Fury of Fire (Dragonfury Series #1)

the end of her cue, she moved to the end of the table.
    “Maybe I just wanna see you bend over. You’ve got a very pretty ass.”
    “Nice try, hot shot, but I’m not that easily distracted.” At least, under normal circumstances. Rikar’s compliment, though, cracked her wide open. She liked the fact he saw her as a woman, complete with curves and white-hot need. After years on the force, the cops she worked with considered her one of the boys and treated her like one. Thank God…on so many levels. Her job was hard enough without adding a sexual angle.
    Grinning like the devil she suspected he was, Rikar walked toward her end of the table.
    “Stay where you are.” She pointed the end of her stick at him. Yeah, he might like the way she looked in her jeans, but that didn’t mean she’d give him a free show.
    Eyes intense in the low light, his chest expanded then released as he breathed out. Just loud enough for her to hear over the retro ’70s music, he said, “You gonna make me earn it?”
    “You have no idea.”
    With her hand braced on the table, Angela pulled the stick back and let it fly. As the chalked end struck, the white ball shot down the table, cracking the colorful triangle wide open. Stripes and solids ricocheted, bouncing off felt bumpers, heading toward pockets and…
    The blue ball rolled into the middle pocket.
    Solids it was.
    As she worked her way around the table, sinking shots like a pro, Rikar stood by, the butt of his pool cue planted on the wooden floor, watching, waiting for her to make a mistake. But she hadn’t lied. Pool was her game. A family tradition learned at her father’s knee.
    Minutes ticked into an hour and, as she beat Rikar time and again, he teased her, made her laugh, kept her guessing. And God, she enjoyed every second of it. Soaked up the attention. Loved that he wanted her and wasn’t afraid to show it. Even when it meant losing one game after another.
    Yeah, he was a good sport: charming, clever, and…watchful.
    Something about that made the cop in her wake up. The way he watched her was on par with how she studied suspects. In a word?…probing. Okay, so the examination was mixed with desire, but…
    Just like him, it was a little off. Wasn’t right, somehow.
    Why? She didn’t know, but her observation changed the game plan. No matter how much he interested her, she couldn’t abandon caution so completely. Other women would’ve done it, but she’d seen too much—been to too many bloody crime scenes—to trust without knowing. So, no. Taking Rikar home wasn’t an option for her. Not tonight. Not until she got to know him better.
    He racked another round.
    Angela leaned her pool cue against the side of the table. “Look, I’ve got to get going. Wanna save round two for another night?”
    “I don’t have another night, angel.”
    Brows drawn tight, she stared at him. “What do you—”
    He struck so fast Angela didn’t see him move. One second he stood at the end of the table. And the next? His hands were on her, one wrapped around her wrist, the other against the nape of her neck. Her training kicked in, shoving her into defense mode. But it was too late.
    Out-muscling her, Rikar picked her up, moving them back into shadows. She bucked, brought her knee up, aiming for his groin. He shifted, using his legs to trap hers. She screamed for the cops across the bar. They would hear her. Old school or not, they would come and—
    “They can’t hear you, angel.” Rikar brushed his mouth against her ear and, tone full of regret, whispered, “Can’t see you either. We’re alone here.”
    “D-don’t…” Helplessness rose, choking her with fear as she fought to break his hold. Rikar held firm, pinning her arms and legs, pressing her shoulder blades into the wall at her back. Oh, God. He was too strong. She couldn’t escape and…
    He’d rape her, here in the shadows, in plain view of a bar full of cops. Why couldn’t they see her? Why weren’t they rushing to help her?
    Tears blurred her vision. She screamed again. “Get off me…get off—”
    “Easy. I want you, yes…but this isn’t about sex. I won’t touch you that way. I’m not going to hurt you.”
    “Go to hell,” she said, knowing he lied. A guy didn’t pin a woman down to have a friendly conversation. “Get your hands off me.”
    “I’m sorry,” he said, looking like he actually meant it.
    Angela didn’t believe the lame apology for a second. She knew better. The sick