When he followed her gaze, he saw the crowd in the bar had grown even more, so that there were groups standing, drinks in hand, just outside the room.
"Even as Lucas, I don't think you'd want to get arrested for…" She glanced back at him, the laughter clear in her eyes. "What exactly was it you had in mind a few seconds ago?"
"You're playing with fire, Mac."
When she laughed, he couldn't help but smile.
"You stand over there like a good boy," she said.
Lucas very nearly laughed, himself, when he did exactly what he was told. Meekness had never been one of his strongest virtues, probably because he didn't believe that the meek would one day inherit the earth. But then, thanks to the doc, he'd done a lot of things out of character in the past day and a half. Of course, it wasn't the doc ordering him around now. It was Mac.
Leaning against the wall, he watched her take the rack off the balls and bend over the table. As she ran the stick through her fingers in short little strokes, he watched her hands. Her fingers were long, delicate-looking. But he recalled how strong they'd felt on his skin, pressing, demanding. Taking.
Straightening, Mac lifted, then relaxed her shoulders in a circular motion. This time, she planted her feet farther apart before she bent back over the table.
If they were alone, he could walk right up to her and… Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone glance into the room, then walk away. He could easily shut the door and prop a chair against it. Then he could go to her, lean over the table with her… She would gasp in surprise as he pressed against her, pinning her against the table. Then he would whisper in her ear, "You don't know me. I'm not even going to tell you my name." He would tell her exactly what he was going to do, describe every action, even as he did it. He'd make quick work of pushing the skirt up to her waist. Then he'd release his zipper and free himself so that she could feel him pressing against her with nothing but her panties separating them. All he would have to do then was push her down against the table and tear away that last, thin, silky barrier. Then he could bury himself in her. Lose himself—
The sharp crack of the cue ball smacking against the others sent Lucas's fantasy splintering off in as many directions as the balls. Drawing in a deep breath, he let it out slowly and dragged his attention back to the pool table. He thought he saw three balls sink into pockets.
"Aren't you going to congratulate me?" Mac beamed a smile at him as she moved to the other side of the table.
"Congratulations." He struggled to free his mind of the remnants of the fantasy he'd woven.
"That doesn't sound very sincere. I don't think you were paying attention."
Could she see into his mind?
"Watch," she said as if she were talking to a recalcitrant child. "I'll show you again."
To Lucas's astonishment, she did.
"Well?"
"Do it again," he challenged. This time he watched more carefully as she set up a complicated bank shot. It wasn't the one he would have chosen, but the moment she set it into motion, the cue ball careened off the side of the table into three others and sent them spinning into three different pockets.
"You hustled me," he said.
"I did no such thing," she said, moving toward him. "You assumed I didn't know how to play, and you're the one who wanted to make a little wager, just to keep the game more interesting."
"Were you telling the truth? Did you really learn to shoot pool when you were playing hooky from your nannies?"
"I learned in college. I was too young to date, but there were a lot of guys who didn't mind a kid sister-type tagging along. Especially if she could tutor them in physics or biology or calculus."
"That's all they wanted you to do? Tutor them?"
"I started college at fourteen. The deans and the resident directors had read all the guys the riot act. Not that they were tempted. I was a total geek, a one-hundred-percent nerd."
Mac at fourteen. Lucas tried to form a picture of it in his mind. It reminded him of the person he'd glimpsed at Sophie's party – a timid little bird, eager to help but determined to remain on the sidelines. Probably because she was so sure she wouldn't fit in.
"Did you beat them all at pool?"
She shrugged. "It wasn't hard. Getting them to see the utter simplicity of calculus was hard."
"I'll bet." He could barely keep a straight face at the seriousness of her expression. He wanted to grab her and hug her, twirl her around the room. But he didn't trust himself to touch her at all. And if he was patient now, he might learn more about the woman who hid behind the facade of Dr. Lloyd. Look how much he'd learned already. It was a good enough excuse to wait – almost.
