About That Night by Beth Andrews Read Free Book Online Page B

back to her face. “Clean living, perhaps?”
    He studied her. Looking for whatever answer he needed to hear to let himself get over her earlier rejection. Let him look. She kept her thoughts and her secrets well hidden.
    “If you’re waiting for me to beg,” she said, her tone threaded with humor and a hint of nerves she prayed he couldn’t detect, “you’re going to be very disappointed.”
    “I’ve never been into making people beg,” he told her. “For any reason. I’m waiting for you to tell me why you changed your mind.”
    “Does it matter?”
    “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I’m afraid it does.”
    “Most men wouldn’t question their good fortune. They’d either accept it as their due or run with it before that luck turned again.”
    “Well, now, darlin’, here’s the thing.” Leaning toward her, he spoke directly into her ear, his words quiet, his breath warm against her skin. “I’m not most men.”
    “I guess you’re not. But since it’s not enough for you that I’m here, that I’ve changed my mind, which is a woman’s prerogative as I’m sure you know, maybe I should just...change it again.”
    A dare. A challenge. One meant to inspire him to let her off the hook. To accept what she was willing to give, no matter what her reasons.
    Or watch her walk away again.
    He shifted, bringing their bodies close but not touching. The urge to move back was as strong as the one to step forward. Doing neither, she tipped her head to maintain eye contact.
    “I’m not asking for a lot,” he said. “Just the truth.”
    Her laugh was part snort of disbelief, part oh-you-simple-man-you. “Ah, but the truth is the most powerful thing out there.”
    Their gazes locked. She didn’t know whether to laugh or shout in frustration. They were at an obvious impasse. And how had that happened? Men didn’t argue with her, for God’s sake. They didn’t question her motives. Didn’t care about those motives, as long as they got what they wanted in the end.
    I’m not most men.
    That was why she was here, she reminded herself. What attracted her to him.
    And wasn’t that coming back to bite her in the ass?
    It didn’t matter what he decided, she told herself. Didn’t matter that she was holding her breath waiting, that her palms were growing damp. If she walked away, he’d be the one kicking himself for letting her go.
    Her pride nudged her to get moving already. Reminded her that she wasn’t some pathetic woman in need of a man’s approval or his attention. She was strong. Independent. Brave enough to go after what she wanted.
    Of course, her pride was also what had pushed her to come to his room in the first place.
    Stupid pride.
    “Your loss, cowboy,” she said, though she wondered if she wasn’t losing, as well. She turned, but before she could take a step, he snatched her wrist, held it loosely.
    “Don’t.”
    It wasn’t an entreaty, more like a command.
    Looked as if she wasn’t the only one who refused to beg.
    Ducking her head, she indulged in a small, triumphant grin before facing him. She flicked a glance to his hand on her, then back up to his eyes. “You have a choice here, cowboy. A very simple one. You can spend the night alone, holding on to your grudge. Or,” she continued, sliding closer until her knee bumped his leg, her breasts inches from his chest, “you could spend the night holding on to me.” She lowered her voice to a soft, seductive whisper. “What’s it going to be?”
    Her breath was caught in her chest. Anticipation and nerves warred inside her. His mouth was a grim line, his chest rising and falling steadily as if he were completely unaffected by her nearness. Her words. The image she’d invoked of them together.
    As if he really was going to send her on her way.
    She needed to leave. To make her exit with as much dignity as possible.
    To make it before he took the choice away from her.
    But when she tried to tug her wrist free, his grip tightened. She