His Until Midnight. Reese Ryan

Eleven

       Twelve

       Thirteen

       Fourteen

       Fifteen

       Sixteen

       Seventeen

       Eighteen

       Nineteen

       Twenty

       Extract

       About the Publisher

       One

      Tessa Noble stared at the configuration of high and low balls scattered on the billiard table.

      “I’m completely screwed,” she muttered, sizing up her next move. After a particularly bad break and distracted play, she was losing badly.

      But how on earth could she be expected to concentrate on billiards when her best friend Ryan Bateman was wearing a fitted performance T-shirt that highlighted every single pectoral muscle and his impressive biceps. He could have, at the very least, worn a shirt that fit, instead of one that was a size too small, as a way to purposely enhance his muscles. And the view when he bent over the table in a pair of broken-in jeans that hugged his firm ass like they were made for it...

      How in the hell was she expected to play her best?

      “You’re not screwed,” Ryan said in a deep, husky voice that was as soothing as a warm bath. Three parts sex-in-a-glass and one part confidence out the wazoo.

      Tessa’s cheeks heated, inexplicably. Like she was a middle schooler giggling over double entendres and sexual innuendo.

      “Maybe not, but you’d sure as hell like to be screwed by your best friend over there,” Gail Walker whispered in her ear before taking another sip of her beer.

      Tessa elbowed her friend in the ribs, and the woman giggled, nearly shooting beer out of her nose.

      Gail, always a little too direct, lacked a filter after a second drink.

      Tessa walked around the billiard table, pool cue in hand, assessing her options again while her opponent huffed restlessly. Finally, she shook her head and sighed. “You obviously see something I don’t, because I don’t see a single makeable shot.”

      Ryan sidled closer, his movements reminiscent of a powerful jungle cat stalking prey. His green eyes gleamed even in the dim light of the bar.

      “You’re underestimating yourself, Tess,” Ryan murmured. “Just shut out all the noise, all the doubts, and focus.”

      She studied the table again, tugging her lower lip between her teeth, before turning back to him. “Ryan, I clearly don’t have a shot.”

      “Go for the four ball.” He nodded toward the purple ball wedged between two of her opponent’s balls.

      Tessa sucked in a deep breath and gripped the pool cue with one hand. She pressed her other hand to the table, formed a bridge and positioned the stick between her thumb and forefinger, gliding it back and forth.

      But the shot just wasn’t there.

      “I can’t make this shot.” She turned to look at him. “Maybe you could, but I can’t.”

      “That’s because you’re too tight, and your stance is all wrong.” Ryan studied her for a moment, then placed his hands on either side of her waist and shifted her a few inches. “Now you’re lined up with the ball. That should give you a better sight line.”

      Tessa’s eyes drifted closed momentarily as she tried to focus on the four ball, rather than the lingering heat from Ryan’s hands. Or his nearness as he hovered over her.

      She opened them again and slid the cue back and forth between her fingers, deliberating the position and pace of her shot.

      “Wait.” Ryan leaned over beside her. He slipped an arm around her waist and gripped the stick a few inches above where she clenched it. He stared straight ahead at the ball, his face inches from hers. “Loosen your grip on the cue. This is a finesse shot, so don’t try to muscle it. Just take it easy and smack the cue ball right in the center, and you’ve got this. Okay?”

      “Okay.” Tessa nodded, staring at the center of the white ball. She released a long breath, pulled back the cue and hit the cue ball dead in the center, nice and easy.

      The cue ball connected with the four ball with a smack. The purple ball rolled toward the corner pocket and slowed, teetering on the edge. But it had just enough momentum to carry it over into the pocket.

      “Yes!” Tessa squealed, smacking Ryan’s raised palm to give him a high five. “You’re amazing. You actually talked me through it.”

      “You did all the work. I was just your cheering section.” He winked in that way that made her tummy flutter.

      “Well, thank you.” She smiled. “I appreciate it.”

      “What are best friends for?” He shrugged, picking up his beer and taking a sip from the bottle.

      “Thought I was playing Tess,” Roy Jensen grumbled. “Nobody said anything about y’all tag-teaming me.”

      “Oh, quit complaining, you old coot.” Tessa stared down her opponent. “I always turn a blind eye when you ask for spelling help when we’re playing Scrabble.”

      Roy’s cheeks tinged pink, and he mumbled under his breath as Tessa moved around the table, deciding which shot to take next. She moved toward the blue two ball.

      “Hey, Ryan.” Lana, the way-too-friendly barmaid, sidled up next to him, her chest thrust forward and a smile as wide as the Rio Grande spread across her face. “Thought you might want another beer.”

      “Why thank you, kindly.” Ryan tipped an imaginary hat and returned the grin as he accepted the bottle.

      Tessa clenched her jaw, a burning sensation in her chest. She turned to her friend, whispering so neither Lana nor Ryan could hear her.

      “Why doesn’t she just take his head and smash it between the surgically enhanced boobs her ex-boyfriend gave her as a consolation prize? It’d be a lot easier for both of them.”

      “Watch it there, girl. You’re beginning to sound an awful lot like a jealous girlfriend.” Gail could barely contain her grin.

      “There’s nothing to be jealous of. Ryan and I are just friends. You know that.”

      “Best friends,” her friend pointed out, as she studied Ryan flirting with Lana. “But let’s face it. You’re two insanely attractive people. Are you really going to try and convince me that neither of you has ever considered—”

      “We haven’t.” Tessa took her shot, missing badly. It was a shot she should’ve