Chapter Twenty-Four
Thorne
I line up my shot. The cue ball cracks against the pack, sending them spinning across green felt. The red solid curves toward the corner pocket, kisses the edge, and drops with a satisfying thunk.
"Lucky shot," Ivy says from across the table.
I straighten, twisting the blue cube against my cue’s tip. Chalk dust clinging to my fingertips. "Luck has nothing to do with it."
Rain is pelting the tall windows that line the east wall of the billiards room, and though it’s twilight, the sky is already dark as night.
Inside is downright cozy. The vintage fixtures cast shadows across wood paneling where I’ve made deals, broken promises, and drowned my demons in bourbon. But tonight’s business is all fun.
Dinner ended hours ago. Madison and Lillianna left for 3Bs shortly after, talking a mile a minute about an author they both love who is doing a signing. Which means the entire night stretches out around us, empty and waiting.
I pick up my two fingers of Blackstone Reserve from the bar cart and take a sip. The warmth spreads through my chest.
Ivy leans against the table, pool cue balanced in one hand, her glass in the other. The overhead light catches the amber liquid as she takes a small sip, and I track the movement of her throat as she swallows.
"So you're saying you're good at this." She sets her drink on the edge of the pool table and circles toward me. She’s kicked off her shoes and her bare feet are silent on the antique rug.
"I'm saying I grew up on this table." I gesture with my cue. “This used to be my family’s estate. My father taught me to play when I was eight. Said a man who couldn't read angles couldn't read people."
"And can you?" She stops within arm's reach, and her seductive perfume cuts through the scent of leather and old wood. "Read people?"
"Yes."
"What am I thinking right now?"
My gaze drops to her mouth, then lower to where her silk camisole dips between her breasts. Heat crawls up her neck, flushing her cheeks. "That you want me to kiss you."
"Wrong." She reaches past me for the chalk, her arm brushing mine. The contact sends electricity skating across my skin. "I'm thinking about how cocky you are. And wondering if I should take you down a peg."
"You're welcome to try."
She leans against the table. “Strip pool?”
My hand tightens on the cue. "What?"
"You heard me. Every time we miss a shot, we take off an item of clothing. Whoever has the most clothes at the end wins.” She tips her chin up, eyes challenging. "Unless you're afraid you'll lose."
Fire floods through me, catching in my throat as a rough laugh. This woman. Christ. She has no idea what she does to me. Or how she makes everything else fade until there's nothing but her defiance, her heat, her absolute refusal to back down.
I step closer, toe to toe. Then lean in so close that our lips nearly touch. “Game on,” I whisper.
“Then show me what you've got, Blackstone.” Her pupils dilate and she runs her tongue across her bottom lip.
“Let’s start over.” I gather up the balls again and put them back in the racked triangle. My pulse kicks up, anticipation thrumming through my veins like aged whiskey. "Your break."
Heat coils in my gut as I imagine each piece of clothing hitting the floor.
She takes her position at the head of the table. The overhead light paints gold across the shoulders of her thin cardigan as she bends, cue sliding between her fingers. Concentration furrows her brow and she bites the corner of her lip.
The break cracks through the room. Balls scatter across felt—red and yellow spinning in opposite directions. The thirteen ball drops into a side pocket. Stripes.
"Not bad," I say.
She doesn't answer, already lining up her next shot. The nine ball. She makes it look easy, the cue ball kissing her target with just enough English to send it home. Then the eleven.
"Beginner's luck," I tease.
"Keep telling yourself that." She lines up the twelve, confidence radiating from every angle of her body. But she overshoots it by half an inch, and the ball ricochets off the bumper.
"Damn," she mutters.
"My turn." I let my gaze travel slowly down her body. "And yours to pay up."
She removes her cardigan, setting it on a nearby stool. "Happy?"
"Getting there."
I move to the table, rolling my shoulders. Three solids cluster near the corner pocket. Easy. I sink them one after another, muscle memory taking over. The four. The two. The six.
"Show off," she murmurs from behind me.
"You haven't seen anything yet." I line up my shot and sink it clean.
But on the seven, I deliberately put too much power behind the shot. The cue ball follows my target into the pocket with a hollow thunk.
Ivy's eyes narrow. "Did you just scratch on purpose?"
"Prove it." I kick off my socks and toss them toward her.
She dodges out of the way, laughing. "You're going to regret that."
"Probably."
The game continues. She misses the fifteen. Her eyes never leave mine as she removes her camisole and stands before me in a thin, pale pink bra. I want to trace the edges with my mouth.
"See something you like?" she asks.
"Yes."
I lose my shirt when I'm too aggressive on the five. She’s kind enough to help me out of it. And the game is almost over when she teases one of my nipples with her tongue. But she darts away before I can tempt her to stay.
She loses her skirt on a miscalculated angle. And how the hell am I supposed to concentrate on anything when she is standing in front of me in that falsely innocent pink bra and matching panties.
No surprise I completely miss. Off go my pants.
She sinks the fourteen with precision that makes my heart hammer. Then come around to where I’m standing. She grips me through my boxer briefs. A hiss escapes me, and I rock into her hand. She steps away, bending over to take her shot.
I move behind her, close enough that my rock-hard dick presses into the crevice of her ass. I thrust languidly against her, and her breath catches. “You going to take your shot?”
She looks at me over her shoulder. “I’d rather you take yours.”
I gather her hair in my hand and tug her up to me. “Turn around.”
She does, and I lift her onto the edge of the table. Her legs part automatically, making room for me to step between them. My hands find her waist. Her skin is hot beneath my palms, and she makes a sound that goes straight to my cock.
