About That Night Read Online Free Page A

step and slammed into a waitress.
    He grabbed hold of her upper arms to keep her from falling. Opened his mouth to apologize, only to have the words catch in his throat when he raised his head.
    Trouble .
    That was his first coherent thought. The kind of trouble that had a man forgetting all about his goals, self-preservation and his pride. The kind that brought a man to his knees and made him beg for more.
    Her hair was long and tumbled past her shoulders in soft, flaxen waves. Her mouth was lush and red. Her eyes the color of smoke. As he stared at her like some moron who’d never seen a woman before, those lips curved. Her gaze sharpened. Stayed direct and knowing.
    His gaze skimmed down the long line of her throat, lingered briefly at the V of pale skin and hint of cleavage visible above the button of her white shirt. While the other waitresses wore pants, she’d chosen a black skirt that hugged her hips, showcased the indentation of her waist and ended midthigh.
    Definitely trouble.
    The very best kind.
    “Sorry, cowboy,” she said, her husky, seductive voice matching her looks. “Not going to happen.”
    The humor in her tone, the glint in her eyes snapped him out of his reverie. “Excuse me?” he asked, sounding as formal and disapproving as the old biddies who congregated at the country club. Next thing he knew, he’d be adding a bless your heart at the end of his sentences.
    She smiled, all feminine power and confidence. “You looked like you were ready to take a big old bite out of me. But I’m not on the menu.”
    He wanted to snatch his hands away, stick them in his pockets like a schoolboy who’d been admonished to look but not touch. She couldn’t be serious. He couldn’t be the only one feeling the slow burn of desire, the heat of pure, unadulterated lust.
    The instant connection.
    He frowned. No. Not connection . Connections weren’t instantaneous. They were made over time, through common ground, parallel goals. Love at first sight was a myth, one invented by starry-eyed romantics who couldn’t admit what they were really feeling was human nature at its most basic. Sexual hunger. Need.
    He wanted her.
    And she stood there, seemingly unaffected.
    Testing her, needing to know for sure, he loosened his grip. Slowly drew his hands down the silky material of her sleeves, let his fingertips trail over the soft skin on the back of her hands before dropping away.
    Her expression remained cool and amused. But he heard her small, quick intake of breath. Saw the awareness in the depths of her eyes. The answering desire.
    He grinned and ducked his head, catching a tantalizing whiff of her spicy perfume as he whispered in her ear.
    “Gotcha.”

CHAPTER TWO
    G OTCHA.
    Ivy Rutherford’s gaze snapped up to the cowboy’s. Her throat was dry, her palms damp.
    She could still feel the warmth of his breath against her skin, the single word triumphant. A challenge.
    Oh, she was in so much trouble here.
    Something passed between them. Something heated and tangible and, on her part, wholly unwanted. The music and sound of background conversation faded until it was nothing but a low hum. He edged closer and she breathed in his scent, something crisp and musky and undoubtedly expensive. Damn it. Damn it! She wanted him to touch her again. Wanted to do some touching of her own.
    Gotcha , indeed.
    Crap.
    He needed to back up. He was close. Too close. Closer than was appropriate, especially for a waitress and a customer.
    Way too close for her comfort.
    Pride held her immobile. Forced her to stand her ground instead of stepping back the way she wanted and putting some much-needed distance between them.
    “It’s cute that you think so,” she murmured, keeping her tone even. Her eyes steady on his. “But don’t be getting delusions of grandeur.”
    If possible, his grin amped up another few degrees, all cocky and pleased with her response. She shouldn’t have found it so attractive.
    “Aw, darlin’, you wound