Read Online Playing for Love at Deep Haven by Katy Regnery - Free Book Online

saw stars. She told her body to shut the hell up.
    “Um. I have a
fire going downstairs. Nice and warm. And Scotch. It’s good Scotch.” He paused
and she pictured him standing in front of the door. All tough-rocker and hard-bodied
and brooding.
    “I promise I
won’t touch you. I’ll sit across the room, and you can just tell me about your
life. Catch me up on the past nine years.”
    He knocked
again, softly.
    “Come on, Vile.
Please?”
    “ Don’t call me that! ” she yelled, leaping
up and whipping open the door. He must have been leaning against it because he
plowed into her, knocking her onto the bed with the solid wall of his chest.
She gasped as he fell on top of her, his shocked eyes blinking back at her, his
body hard and heavy over hers. She knew she should yell at him to get off of
her, but she was utterly mesmerized by his darkening eyes, his breath on her
face, the way his lips parted, but didn’t make a sound. Her entire body felt
electric from such close contact, his solid chest pressing into hers, heaving
from the effort of his breathing.
    “Violet—” he
finally whispered in a low, tender voice.
    It snapped her
out of her starry-eyed stupor. “Off me, Zach. Now!”
    Bracing his
hands on either side of her head, he pushed back, then steadied himself   against the doorway, suppressing a grin. “You
surprised me.”
    She brushed a
loose hair out of her face and propped her hands on her hips, trying to look
formidable and put-together and probably failing miserably.
    “ Don’t call me Vile,” she growled through
clenched teeth.
    He put his hands
up in surrender, but his lips twitched. “No problem.”
    “And don’t touch me again.”
    “Whatever you
say.”
    She gave him her
most annoyed stare, blowing another strand of hair away from her nose and crossing
her arms over her chest. “What kind of Scotch?”
    ***
    “ Glenlivet .”
    He shoved his
hands in his pockets and leaned against the doorjamb, trying to regain control
of his body, which was proving difficult. The last thing he’d expected was to
suddenly be on her bed, lying on top of her, but it made his whole body hum
with longing to touch her again. And now she was trying to look all composed,
but instead she just looked adorable. It would definitely make things easier if
he wasn’t so attracted to her. But he’d always been attracted to Violet; she was as hot to him now as she’d been to
him then. She was still Violet. He bet she still wrote the kind of poetry that
blew his mind and demanded more from his music. He hoped he’d get to find out
before she left for her goddamned hotel.
    “Single malt?”
she said, mildly impressed, shaking him out of his thoughts.
    He gave her a
look that said she shouldn’t be surprised.
    “Oak aged?”
    “Of course,” he
scoffed.
    “Some newer
brands are aged in steel.”
    “Not the stuff I
buy.”
    “Says the person
who got me fall-over-drunk on Kentucky straight sour mash once upon a time.”
    Zach grinned. He
had always liked his whiskey, but after being introduced to Scotch by the
Juilliard professor who’d been his senior-year advisor, he’d quickly developed
a taste for it instead.
    He cringed,
laughing softly. “Long time ago.”
    “Aged twelve,
fifteen, or eighteen years?” she asked.
    “Which one gets
you downstairs?”
    “Why? Do you
have all three?”
    “Maybe.”
    “Now you’re just
trying to impress me.”
    “Nah, if I
wanted to impress you, I’d tell you I spent last New Year’s with Steven Tyler.”
    “Zach, if you
really wanted to impress me, you’d tell me you spent last New Year’s with Bob
Dylan.”
    “We don’t
exactly move in the same musical circles, Vile…let.”
    “Maybe you
should remedy that, Z.”
    He laughed
lightly, shaking his head. They were settling into their quick repartee like
they’d never parted ways. Like they hadn’t lost each other so long ago. Plus, she’d
just called him Z, and it made him so stupidly happy he wanted to