Free Can't Say No by Jennifer Greene Page A

“Lord, you have beautiful eyes. Sometimes soft as water, sometimes full of fire…” He raked a lazy hand through his hair, staring at her. “Anyway, easiest way to make money I’ve ever seen. Don’t know why the hell I went to college—except maybe for the pleasure of getting kicked out, like I told you. All I really needed to make good was a peddler’s mentality, a little larceny in my character, the ability to butter a few palms…Getting a little tired, honey, or are you just swaying on your feet because you like music?”
    Vaguely, it occurred to Bree that there was something sneaky about Hart. For one thing, he was always yawning when his eyes were most alert. He worked so hard to present his character as totally irredeemable, when no one could have packed all the irresponsible, selfish actions he claimed he had into one short life. He insulted her often, but suddenly he would say something kind…and he was here, and he’d gone to a lot of trouble to find a house close to her…
    Maybe it was his personal hobby, driving women crazy. He was good at it. Her bare feet had grown roots. She’d stood still for the better part of an hour and just let him rant on, and cobwebs must have collected in her brain, because she knew darn well she’d been staring at him for most of that time. Nightmares faded when Hart was around—it was a trick he had. A terrible trick, that blue-eyed stare that held hers in a jail-like lock, as though he wouldn’t let her go, wouldn’t let her mind wander to any subject but him.
    “Well…” The kitchen chair tipped down; Hart’s feet dropped to the floor. “I think it’s time we both got some sleep, anyway. This time I think we’ll insure against nightmares, though. Do you want to sleep down here with me, or shall I take my sleeping bag upstairs?”
    Her jaw sagged, just slightly.
    Hart bent over and pushed one of his two pillows toward Bree, clearly making room for her on his double sleeping bag. “If the mosquitoes weren’t so bad, I’d suggest the porch, but without repellent or netting, this is probably the coolest place we can find. Snuff that second candle?”
    He opened the tin lantern over the dry sink to blow out the first candle. The second one was on the table. Bree, rubbing one arm absently with the cold fingers of her other hand, didn’t move. His arrogant assumption that they were sleeping in the same room surpassed even his usual audacity, but she wasn’t certain how she’d fare in a fistfight.
    His eyes leveled on hers over the flame of candle on the table. “Don’t be too foolish, Bree,” he said in a low voice. “We both know I’m not leaving. And that you’re not afraid of me.” He snuffed out the second candle himself.
    In the sudden total blackness, she heard him shucking off his jeans, then lying down on the sleeping bag, then…silence. A lonely, frightening silence. All silences had been frightening to Bree for these past weeks.
    One of her bare feet shifted forward, then the other. Moonlight bathed her profile in white mist for one moment before she crouched down, fingers blindly reaching for the spare pillow and quilted surface.
    “Here.”
    He tossed a cotton blanket over her, most impersonally. Tugging it to her chin, Bree felt…ashamed of herself. If it had come to a fistfight, she knew darn well she would have won by forfeit. Hart was without morals or character, but she just knew he wouldn’t lay a hand on an unwilling woman…There was no pretending she’d been forced, coerced or browbeaten into lying next to him.
    Minutes ticked by. Her eyes gradually dilated until she could make out hazy, moonlit shapes and shadows. Lying on her side at the edge of the sleeping bag, she was conscious of her own tense, weary limbs. The cabin still smelled like fresh-baked cake, like the elusive flowery scent she’d made earlier, like wood and the sweet odor of the vanilla candle just snuffed, like…man.
    Like Hart.
    No sane woman would trust