Read Online The Player's Club: Lincoln by Cathy Yardley - Free Book Online Page B

That’s proof. I stole it from a drugstore.”
    His eyes widened. “Shoplifting?”
    “Granted, it’s not To Catch a Thief, ” she said wryly, “but I did steal something.”
    He stared at her. Then he laughed.
    She smiled back at him. “What’s so funny?”
    “None of this counts,” he said. “You didn’t really think it would, did you?”
    Her expression tightened. “I know it might not fulfill the spirit of the law, but it follows the letter.”
    “Yeah, but we’re not the law.” He smirked. “If I told Finn about this, he’d admire your ingenuity. For about two seconds. Then he’d tell you just what I’m telling you—this doesn’t count.”
    “You’re just trying to shut me down. You’ve never liked me, and never wanted me in your precious club,” she huffed, getting to her feet. “This is ridiculous.”
    “No, this,” he said, pointing to the video, “is a scam. If you’re going to do this, you need to do it all the way.”
    “I do everything all the way,” she said, standing in front of him. She poked a finger argumentatively at him, her eyes blazing. “I just hate wasting my time!”
    He stood up, toe-to-toe with her. “Not everything’s easy, princess,” he bit out coldly. “Especially not the club. You want to get in, you’re going to need to sweat it out and do something you fear…just like everybody else did.”
    She let out a quiet shriek of exasperation. “Do you like ruining everyone’s life, or just mine?”
    “Are you a spoiled brat with everyone else, or just me?”
    They stood like that for a second, staring at each other, tension and frustration humming between them. His eyes locked with hers.
    Then his body started bowing, inevitably, toward her. She put a hand up on his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was to stop him from getting closer, or just a starting point to touching him.
    “What the hell is it with you?” he asked between clenched teeth. “You piss me off like no one I’ve ever met in my life. And every other second, all I can think of is…”
    He bit back a curse.
    “I know.” She sounded puzzled. And breathless. “I don’t even like you.”
    He laughed. “That’s good. Because you drive me up a wall.”
    She leaned in. He took a deep breath, and the smell of her made him weak. His hands reached out, not touching her…just gently skimming an inch or so away from her flesh.
    “You’re going to have to do everything over,” he said, and his voice rasped slightly. He balled his hands into fists, then released them and brushed his fingertips against her cheek. So soft, he thought. She leaned against his hand for a second. “I’m not going to go easy on you, either. If you want to pass, I want to be present for every single challenge. You don’t get a go-ahead until I say you’re finished.”
    “Slave driver,” she said. No, purred. He could feel the heat coming off her…or was that his own heat? God knew his body felt as if it was on fire.
    “Count on it.” He let his lips brush over her temple, barely, just a whisper of flesh against flesh. Then, shuddering, he stepped back, putting some distance between them.
    She looked a little disoriented. Then she tilted her head, studying him. “Why…?”
    Why was he stopping himself? He wondered that, as well. He let out a strangled laugh. “You don’t even like me.”
    “Well, yes,” she said, frowning. “But some part of you obviously likes some part of me a hell of a lot.”
    “And vice versa,” he defended, then shook his head. “We haven’t had a lot of women in the club, and we’re fixing that. But I think that getting physically involved with a pledge I’ve agreed to mentor is probably a bad idea.”
    Her expression was one of bafflement and suspicion…and something gentle, glowing in her eyes, that he couldn’t quite describe. “You’re really a throwback, you know? A genuine white knight.” She sighed, putting her weight on one leg, an unconsciously sexy pose. “Why do