Free Hungry Eyes by Celeste Anwar Page B

of heated passion.
    Miranda couldn’t imagine blushing harder than she had already but now the blood fairly pulsed in her cheeks and along the tops of her breasts. “I--I don’t know what you’re talking about.” That’s right. Deny everything.
    “I think you do, chère . I’ve seen the curtains move in your bedroom, the reflection of light on your glasses as you watched.”
    Shit! Shit, shit shit! Her mind went blank as she searched for a way to escape her predicament. Hell, she had never imagined getting caught. Think, Miranda. Think.
    Nothing came to her.
    “I been puttin’ on a show for you.” His voice dropped an octave, a soft murmur now, his Cajun accent thickened. “I like havin’ you watch.”
    “Uhhhh. I have something cooking in the crock pot. I really need to go check it.”
    His mouth hitched higher on one side, his eyes gleaming with amusement and a good deal more. “It’s been a while since I had a home-cooked meal, being a bachelor.”
    His brazenness knew no bounds, apparently. Miranda didn’t want anything more to do with him. She was mortified and seriously considering moving out of her house--if only she wasn’t paying off a thirty year mortgage now. Oh, the days of blissful renting and being able to pick up and leave when she wanted!
    The worst thing was, she really did want to invite him in. He scared the shit out of her, but she’d never had the attention of a man this damn sexy or bold. What would he do to her? Should she brave it? Hell, the cat was out of the bag now….
    “Why not. You can come in for supper if you’d like. I haven’t had company in a while.” She was proud of how calm she managed to keep her voice considering she felt like someone had shoved a high voltage wire up her ass.
    “I’ll do that.”
    Miranda nodded and walked cautiously up her walkway to the front door, hoping he wouldn’t notice just how shook up she was, unlocking it with trembling fingers, profoundly aware of his presence behind her. Her knees felt weak as she opened the door and the air conditioning hit her flushed skin, turning her nipples hard upon entering. She set her mail down, trying to hide them and hoping he didn’t notice and think she was turned on or something. Men always came to that conclusion when they saw hard nipples.
    He made a small grunt of a noise. She looked up. He’d noticed--if the dark, sultry look in his eyes was any indication.
    Miranda moved uncomfortably through her house, into the kitchen to check her chicken stew. It was done and tender.
    “Smells good,” he said, moving behind her to cup her breasts.
    A jolt of pure, unadulterated pleasure shot straight from her chest to her crotch. She leaned back, choking off a moan. “What are you doing?”
    “Just what you want me to, chère . Don’t try to deny it.” He bit the curve of her neck and shoulder, nibbling up to her ear lobe.
    Her knees just about gave out from under her. “Oh. Uh. Mmmmm.” Her mind spun out of control when he pinched her nipples and slipped his tongue around the shell of her ear. “Wait. We shouldn’t….”
    One of his big hands slipped down, roughly pulling her blouse from her skirt to delve inside, touching flesh to flesh. His palm was calloused and hard, the rough surface bringing her skin to tingling awareness. “Shouldn’t what?” he asked, pushing inside her bra to roll her nipple between his fingers.
    “Oh god.” She ground her ass against his crotch. His erection felt huge beneath his jeans, pressing hard against the cleft of her buttocks.
    He groaned and thrust a hand down to cup her pussy. “Mmmm. Your cunt is so wet.” He lifted her skirt, massaging her mound and making her cream her panties … more. “I’ve been wantin’ to feel how tight you are,” he murmured against her ear.
    He pulled her panties aside, plundering her wet lips with marauding intent. She squirmed against him, unable to hold still while he touched her there. Her heart seemed to beat in her