My Fair Gentleman Read Free Page A

done that.
    She struck the cue ball hard, low and at precisely the right angle to lift it up and over the red ball. It landed with a thud and nicked black ivory, sending the eight ball rolling with agonizing slowness toward the pocket. Was it enough? Would it fall?
    Yess!
    Joe’s whoop rang out in the stunned silence. Catherine straightened and sent him a grateful smile, her flush of triumph giving him a glimpse of the woman she might be, given a little happiness or makeup.
    She looked toward the bar as if seeking someone’s congratulations. Her smile dimmed.
    Joe’s head snapped around.
    A man watched her from a bar stool. Blond hair, medium build, disapproving expression. Obviously her companion for the evening. Joe didn’t like him.
    The man’s gaze moved to him, and Joe stiffened. Pretty Boy’s appraisal was cold, amused and very thorough. Joe’s dislike verged on something stronger.
    “I’ve been hustled,” Earl protested, breaking the hostile moment.
    Joe turned and grinned at the old man’s sour expression. “No, you were beat fair and square. My debt’s canceled and you owe the lady a handshake.”
    Earl glanced at Catherine with grudging respect. “Maybe she could show me how she did that jump shot. I never been able to do it worth a damn.” Heshuffled over to the table, where Catherine stood racking balls with awkward jerky movements.
    Where had her gracefulness gone? Joe eyed the blond-haired man at the bar thoughtfully, then looked back at the disgruntled customers returning to their own interrupted games. Manhood had suffered a blow tonight. They were not happy campers. An irresistible idea hit him.
    He went with the moment and cupped his hand to his mouth. “Listen up, guys. There’s a free beer for anyone who’s interested.”
    Heads turned and faces lit. Skeeter took three steps forward then stopped, his expression suspicious. “Hey, you couldn’t even pay off Earl. How’re you gonna buy us all a beer?”
    Joe couldn’t contain his slow grin. “I’m not buyin’.” His thumb jerked toward Pretty Boy at the bar. “ He is.”
    C ATHERINE GLARED across the small round table at Joe’s casual sprawl and straightened her spine. He’d insisted on waiting for their beers to arrive before listening to her proposal. The delay gave her too much time to think. Too much time to analyze.
    She, Catherine Eliza Hamilton, who could trace her paternal ancestry back to English royalty, had threatened a man’s family jewels with her cue stick. She’d used her Ph.D. in psychology to rattle Earl’s composure and win a game of billiards. And as if that wasn’t enough, she’d enjoyed herself tremendously during both activities.
    Thank heavens her father was away, lecturing at Oxford University. She wouldn’t have to hear him rant about her appalling lack of decorum—the productof her mother’s working-class genes of course. He’d blamed Mary Lou Hamilton for his daughter’s every fall from grace since Catherine was three years old.
    Mary Lou had been a waitress before marrying Lawrence Hamilton, of the impoverished but socially prominent Connecticut Hamiltons. He’d divulged that tidbit the year Catherine had turned sixteen and begged to work at a movie theater with her friends. Instead of serving popcorn, she’d spent the summer serving up research for his latest Psychology Journal article.
    Although she now cowrote those articles, her father had never gotten around to adding her name to the byline.
    Sighing, she watched a miniskirted blonde approach their table carrying a tray. Joe’s teeth flashed white against his dark stubble as he drew in his long legs. The woman’s faux-leather hips swayed harder. Her breasts jiggled in the aftershock. Disgusting. Why, she looked old enough to be his…older sister. And that smile was positively incestuous.
    Bending low, the buxom waitress set two frosty bottles on the turquoise Formica. “Here they are, Joe, nice’n cold.”
    He wiggled his brows at