Page 41 of Spurred On

“A man whore.” Had she not made that point already?

“Well, I’m not. And I certainly never slept with Tibby.”

“Right.”

He set his palm to his chest. “I’m wounded that you don’t believe me.”

“Poor baby.”

His gaze became more intense. “I swear to you, Sidney. I’ve never lied to you.”

Something in his tone touched her, spoke to her. And she had to acknowledge, he’d never been a liar. Lots of other nasty things, but not a liar.

The trouble was, when one was faced with multitudes of accounts that confirmed a belief, it was hard to accept the one that differed.

“Why would all those women claim to have slept with you when they hadn’t?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe to look good to their friends?”

Oh, brother.He was beyond arrogant.

But, if she was being honest with herself, she could see it—it annoyed the hell out of her, but she could see it.

She stood with a huff. “Well, this has been fun, but I better go check on Hanna.”

“Wait.” He caught her arm. And, when she scowled at him, “Please. This isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What then?”

“I wanted to talk about last night. How meaningful it was to me.”

Oh, he had it down pat, the humble expression, the awestruck-tone, the puppy-dog eyes.

“And?”

He swallowed. “Well, was it good for you?”

She patted him on the chest because he looked as though he could use some encouragement. “It was very good.”

His Adam’s apple worked again. It almost seemed as though he was nervous, which was ridiculous. This was Cody. “Then what about tonight?”

Everything in her seized. Tonight? Again? How freaking tempting was that?

She cleared her throat. “We agreed on a one-night stand, remember?”

“What’s a second night? In the grand scheme of things?”

Damn, he was convincing. Or maybe it was her . . . her waning resolve.

This always happened. He’d get close, close enough to touch, and she’d start melting into a pile of goo. In an attempt to rebuild her walls—or patch them at least—she shot him a carefree smile and said, “I’ll think about it.”

He stared at her. A muscle bunched in his cheek. “Think about this,” he growled, and then yanked her into his arms.

His kiss was quick, harsh, and hungry and she couldn’t help responding.

As always, it was a rush of sensation, of taste and smell and magnificent touch. It took everything in her to detach from the spell he wove and push away.

“Yeah. Okay,” she said. “I’ll think about that.” She patted his chest again as she turned away . . . but then she froze, because Porsche stood in the doorway, her eyes wide and wounded.