Page 43 of Prince of Her Heart
Her heart stuttered.
The fatigue from earlier vanished in an instant.She didn’t feel tired anymore.Or bored.She feltalive.
She thought of his hands on her body, the sound of his voice in the dark, the way he’d worshipped every inch of her the night before.Desire curled low in her belly.
“You gonna take your shot or are ya conceding the game?”Tim’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and sour.
It took real effort to tear her eyes away from Ramzi.
But when she did, Tabitha saw exactly what Tim was hoping for—she’d concede the game, sparing him the humiliation of being beaten by a woman.
Not a chance.
He was already wearing that smug, patronizing expression she’d come to recognize—and despise—in far too many men.That sealed it.She shifted her stance and bent over the table, letting her mind focus on geometry and angles instead of Ramzi’s gaze still burning into her skin.
Four shots later, she sank the final ball.Tim muttered a string of expletives under his breath, and Tabitha straightened just as Ramzi appeared at her side.
“Nice shot,” he murmured, a smile playing at the edges of his mouth.
Then he turned to Tim, who was now loudly complaining that the cue stick was warped.
“Mind if I take the next game?”Ramzi asked politely.
Tim snorted.“Whatever, dude,” he replied, handing over the pool stick with a little too much flair, like he might toss it.But at the last second, he held on and turned away with a scowl.
Tabitha smothered a laugh, wondering if Ramzi had just pushed all the right buttons on purpose.Maybe they were one step away from a bar fight.
Except… they weren’t.
She noticed Ramzi’s bodyguards—men she hadn’t even realized had entered the bar—had subtly repositioned themselves.They hadn’t spoken.They hadn’t glared.They’d simply moved.With impressive, silent precision, they created a new energy in the room.
And just like that, Tim’s hostility fizzled out.
Tabitha blinked.That was… fascinating.She’d bet good money those men could teach a masterclass in crowd control.Or negotiation tactics.Or corporate intimidation.
But she had other things to worry about at the moment.
Namely, Ramzi, who was now leaning into her, crowding her slightly against the pool table.Not enough to be obvious.Just enough to make her nerves tingle.
“Think you can do that again?”he asked, his voice like velvet and sin.
Was he talking about pool?
Or last night?
“Yeah,” she whispered.“I think I can.”
She felt daring.Reckless.A little drunk on him and not nearly drunk enough on the awful beer.
Ramzi’s smile turned lazy and heated.“Good.Show me.”
He stepped back, finally giving her space.But the warmth of his presence lingered.
With casual grace, he set the triangle, racking up the balls.Tabitha’s eyes dropped to his hands, then to his forearms.The sleeves of his French blue dress shirt were rolled up, revealing tan skin and powerful muscles.The top buttons were undone at the collar, just enough to show a tempting glimpse of his throat.
Why, exactly, was she suddenly obsessed with the man’s Adam’s apple?
She must be losing her mind.
