.

I'm not sure how long I'd slept, but when I finally awakened, I stretched like a content cat in the sun, completely sated. The killer headache lingered. I rolled out of bed and almost fell. The inside of my thighs burned and my legs felt like rubber. Exercising with a Thigh Master for days wouldn't hurt as bad.

Yoga, I should take yoga cla.s.ses. Stay flexible and bendy. Of course, I'd have to sign Polly up with me. I wanted her tortured too.

On autopilot, I gathered my jeans and underwear draped over a chair and tossed them into the laundry basket. The black tee shirt Tank had on last night lay crumpled at the foot of my bed and I stooped to pick it up. Torn between tossing it in the room he was staying in or chucking it in the garbage, I paused. Almost against my will, I brought the shirt to my nose and inhaled his scent. I loved his cologne. In fact, I avoided the men's areas in department stores, because if I smelled this particular brand, I missed him even more.

Carefully I folded and tucked the shirt into a corner of my closet. This would be my guilty pleasure when he left.

I padded into the bathroom and had a shower, which went cold because I stood in there so long trying to shake off the effects of three sleeping pills and a couple hits of rum. When I started to brush my teeth I noticed a post-it note stuck on the mirror with Tank's distinctive handwriting scrawled across the page.

Coffee made. Omelet in microwave. T.

This show of kindness still didn't make me change my mind about letting him in on my plan. I had to find Harrison before he did. The Grants hired me to do a job and I couldn't let my personal life get in the way.

Sure enough, there was coffee in the thermos and I sat down to a well-balanced breakfast of a cheese omelet, coffee and painkillers. I took my food out to the back deck and enjoyed the fresh air. A twinge of regret flowed through me again as I remembered how cold his eyes had been. I couldn't remember a time, ever, when Tank lost his temper with me.

Not that we didn't have our differences and argue. You can't live with someone for over a year and not have some disagreements. But we'd never had a down and out fight. We didn't even raise our voices when he left me for another woman. He just walked out, leaving me stunned at the door.

The painkillers kicked in, so feeling somewhat human again, I called Polly while I grabbed a scrunchie out of my junk drawer and tied back my hair. She'd have to reschedule my flight time. The phone rang a couple of times before she answered.

"Stewart Investigations, can you hold please?"

In disbelief, I held the phone away from my ear and stared at it. When did we get a 'hold' b.u.t.ton on our phone? And just how busy was Polly that she put me on hold? In less than a minute she came back on the line.

"What happened, hon? You missed your flight. Was it cancelled?"

"No, Tank happened." I continued to twist my hair into a ponytail. "Long story, Polly. Did the Grants phone back after Tank visited them?"

"No, but Regis did. You need to have a talk with him. He's becoming a nuisance, again."