See Jane Score by Rachel Gibson Page B

we could play for drinks. Whoever loses has to buy all the guys a beer.”
    She contrived to look worried. “Oh. Hmm. Well, I’ve only got a fifty. Do you think that will cover it?”
    â€œThat ought to be enough,” he said, with all the arrogance of a man assured of his own success. And for the next half hour, Jane let him think he was winning too. Some of the other players gathered around to watch and heckle, but once she was behind by two hundred points and Rob was beginning to feel sorry for her, she got to work and beat him in four turns at the board. Darts were serious business, and she took serious pleasure in trouncing the Hammer.
    â€œWhere did you learn to play like that?” he asked.
    â€œBeginner’s luck.” She downed the last of her drink. “Who’s next?”
    â€œI’ll take you on.” Luc Martineau stepped out of the darkness and took the darts from Rob. The light from the bar chased varying degrees of shadows across his broad shoulders and the side of his face. Raindrops shone in his hair and the scent of the cool night breeze clung to him.
    â€œWatch out, Luc, she’s a hustler,” Rob warned.
    â€œIs that right?” One corner of Luc’s mouth lifted. “Are you a hustler, Ace?”
    â€œJust because I beat the Hammer, I’m automatically a hustler?”
    â€œNo. You let poor Rob think he was winning and then you coldcocked him. That makes you a hustler.”
    She tried not to smile, but she failed. “Are you scared?”
    â€œNot hardly.” He shook his head and a short lock of dark blond hair fell across his forehead. “Ready to play?”
    â€œI don’t know,” she said. “You’re a really bad sport.”
    â€œMe?” He placed a big hand on the front of his ribbed navy sweater, drawing her attention to his wide chest.
    â€œI’ve seen you whack the goalposts when a puck gets by you.”
    â€œI’m competitive.” His hand fell to his side. “Not a bad sport.”
    â€œRight.” She tilted her head and looked into his eyes, the light blue barely discernible within the dark bar. “Do you think you can stand to lose?”
    â€œI don’t plan to lose.” He motioned toward the tape line. “Ladies first.”
    When it came to darts, she took no prisoners and was both competitive and a bad sport. If he wanted her to go first, she wasn’t going to argue. “How much money are you willing to bet?”
    â€œI’ll put my fifty against your fifty.”
    â€œYou’re on.” Jane doubled on with her first throw and scored sixty points by the time she was through.
    Luc’s first throw bounced back and he didn’t double on until his third dart. “That sucked.” With his brows drawn together, he walked to the board and retrieved the darts. Standing within the pool of light, he studied the tips and flights. “These are dull,” he said, then looked across his shoulder at her. “Let me see yours.”
    She doubted hers were sharper and moved next to him. He took them from her open palm and, with his head bent over hers, tested the points with this thumb. “Yours aren’t as dull as mine.”
    He was so close, if she leaned forward just a little, her forehead would touch his. “Fine,” she said, managing to sound halfway normal, as if the clean scent of him didn’t make her breath catch in her throat. “Pick whichever three you want, and I’ll take the others.”
    â€œNo. We’ll use the same darts.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “That way, when I beat you, you can’t cry.”
    She looked into his eyes, so close to hers, and her heart thumped in her chest. “I’m not the one who threw a bounce-back on the very first throw, then blamed the darts.” And while her heart was thumping, he appeared totally unaffected. She took a step back and put distance