Spin It Again Read Online Free PDF Page A

discussions with her closest friends, the sole topic being whether Evie had brought this on herself.
    Nobody thought she had—except Evie.
    Throughout the last year and with a vengeance to rival a massive world war, Evie had dated every available man within her vicinity. Her friends had been shocked—this was very unlike her—including Fiona who, over coffee, had asked, “What are you trying to prove, going out with all these guys?”
    “Nothing, I just don’t feel like staying cooped up in my apartment,” Evie had said as casually as she could manage.
    Fiona had looked at her with pity as she’d squeezed Evie’s hand in hers. “Evie, if David screwed up, he screwed up. It had nothing to do with you.” Deep down, Evie didn’t believe that. If he loved her like she’d once thought he did, why did he screw around on her? Why would he look for loving somewhere else, if not for the fact that he wasn’t satisfied with Evie?
    It must have had something to do with her.
    Last night, when she’d been futilely trying to prove to herself that she could be just as hot, just as adventurous as the next woman, fondling a stranger that had flirted with her at the club, she’d never expected David would storm in out of the blue—tumbling drunk, with two bombshells following him like poodles.
    Looking at him, she’d sought that hate, that comforting red-hot feeling, and found she couldn’t hold on to it, couldn’t even summon it. Just a look at those steely brown eyes and all she’d felt was pain, fresh and burning and new. Just standing there, so near, he’d torn her scar open. Evie could almost hear it as it tore, could almost hear the blood gushing inside her. Burning. Poisoning her insides with more pain, more love, more hate.
    You’ re mine.
    You’ re fucking mine.
    He could have taken her then and there, made love to her in that club full of people, mad, drunken, crazy love, and Evie wouldn’t have protested. A wild, desperate urge to feel him, an urge to know he still loved her, wanted her, wanted her more than those women, clenched tightly inside her womb. Her sex had flooded with need, an aching, painful need for him. Only him. Evie wanted no one else.
    When he’d left, aided by one of the blondes—whose hair Evie had wanted to pull out by the roots—she’d felt desperate.
    For a crazy moment, the shortest of seconds, she’d wanted to run after him and beg him to come back to her, beg him to love her like he used to, to make love to her and take her to heaven and make this horrible, wretched pain go away.
    The next minute, Evie felt sick. Really sick. She’d felt dizzy and out of breath and she had to rush to the ladies’ room to vomit.
    She stayed there for the rest of the evening.
    *
    You’ re mine.
    It was still running through Evie’s head when she reached her apartment. She shoved the door open and pushed it closed as she strode inside. Then she halted, suddenly confused when she didn’t hear it slam shut behind her. Whirling on her heel, her breath caught in her throat.
    There he was, standing in the threshold.
    All six feet, two inches of him, every one of them soiled and sweaty. He looked like a crazed, deranged madman just escaped from the institution. His clothes were rumpled, his dark brown hair in complete disarray, his face set firmly into vicious, uncompromising lines and his sleek brown eyebrows, a shade darker than his eyes, joined in a fierce scowl above his nose. With mock flair, he dropped a suitcase on the floor and slammed the door shut behind him.
    “Honey, I’m home.” His voice was rough, dry and deadly.
    Evie couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe and could barely keep her knees from folding.
    There was only one thing she knew—this man, this animal, was not here to beg.
    Out of some natural survival instinct, Evie took a step backward when he took a step toward her, lifting a red object in the air for her to see.
    “Tail, you give me a second chance.” He paused,