Chapter 59 The Game
Briar's POV
Before I could force my legs to move, Rowan's hand clamped around my wrist and yanked me back toward the private room. Through the haze of my racing heartbeat, I registered Lucian moving past us toward the bar area, his steps unhurried and deliberate as if he had all the time in the world to watch me panic.
He reached for a bottle on the top shelf, the movement making his shirt pull tight across his shoulders. He uncorked it with practiced ease and began pouring the deep red liquid into a crystal decanter, the subtle fragrance of aged grapes and oak spreading through the air as the wine opened up.
I watched him lean against the bar, one elbow propped on the polished surface, his posture relaxed in a way that felt deliberately calculated. His gaze shifted to Sienna, who was still standing by the pool table looking furious. His voice came out flat and dismissive. "Still here? Should I call security?"
Sienna grabbed the pool cue she'd abandoned earlier and slammed it down on the table's edge with enough force to make the remaining balls jump. "This is a public establishment. You can't just kick people out because you feel like it."
Lucian's mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "The floor you're standing on, I own it. The air you're breathing? Filtered through my ventilation system. Every light fixture, every piece of furniture, every fucking tile in this building belongs to me. So when I tell you to leave, you leave."
The color drained from Sienna's face before flooding back in an angry rush. She fumbled in her purse and pulled out her phone with shaking hands. "Fine. I'll pay for a private room then. Name your price and I'll transfer it right now."
"Actually," Lucian continued, his attention shifting to us for the first time since he'd started pouring wine.
Rowan snatched both glasses from the bar and shoved one into my hands. "Here. Liquid courage. Maybe it'll help you finally say what you've been holding back." Then she pushed me toward Lucian while grabbing Sienna's arm with her free hand, physically dragging her to the far side of the room, splitting the space into two distinct territories.
The sudden silence was jarring. Sienna's protests and Rowan's sharp responses faded into background noise, leaving just the two of us by the pool table in a bubble of quiet tension. I sipped the wine to buy time, but the taste only reminded me of better days and simpler problems.
"Well," I said finally, setting my glass down on the edge of the pool table with careful precision, "I should probably go. It's late and I have an early meeting tomorrow. See you."
Lucian made a sound that might have been a laugh if it had contained any actual humor. "Who said I wanted to see you again anyway?"
My gaze dropped to his shirt before I could stop myself, taking in the way the black silk hung loose and open at the collar, the way it draped across his frame in a way that seemed designed to draw attention.
The sleeves were rolled up carelessly, exposing his forearms and the lean muscle that shifted beneath his skin when he moved. He looked like he'd just rolled out of bed or was planning to roll into one, and the deliberate casualness of it made something hot in my chest.
"Right," I heard myself say. "You definitely didn't get dressed like that hoping Kai would appreciate the view. Unless this is your standard uniform for showing off—I mean, conducting business?"
His eyebrows rose slightly, genuine surprise flickering across his features before his expression shifted into something more dangerous, more amused. "Actually, I was planning to shift and give him a demonstration of my wolf form—full transformation, claws and all. You think he'd have the guts to stick around for that? Or are you worried I'm saving the private show for someone else?"
The image sent an unwelcome heat through my veins that had nothing to do with the wine. I took another drink to cover my reaction, draining half the glass in one long swallow that burned all the way down. He matched me, his gaze never leaving my face as he lifted his own glass to his lips.
The alcohol was already making my head feel light, my thoughts less sharp around the edges. I should leave. I should absolutely leave right now before this situation spiraled any further out of control. But my feet stayed planted exactly where they were.
"Want to play?" Lucian asked, gesturing toward the pool table with his glass.
I looked at the table, at the balls still scattered across the green felt from Sienna's failed attempts, and felt my resolve crumbling. He'd definitely dressed like this on purpose. He'd definitely orchestrated this entire encounter to get under my skin. And I was definitely going to let him because apparently I had no survival instincts whatsoever when it came to this man.
"Forget it," he added when I didn't respond immediately, his tone shifting to something that sounded almost bored. "You already said you didn't want any contact between us. I should respect that boundary."
The casual dismissal, the way he threw my own words back at me like a challenge, made my jaw clench. "Playing pool isn't exactly maintaining contact. It's more like competitive opposition."
His mouth curved into a real smile this time, sharp and satisfied. Across the room, I heard Kai's voice rise above Sienna's protests. "Come on, we're leaving. This isn't worth the headache." The sound of the door closing behind them seemed impossibly loud in the sudden quiet, the lock sliding into place with a definitive click that made my stomach drop. For a second I felt like I'd just walked into a trap, but it was too late to back out now.
Lucian was already gathering the balls and racking them with efficient movements. "Eight-ball," he said, not looking up from his task. "Stripes or solids. You can break."
I picked up a cue from the wall rack, testing its weight while trying to ignore my shaking hands. The break was clean, scattering the balls but sinking nothing. We fell into a rhythm, taking turns, the only sounds the sharp crack of ball against ball and our breathing that seemed too loud in the enclosed space.
He was good. Better than good, actually. His movements were precise and controlled, each shot calculated and executed with the kind of confidence that came from years of practice. Within a few rounds he'd cleared most of his stripes and was lining up for a shot on the eight ball, which sat in a difficult position near the corner pocket.
I watched him bend over the table, his shirt gaping at the collar to reveal his throat and sharp collarbones. The fabric slipped down his shoulder, exposing the curve of his spine and the shift of back muscles beneath his skin. He knew exactly what he was doing, wielding his body like a weapon designed to destroy my concentration.
The shot went wide. Not by much, just enough that the eight ball kissed the pocket's edge and rolled away. I stared at the table, at the obvious miss, and felt suspicion curl in my gut. He'd done that on purpose.
My last solid went down easily, leaving a clear shot at the eight if I could find the angle. The position was tricky, requiring me to lean across the table awkwardly, leaving me off-balance. I lined up the shot twice and abandoned it both times, searching for a better approach.
Then Lucian was there, moving up behind me so close I could feel the heat radiating off his body. One hand came down on the table's edge beside mine while the other settled on my lower back, applying gentle pressure that pushed me down into a deeper stance. His breath ghosted across the back of my neck when he spoke, sending shivers down my spine.
"This angle will work," he said, his voice low and rough. "Trust me."
His other hand came up to support my shooting arm, his fingers wrapping around my elbow to adjust the position while his chest pressed against my back. The contact felt deliberate and overwhelming, every point where our bodies touched sending sparks of awareness through my nervous system. He pushed down again, using his weight to force me into the correct stance.
"If you want it," he murmured against my ear, "you can't hesitate. You have to commit fully or you'll miss. How will you know if you don't try?"
I sensed a hidden meaning in his words, my heart racing too fast to focus. It felt like a furnace pressed against my back, burning me with restless heat.