Free Tonight You Belong to Me by Cate Masters Page A

look bluer than the skies over the desert. Full of longing, sorrow and smoldering heat all at once. “Penny for your thoughts?” he asked.
    Her throat tightened, choking back a teary sigh. Same as the night they first met, down to the song and the bad line. But not his outfit. She glared at his wide shoulders, draped in a charcoal jacket, set off by a red carnation.
    Her cheeks burned hotter than blue blazes. “You set this up?” Oh, she’d unleash hell on Karenna tomorrow, and tell her a thing or two. So much for friendship. But what did she expect in this town?
    He stilled, as if debating another lie. “Yes.”
    “I’m out of here.” Her mama didn’t raise a fool. At least, not one who’d let herself be fooled twice.
    In two shakes of a lamb’s tail, he stood a hair’s breadth away, a rush of warmth sending his heat slamming into her, the air filled with his musky cologne and his need. Their bodies knew how to communicate too well, moving in tandem like some primal dance that always ended up with their clothes tangled up on the floor and their naked limbs tangled on the carpet. Or the table. Or the car. No easy feat in their cheap compact car, either. Somehow it only made their lovemaking sweeter, that was the hell of it.
    His fingers circled her wrist. “Please, Jilly. One night. That’s all I’m asking.”
    Her heart lurched. “Guess that’s all you’re good for these days.” At least he’d turned honest. Too bad, too late.
    His hand slid up her arm. “If I can’t convince you to come back to me after tonight, I’ll never bother you again. I swear.”
    She swallowed hard, harder than the day she’d had to swallow her pride when the manager hired him to play the lounge but not her. Then she had to work as assistant to a two-bit magician, who made a joke of copping a feel as he ‘secured’ her for the sawing trick. Nothing magical about it.
    Tears threatened again, and she steeled herself. Damn if she’d cry in front of him. “I thought tonight would be different.” Instead, it brought to mind every performance with the white rabbit that pissed all over her. Every freaking time.
    He bent to eye level and smoothed her hair. “It will be, Jilly.”
    How could he say it with such tenderness? Before that awful night, she’d have believed him. But now, no matter how deep his honeyed words reached into her soul, she couldn’t.
    “Not if I’m with you.” Her life made as much sense as a screen door on a submarine. And she was in deep water, sinking fast.
     
    Seeing the hurt on Jilly’s face renewed his resolve to make it right again between them. He couldn’t stand for her to be so sad. But the only thing that might cheer her would be a lynch mob, coming for him, noose in hand.
    As soon as she’d entered the room, he’d glanced up and couldn’t look away. She stood in the entryway, tawny hair piled atop her head with a few wisps trailing her graceful neck, big green eyes searching the room. Thinking of unzipping that sexy indigo dress and letting it fall to the floor, his pulse surged, and collected south of his belt with building pressure. He’d missed all the ways she used to relieve that ache. Hell, he’d missed her in ways that surprised him every minute. Their three years together held nothing but bliss. She’d pampered him, catered to him, both in and out of bed. Shit, he hadn’t known how happy he’d been—how fucking lucky to have her—until she’d walked out. Every day, he grew more desperate to get her back.
    He grabbed her hands and nodded to the DJ booth. Lyle nodded back and flipped the canned music. Perfect. The slow song he’d asked for, Clapton’s Wonderful Tonight . Every time he sang it to her, she slipped into his arms. With any luck, she would again.
    “Come on. Dance with me.” It might be the only way she’d let him hold her again.
    Her heels dug into the floor. “Aren’t you working?”
    “No. I’ve been waiting for you.” She’d laugh if he said