"Thorne—"
I swallow whatever she's about to say with my mouth. She tastes like Blackstone Reserve and something sweeter, something that's entirely her. Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer. Closer. Until there's no space between us, just heat and want and her fingers threading through my hair.
I press her back onto the felt, moving us more toward the center of the table. The balls scatter around us—ivory clicking against ivory—as I settle between her thighs. My mouth moves down her jaw, her neck, finding the hollow of her throat where her pulse hammers against my lips.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, nails biting skin, and I groan against her throat.
I could stay here forever with her body beneath mine, her breath coming in short gasps, the rest of the world locked away outside these walls.
My hand slides up her ribs, thumb grazing the underside of her breast through lace, and she arches into my touch like she's been waiting for this as long as I have.
"This table has seen a lot of games," I murmur against her skin. "But none like this."
Her laughter cuts off when my teeth scrape the swell of her breast. She arches into me, and I take it as permission. My tongue traces patterns on skin that tastes faintly of salt and perfume.
The door slams open, followed by Sebastian yelling, “What the fuck?"
I climb off the table with Ivy, moving her behind me, making sure my body blocks hers. "Jesus Christ, Bastian," I bite out. "Ever heard of knocking?"
He gives us his back. “Get dressed.”
I hand Ivy her clothes and get mine. “How about you leave?”
“No. This can’t wait. Please, let me know when you’re dressed, Ivy.”
Sebastian shakes his head and mutters, “Of course you’re sleeping with our lawyer. While everything is falling apart around us, thanks to you.”
“You should leave,” I tell Ivy.
“No,” she whispers. “I want to sink into the floor in a puddle of embarrassment, but we crossed this line together. I’m not letting you deal with our consequences alone.”
Her loyalty hits me like a shot of bourbon—warming and burning at once. I reach for her hand, squeeze once. “We're dressed, Bastian. And you're overreacting.”
“Am I? You're sleeping with our lawyer." He slaps a newspaper he’s holding against the pool table.
"Of course you are. Because you can't think past what you want for five fucking minutes.
You know what happens when this comes out?
They'll use it to discredit everything she's told us.
They'll make it look like she's been protecting you instead of giving us sound legal advice.
But you didn't think about that, did you?
You didn't think about her career, or the family, or me—you just took what you wanted. As usual.”
He tosses the paper he’s holding at my chest. I look down and the headline reads, “Blackstone Heir Visits Cooperating EPA Witness At His Home.” Below is a photo.
Me, at Williams's front door. Voss is blurred in the background, but it’s clear enough to identify me.
The damn photo is even timestamped and geotagged.
Who the hell was watching Williams's house? The EPA? Media? Someone with an agenda? He'd just been released on bail. They couldn't have already had surveillance set up—unless someone tipped them off. Could Williams be that stupid?
“Fuck,” I mutter.
“That’s all you have to say? Someone photographed you making contact with a federal cooperating witness," Sebastian points at the damaging evidence.
"And now it's everywhere. The news, social media, the trades.
They're asking what deals you made. Whether my green initiative is legitimate or a cover-up. "
“It’s not. We can prove it.” My throat tightens. I can’t grasp my footing. In a matter of seconds, my world is exploding. Fuck, more like my decisions are annihilating those I care about.
"That doesn't matter! By the time we can prove anything, it will be too late.” He snatches his phone from me.
"What matters is perception. What matters is that you went behind my back to visit the man who took bribes that could destroy us. After we agreed not to.” He moves into my personal space.
“What matters is that while I'm trying to hold this company together, you’re making deals without telling me and screwing our lawyer! "
“Sebsatian,” I warn. It’s one thing to come at me; it’s another to attack Ivy.
He turns back to me, opening his mouth, but I cut him off. “I was protecting your ass. Trying to fix a problem you weren’t willing to handle before it got worse."
"The only person's ass you've ever protected is yours." His eyes are ice. "You went to Williams. You made deals. You did it all alone, just like you always do."
“Because I had to.”
"No, because that's what you do. You think you know best. You make decisions that affect all of us without a single thought about the consequences.
" He's breathing hard, his hands clenched at his sides.
"I thought we were handling this as a family.
But you can't help yourself, can you? You're just like Dad. "
The words land like a blade between my ribs.
“Don’t,” I suck in a breath and let it out through my nose. "Don't compare me to him."
“Why not? You're doing exactly what he did.” Sebastian's laugh is bitter. “Whatever you want, whenever you want, and expecting everyone else to clean up your mess."
“I’m cleaning up our father’s mess.”
“By making deals behind my back? By fucking our lawyer?” he shoots back.
Ivy flinches beside me. Rage floods through me—protective, possessive. “Don’t disrespect her.”
He closes his eyes briefly, exhales. "I'm sorry, Ivy. That was out of line." His gaze shifts to me, cold and cutting. "But don't trust him. He'll wreck you just like he wrecks everything else, and he won't lose a minute of sleep over it."
I want to tell Sebastian to shut his mouth, but the words stick in my throat because he's right. I hurt everyone I love. And if I keep this up, I could easily fall in love with Ivy.
Since I can’t argue the truth of his words, I address the Williams situation. “I’ll get ahead of this. I can—.”
“No. You’ve done enough.” Sebastian slices his arm through the air. “I’ll fix what you've broken. Again.”
Sebastian storms out of the room, and the silence that follows is suffocating. Ivy stands statue-still, arms wrapped around herself, staring at the door. She hasn't looked at me since Sebastian's warning.
I step to the bar cart and knock back my drink, refilling and taking another healthy swallow. The bourbon burns, but not enough to touch the cold spreading through my chest.
Fuck him. Fuck this family. And fuck me for thinking I could have something good without destroying it.