Wicked Nights. Anne Marsh

up, their crazy bets had been a regular summer occurrence. She’d come out to Discovery Island and spend two months indulging in soft-serve ice cream, motorboat rides—and daring Cal. Even then, before he’d become a U.S. Navy rescue swimmer and moved on to rescuing the more deserving than she, he’d wanted to save her from herself.

      She’d always been the bigger daredevil of the two of them. He’d rise to the occasion, but invariably remained so serious during the execution of their bets. He was a good sport when he lost, too, although he never lost by nearly as much as she wanted him to. Cal excelled at strategic thinking and, once he was in, he was all in.

      She looked over at him, taking his measure. He didn’t look worried about their current bet. “You remember the last time we played pool?”

      “Four years ago?” He sounded certain.

      “The game that ended with you skinny-dipping in the mayor’s pool?”

      He hadn’t expected to lose that particular game of pool, but he’d walked the four blocks to the mayor’s house, with her tagging along. Then he’d hopped the fence, lent her a hand as she scrambled over the top, awkwardly because her knee had been a hot mess, and proceeded to nonchalantly strip off. Good times. She’d give Cal credit. He always kept his word.

      “Some things are hard to forget,” he agreed.

      She wondered if now was the time to admit she’d snapped not one but six pictures of his amazing butt as he’d jumped into the pool. She’d hung on to those pictures, too, although she planned on claiming they were blackmail material.

      Like them all, he was a little older now, but she’d bet he still looked spectacular naked. When she’d walked into the bar, he’d been staring at his empty soda glass, lost in thought. The scruff on his jaw and the faded pair of blue jeans and polo shirt weren’t military issue, but there was no mistaking him for anything but a soldier. He’d also looked alone somehow, even in the middle of the bar’s cheerful chaos, and that wasn’t right. Sliding onto the stool beside him had seemed natural.

      Imagine that.

      While she and Cal had never been enemies, they’d never been close friends, either. Between competing to one-up each other and his annoying insistence he knew best, they’d been at odds more often than not, and the days of simply hanging out together had ended with her family vacations. He’d joined the U.S. Navy; she’d gone to college and been headed for a professional diving career. All of which meant they’d met up infrequently in the past few years. And yet...it certainly hadn’t escaped her attention that they invariably rubbed each other the wrong way when they shared air space.

      Grasping the base of the cue with her right hand, she rested the stick on the edge of the table. “You might want to back up. Bodily injury isn’t on tonight’s agenda.”

      “Thank God,” Daeg muttered behind them and took a drink of what she was fairly certain was her soda.

      Spreading her legs slightly, she leaned in and lined up the tip against the cue ball. “Three ball.”

      Take that. Her shot produced a smooth, fast line to the ball, and it dropped into the pocket with a satisfying thud.

      “Seven ball.” This time, it took a softer touch to send the ball into the pocket.

      Daeg whooped. “She’s taking you to the cleaners.”

      Then, darn it, the four ball ricocheted off the table’s side, and she knocked one of Cal’s balls into the pocket.

      “My turn,” he announced, satisfaction filling his voice.

      * * *

      CAL BIT BACK a grin. That was his Piper. She’d gone all out, and her all-in strategy had backfired. Spectacularly. If he sank his seven balls, the game was his. So much for losing intentionally.

      He looked over at her. “What do you think I should buy with my hundred bucks?”

      He wouldn’t actually take her money, but teasing her was too much fun to resist. She belted out a curse and stepped away.

      “Didn’t I hear you were trying to stop cursing?” His mother had pointedly mentioned Piper’s endeavor, apparently under the mistaken belief Cal might want to try the same himself.

      He picked out a cue stick from the rack while he waited for her answer.

      Her yes, when it came, was grudging. “I’ll put a quarter in the swear jar later.”

      He didn’t know where Piper had learned to curse, but she could definitely outswear many of the SEALs he’d served with. Plus, not only was she creative, but she was loud. Her jar probably held enough quarters to fund an entire new wing for the library she’d apparently announced was the jar’s beneficiary. Over the course of the next ten minutes, he proceeded to sink his seven balls, one after the other, and Piper’s obligations to the swear jar grew more substantial.

      Tag whistled. “I shouldn’t have bet against you.”

      She stepped up behind him as he eyed his final shot. It was game over as soon as he sank the eight ball. “I’d like to propose a side bet unrelated to this game,” she said.

      This game. Not a game.

      His critical-thinking skills suddenly became nonexistent, which was probably part of Piper’s master plan. She had to stand on tiptoe to reach his ear. God knew what it looked like to the other guys in the bar. Since her front was pressed against his butt, he wasn’t complaining.

      “What are we negotiating?” His voice sounded gruff, but some things were definitely beyond his control.

      “The Fiesta contract.” She didn’t retreat. Nope. If anything, she pressed in tighter.

      “I’m not stepping away,” he warned. If he wanted to bring more veterans out here to Discovery Island to work, he had to have the additional business. No pool game got in the way of that.

      “I wouldn’t ask you to bow out...more than once.” He felt rather than saw her smile against his throat. Piper had always been honest. It was one of the things he liked about her. Her next words were a whisper meant for him alone. “Loser takes orders from the winner for one night—in bed.”

      Whoa. He hadn’t seen this bet coming.

      “You’re crazy.” Of course, he’d known that for years. Piper had never met a chance she didn’t want to take. Twice.

      “If you’re so sure you’re going to win, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

      He looked down at her arms, caging him in place, and wondered if she’d thought her bet all the way through. “There are other ways to take a man to bed, Piper, if you’re desperate.”

      The bar’s noise gave them just enough privacy that the others couldn’t hear their low-voiced exchange, but this still wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have in public.

      She gave a little laugh. “I’m not desperate, Cal.”

      He eyed his cue stick and wondered what his next step should be. “Then, maybe you could explain it to me.”

      “We’ve always had a certain...chemistry. Aren’t you curious?”

      Oh, yeah, his inner bad boy growled.

      “I’m going to take my shot,” he warned, all thoughts of deliberately throwing their match vanishing. “I’m winning. You don’t want to give me that kind of opening.”

      “Go right ahead,” she said, and he had no idea what she was inviting him to do. And then...she blew on his ear. Right as he shot.

      He scratched, the eight ball rolling into the pocket. Well...hell.

      She stepped away. “Too bad, Cal. You lose.”

      Scratching the eight ball was an automatic loss. Piper was clever. And at least now he wouldn’t worry about