Free Return to Me by Christy Reece

like what he would expect from the bastard, but he’d have to wait and see. He didn’t answer back. What sixteen-year-old would be answering this early on a Saturday morning? He’d wait a few hours, then see if that nibble turned into a full-fledged bite.
    A slight sound drew his attention from the screen. A groggy fairy sprite shuffled into the living room and didn’t glance his way as she continued her early-morning slide into the kitchen. Noah’s mouth kicked up in a small smile. Evidently Ms. Samara Lyons was not a morning person.
    It took barely a second to make this realization and then proceed to the next. Samara’s sleepwear consisted of a cropped T-shirt with the picture of a frog on the front and the words
Kiss me and see what happens
on the back. The shorts covering her delectable bottom were brief and showed an enticing length of smooth, tanned legs. His cock rose to celebrate the occasion. Hell, was there any time this woman didn’t turn him on?
    He watched her disappear into the kitchen and resumed his mental lashing of how inappropriate it was to lust over a woman he was working with. It was a cardinal rule for him. No personal involvement with another operative … even if said operative was temporary.
    Noah stared at the screen and reminded himself of the reasons nothing could happen between them. The mission was and always would be of top importance for him. Nothing else could matter.
    The shuffling drew closer. Samara was returning from her trek into the kitchen, coffee cup in hand. She had yet to even acknowledge his existence and much to his surprise, that bothered him. Was he invisible?
    “Good morning,” Noah said.
    In one simultaneous action, Samara’s coffee cup went up in the air, she squealed a shriek high-pitched enough to excite a dolphin, and, turning, grabbed a vase filled with silk roses and threw it in his direction.
    Noah jumped up, barely getting out of the way of the flying vase. His reaction time slowed by shock at her actions. “Hell, Samara, what’s your problem?”
    “Noah, dammit!” She glared at him. “Do you have to scare the crap out of me every time?”
    “Scare you? I just said good morning. What’s scary about that?”
    Hands on hips, she continued to glare and Noah breathed in a curse. Hell, did she not realize her breasts jutted out even more? Nipples distended, Noah’s mouth watered at the thought of tasting the sweet berries, of pulling up her shirt and taking her entire breast into his mouth. They weren’t large, but beautifully shaped, rounded and firm. His palms tingled at the thought of pushing her breasts together and suckling them at the same time.
    Slender arms wrapped around her chest, distorting his view. “Would you stop staring at my breasts and look at me?”
    “I am looking at you. Go put on a bra if you don’t want me staring at your breasts.”
    “I don’t wear a bra to bed.”
    “I don’t see a bed anywhere in this room.” And thank God for that because if there was one, he greatly feared he’d already have her on it.
    With one last glower, Samara turned back to the kitchen and returned with a dish towel. She kneeled and began to mop up the coffee spill.
    Noah knew human nature enough to realize he had embarrassed her and that bothered him for some reason. He took her arm, and pulled her to her feet. “Go put on some clothes. I’ll take care of the mess.”
    Not meeting his eyes, she nodded and practically ran into the bedroom, slamming the door shut.
    Resisting the impulse to throw herself back on the bed and bury her head under the pillow, Samara instead pulled off her shirt and put on a bra. She pulled her T-shirt back on, cursing under her breath. Her breasts were small. What was the big deal? She often went without a bra and thought nothing of it, so why …
    Good heavens, had it been so long that she hadn’t even recognized the signs? He’d been staring at her breasts not from outrage that she wore no bra but from desire.