He watched her lean across the table for a very long shot. She could have taken it more comfortably from the other side of the table. Was she doing it because she didn't see that, or was she doing it so that he could see the lacy edge of her panties when her skirt moved up? He took another drink of his beer to ease the dryness in his throat and watched the ball sink.
By the time she'd cleared the table, he'd had several more views of the edge of her panties. He was just about through waiting.
She collected and racked the balls before she approached him. Then she put a hand on his arm and said in a voice only he could hear, "Time to pay up. Picture this – I'm taking your pants off right now. Of course, I can't really take them off." She glanced toward the doorway. "Someone might come in, so we'll just have to imagine that you have to take your shots wearing only your boxer shorts."
He leaned down and whispered into her ear. "I'm not wearing boxers or briefs. Picture that."
The quick hitch of her breath had him grinning as he moved to the door, shut it and jammed a chair beneath the knob.
When he turned back to her, she was taking off the string of pearls she'd worn around her neck. "Now you can really take off your pants."
He walked toward her. "Now I can do a lot of things I've been planning."
She let the pearls swing from two fingers. "I've been thinking of something too."
He lifted her onto the pool table and began to ease off her panties.
"You were supposed to take off yours first."
There was laughter mixed with the excitement in her eyes. He couldn't have wanted her more. "No problem." Pulling the belt loose, he let his pants slip to the floor.
"I suppose you're going to insist on going ahead with your plan first."
"Absolutely," he said as he gripped her hips and pulled her to the edge of the table. "But I promise to let you have your turn next."
*
Very slowly, Sophie twisted around on the bar stool and let her gaze move over the crowd. The room was dim, the music live and pulsing with bass. Laced through it was the din of conversation and laughter.
She was in her element. She should be having a good time.
And the prickling sensation at the back of her neck was just due to the fact that she was in a place where people came to meet other people. Of course, they would be looking at her – perhaps even staring. She glanced down at the dress. Hadn't she chosen it just to get some attention?
She'd bought it Monday on that shopping trip with Mac. The green color went particularly well with the red wig she was wearing tonight. When she'd walked through the lobby of the hotel and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she'd been amazed at her resemblance to Mac.
Lifting her glass, she took a sip. Tonight she was MacKenzie Lloyd and not Sophie Wainright, and she was going to have a good time.
The concierge at her hotel had been right on the money with his recommendation. The Side Street Grill was crowded with people, mostly singles, or at least pretending to be. The last man she'd danced with had forgotten to take off his wedding ring. Tables circled a dance floor, and on the second level, pressed against a balcony railing. On one wall, tall glass windows looked out on a patio lit with Chinese lanterns.
She caught herself rubbing the back of her neck again and immediately dropped her hand to her lap. She was being ridiculous, paranoid. Gripping her wineglass between her fingers, she began to turn it in slow circles on the bar.
Why not admit the truth? She was bored. Lifting her wineglass, she licked a drop off the rim, then set it back down.
Perhaps she should go back to D.C. If only Mac were here to talk to, or even— She set the glass down so fast she nearly overturned it. She couldn't be wishing that the Shadow were here, could she?
Definitely not! She wanted to torture the man, slowly, not … what? She certainly wasn't thinking of using some of Mac's research on him! She didn't know anything about him, other than that he was big, bigger than Lucas even. And strong. Smart too. When she'd cooled down enough to read the file he'd compiled on Bradley, she'd found his report thorough, well written and concise.
And he'd held her when she'd cried. A lot of men couldn't stand a woman's tears, but the Shadow hadn't been fazed.
She ran her finger around the rim of her wineglass. Well, she certainly wasn't going to soften toward him because of that.
And if she was wishing him here, it was just because it would give her great satisfaction to give him the slip again. Although if she were to consider using Mac's research on him… She ran her finger around the top of her wineglass again. There was more than one way to torture a man. She dipped her finger into the wine, then licked the drops off.