Tonight or Never Read Online Free Page A

that peak had always eluded him.
    He had no idea why.
    "John?" Chloe broke into his thoughts. He looked up at her questioningly.
    "After we finish, I wonder if we might go into the garden. There is something I wish to discuss with you." She looked at him meaningfully over her wineglass.
    So she was going to continue with this absurd idea of hers. He gave her a patient look. "No, Chloe."
    John was being stubborn. Time for a little incentive, she reasoned. Dipping her index finger into her wine, she ran the moistened tip slowly back and forth across her full bottom lip exactly as she had seen a playactor do.
    It was a shame she had no way of knowing that a droplet of red liquid had dribbled onto her chin.
    Goblet raised midway to his lips, John glanced over at her and stared agog. What on earth is she doing ?
    Chloe, pleased with John's undivided attention told herself it was working. Why, look at his face… he's — he's captivated !
    Propelled by her apparent success, she decided to go all-out and give him what she considered her most alluring maneuver. She unfocused her vision, donning the faraway, dreamy look of a courtesan.
    Too bad it made her appear cockeyed.
    John's facial expression became that of a man who had been hit sharply on the head with a cudgel.
    "My lord, I insist," Chloe croaked in a gravelly voice. Violet eyes crossed.
    The wine he was halfheartedly drinking caught in John's throat, choking him.
    "John, are you feeling well?" The countess leaned forward in her seat, concern on her face.
    Maurice whacked his nephew on the back. "This strapping boy?" Whack! Whack! Whack ! "But he is the picture of health!"
    John grabbed his uncle's wrist to stop the hammering he was receiving. "Ex—ahem— excuse me, Countess; I thought I saw something… improbable ." He gave Chloe a penetrating look.
    "Do be careful; Chef LaFaint would be terribly upset if you collapsed at his table." The countess smiled kindly at him.
    John smiled back, then covertly turned to Chloe with a thunderous expression.
    The garden , she mouthed stubbornly.
    "Very well, Chloe." John threw his napkin down and rose. He knew that when the ginger-pate had something on her mind… well, it was in his best interest to find out about it and nip it in the bud. There was no telling what that dangerous little brain of hers had concocted.
    A lifetime of experience told him that, whatever it was, it would be the last thing he expected.

Chapter Two
    John Considers It
     
    "I want you to marry me."
    John didn't know whether to laugh outright or bang his head against the brick walkway.
    He settled for the former. Leaning against the tree behind the bench he was sitting on, he threw back his head and let loose a huge, guffawing laugh.
    Chloe patiently waited for him to get it out of his system.
    Wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes, he finally managed to croak, "You what?"
    The secret to John was never to let him know she cared one way or the other. Chloe was surprised—but thankful—that no other woman had figured this out. Knowing him as well as she did—not to mention the fact that she had been an excellent spy in the past during several of Grandmere's soirees—she also knew that John never revealed himself beyond a very superficial point to the women with whom he consorted.
    Chloe was never sure why he had such barriers in place; she only recognized their existence. It was said that John gave untold pleasure but never gave himself; he never became emotionally involved. Women commented that when Lord John was engaged in a liaison, he was strictly business for the task at hand.
    In light of this, Chloe had always known that their special closeness had resulted only because John had never viewed her as a possible conquest. So there was a very real chance he might pull away from her now.
    However, due to their past closeness, she was fairly confident she could muddle him into thinking he was safe. Safe . Chloe snorted. The poor unsuspecting