Make Me Lose Control Read Online Free Page B

remembered.
    Just as sexy.
    She made him just as hard.
    But the disdainful expression on her face communicated clearly that she was no longer as sweetly dispositioned as she’d been before he’d rejected her generous offer and left her with only the touch of his thumb at the door. He winced. “Birthday Girl—”
    She slid from her stool and, with her coffee in hand, stalked off. He stared at the insulted line of her spine and the angry sway of her hips. Oh, yeah. She still made him hard. Very hard.
    Jace sighed, shifting on his stool to adjust the fit of his jeans. Damn.
    And he’d thought taking her to bed would result in regret. Instead, he’d learned that being a good guy left him feeling no more satisfied than being a bad one.
    * * *
    H ALF HORRIFIED AND half humiliated, Shay escaped toward the stairs that would take her to her room. She glanced back at the bar and saw Jay still in place, his head turned to watch her go.
    Another wash of heat rose up her neck and burned her cheeks. In the morning light he wasn’t any less masculine. Still had that charisma in spades, too. She could feel the pull even from here, as if he’d lassoed her waist and was steadily drawing on a rope held between his big capable hands.
    The hands she’d wanted on her last night.
    But he’d refused her.
    Whipping her head around, she stomped up the steps. Until she was free to head back to Blue Arrow, she’d hide out between the four walls of her room at the inn. Inside, she flipped on the television and found the channel offering fire coverage. At the bar, she’d learned the road closures were still in place, but there could be better news at any moment...
    Ten hours later, nothing had changed.
    Not her confined circumstances, not her humiliation over last night’s rejected overture.
    She bounced on the mattress, she punched a pillow, she flung her body across the bed and hung her head over the side. The actions didn’t alter the news on the television—but they did serve to underline her restlessness. If she didn’t get out of this room—soon—she’d go stir-crazy.
    But
he
might still be downstairs. The jerk.
    Several times between last night and this afternoon she’d replayed their moments together: her nervous chatter, his birthday cake, the card battle. Too bad the hangover she’d been suffering from hadn’t obliterated her memory. For hours, she’d had a dry mouth and an aching head, as well as instant recall of his amused smile at her half-drunken ramblings, the heat in his gaze as he’d stared down at her before his “many happy returns,” his calloused touch against her upturned mouth.
    Without thinking, she pressed her fingertips there. It was as if a brand still pulsed on her lips.
    Damn man. He’d walked away from a tipsy stranger and likely considered himself the hero in the scenario.
    Jerk.
    Her conscience tried to reason with her ire—in truth, wasn’t it actually a decent-guy move?—but she shut down that part of her brain. It was her birthday and a girl should get a pass on logic for at least one twenty-four-hour period a year.
    Still, she had to get some fresh air. In her jeans, a simple T-shirt and a pair of sneakers, she crept down the stairs, a bottle of water in hand. The bar and dining room held a scatter of refugees, but no Jay. On a sigh of relief, she pushed open the front door and set out along the quiet streets of the tiny hamlet surrounding the Deerpoint Inn. While she’d never been to the town, which was little more than a crossroads, she’d seen enough of the fire coverage to have gained a general sense of direction. She took every turn uphill and hiked along the narrow roads while committing her route to memory.
    Though she didn’t actually venture far, she was moving steadily upward, surprising chipmunks and squirrels who skittered across the asphalt to ascend the trunks of the towering conifers lining the road. Black ravens sailed among the top limbs while blue jays flitted at the