Read Only for the Night (If Only Book 2) for Free Online

porch, some Hank recognized from his search of the fridge earlier. But it was the smell of warm cinnamon, sugar, and yeast wafting from inside that tugged him forward. Commanding Knight to stay on the porch, he answered the call.
    Knight whined, brushing his paw on the rough wooden floorboards once, twice. Hank looked back over his shoulder.
    “I’ll bring your treat, buddy. You stay.”
    With the reassurance, Knight settled happily on his haunches, pink tongue lolling. The shepherd was well trained and a familiar fixture on the market’s porch when Hank was in town, so he had no worries as he made his way inside. Besides, Knight knew that causing a ruckus meant no bear claw for him. He didn’t want to miss the treat any more than Hank did.
    Crowds milled through the general store, browsing the local pottery and bundles of dried herbs from nearby fields and art featuring Citrus Pointe at its most beautiful. Hank bypassed it all in favor of the best part of the market, the bakery at the back of the building, handing out nods and greetings along the way. A long line of customers snaked several bodies deep before the back counter, more than usual, in fact, but he forgot to wonder about it when his gaze rested on his mystery woman at the cash register. Hank thanked whatever genetic blessings had made him tall, allowing him to catch a glimpse of her before she could see him. He’d take every extra second he could get. She was worth each one.
    Dry and clothed, she was just as breathtaking as she’d been upstairs. Okay, not quite as breathtaking—nothing could make him as speechless as the view he’d been treated to this morning. Still, the dark, curly hair falling over her shoulders, the creamy skin, even the white of her smile as she greeted the next customer made his fingers itch for pen and paper and his bass. It was a feeling that was at once familiar and not. He wrote music on a regular basis, but not like this. He didn’t usually have inspiration standing in front of him. And he certainly wasn’t looking to write new music now, not with the band in turmoil.
    Not like he wrote ballads or anything, anyway; he was more likely to be screaming praises to her gorgeous ass, and wouldn’t she appreciate that?
    The woman gave Nolan Jones a sweet smile as the older man finished up his order. Sweet. No, she definitely wouldn’t appreciate him writing about her. Yet the ghostly impression of notes played through his head anyway.
    He shook it away.
    Pretty blue eyes lifted, met his. A pink flush crept up the slender curve of her neck to her cheeks. She was blushing. Damn.
    A sudden tightness behind his zipper confirmed exactly how beautiful she was with that blush. He wanted to trace it, tug her chin up, force her mouth open…
    Stop.
    But he could still enjoy the blush. Just to keep it there, he winked. His mystery woman dropped her gaze, but not before he saw the pleasure in her eyes.
    Which only made him harder.
    “You have a good day, Sage,” Nolan said. When he turned around, he nodded at Hank, then carried his lunch off. Hank lost track of the man, his eyes and mind stuck on the woman.
    Sage. The name suited her natural, earthy beauty, the same beauty that sent a shiver down his spine to places south he’d rather ignore in a crowd. This crowd, at least—onstage a hard-on was uncomfortable but attention-getting; here it just labeled him a perv. Except the way the blood rushed through his veins and his gut clenched told him the reaction wasn’t going away anytime soon.
    Sage wasn’t looking at him—her attention was on the swinging door to the kitchen, one hand raised to gain someone’s attention. Trying to get away. When he chuckled, she shoved her hand into the pocket of her apron, cleared her throat, and faced him like a trainee about to be disciplined.
    “Hello.”
    The word was strained, but he didn’t comment. “Hello, Sage,” he said, drawing her name out, savoring it on his tongue. “I guess we