Page 31 of One Last Encore

She shook the thought away and leaned down to take her next shot, her focus narrowing on the cue ball.Ignore him. Play the game. Win.

"Hold on," Beck’s voice was suddenly warm and entirely too close to her ear.

She froze as he stepped in behind her, his body barely brushing against hers. The scent of whiskey and his cologne curled around her senses, making it hard to think, let alone breathe properly.

"You’re favoring your left side," he noted, his voice smooth. His hand brushed lightly against her shoulder as he adjusted her position. "Pull your arm back. Like this."

She swallowed hard and mimicked his movements, trying desperately to focus on the game instead of the way his breath skimmed her skin.

"Yeah, just like that," he murmured. Before she could register what was happening, he bit her ear.

It was barely a graze, more of a playful nip than anything else, but it was enough.

Her body jerked in surprise, her grip slipping sending the cue stick skimming off course. The cue ball shot forward, directly into the eight ball.

She watched, horror dawning, as the eight ball rolled slowly, almost mockingly, across the table and dropped neatly into the corner pocket.

Silence. Then, a low chuckle vibrated against her back.

"Whoops," Beck said, utterly unrepentant, his chest shaking with laughter against her shoulder. "Guess I win."

Ingrid spun around so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash. The room wobbled for a second before she realized the real problem, she was trapped. Beck stood flush in front of her, arms braced on either side, hands gripping the pool table. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to look that didn’t land squarely onhim–his eyes, his mouth, that smirk.

Oh, he had planned this. The whole damn thing. He had played the long game, cheated, and manipulated his way into winning. The realization sent a little flip through her stomach. He wanted to spend time with her. Which was sweet. And therefore, absolutely horrifying.

Her grip on the pool stick tightened. She was so not letting him get away with this.

With a swift motion, she slid the end of the cue stick under his chin and tilted his head up, forcing him to meet her glare. "You are such a cheater," she accused, her voice dripping with frustration.

Beck only smirked. That lazy, insufferable,I could do this all day kind of smirkthat made her want to either kiss him or smack him upside the head with the cue stick. Possibly both, one right after the other.

His eyes gleamed with amusement, completely unbothered by the stick under his chin. If anything, he looked pleased, likethis was all going exactly according to plan. Likeshewas going exactly according to plan.

"It only worked because I fluster you," he said, slow and taunting. "Just admit it."

Her heart instantly betrayed her, hammering against her ribs like it had zero loyalty.Useless organ.But she was not going to give him the satisfaction.

"Never," she shot back, firm. "Because you don’t."

His body was heat and muscle, the kind of presence that swallowed the air around him. When his eyes locked onto hers, it wasn’t just intensity–it was hunger. Slow, burning, unsettling. It slithered down her spine and curled in low, dark places.

"Don’t I?" he murmured, voice a velvet blade.

She didn’t get the chance to flinch. One deft flick of his wrist, and the pool cue was no longer in her hands. He had it. And then he had her.

The smooth wood grazed her shoulder, a featherlight touch that felt anything but harmless. He dragged it down slowly across her collarbone, the slope of her arm, the dip of her waist. The fabric of her shirt shifted with the motion, a whisper of friction.

It should've been cold. It should’ve felt like nothing. But every nerve lit up like it had been waiting for this moment. And he was watching her.

Not the pool cue.Her.

Eyes pinned to hers, drinking in every stuttered breath, every involuntary twitch of her lips, every tightening muscle. There was no space left to hide. No shield strong enough to withstand that kind of focus.

Her throat worked as she swallowed, trying to tamp down the fire building in her chest, her stomach, between her thighs. But her body wasn’t interested in self-preservation. Her pulse waserratic, heartbeat hammering against his proximity, and heat curled so deep inside her.

This wasn’t real. He wasn’t real. Just adrenaline. Just a mistake waiting to happen.

But Beck’s smirk said otherwise. There was blood in the water, and he was circling her. That should’ve been her cue to run, to get out before he had her between his teeth.

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