Free Prisoner Mine by Megan Mitcham Page B

her, tried to cow her into submission with his body. Boy, had that backfired. She hadn’t turned away. She’d met him boot to boot, so to speak, and dressed him down as though he’d been fully clothed.
    He’d never been so rock hard in his entire, sordid life. He’d never been so near taking what he wanted, consequences be damned.
    Calculate the repercussions. Minimize them. That was his job. Only when he stood too close to Greer she dulled the ramifications of his actions to background noise.
    Despite her innocent eyes, Greer saw more than most. She knew he hid things. If she knew half of what he beat into his closet every morning, she’d have fled when she had the chance. Seeing exactly what she did to him should’ve made her run. Her stubborn little feet hadn’t moved.
    Zeke secured the barn door, smiled at his car parked in the far corner—see, he smiled—and then climbed the stairs to his safe house, which didn’t feel quite so safe with Greer here.
    At the sound of clanking glass his senses prickled. What was she up to now? Probably rigging a booby trap or looking for tools to hot-wire the car. He ascended the last three steps more slowly. His head stayed on a swivel, ready for her attack. Only he wasn’t quite so ready. This woman’s booby trap outdid all the scenarios he’d conjured.
    Greer stood on her tiptoes. Her left arm gripped the edge of an open cabinet, while the other reached the top shelf. The hem of her shirt caught at the ample swell of her bottom. His black boxer-briefs clung, exposing every dip and curve. She stretched and grunted from the effort. Her finger grazed a drinking glass and pushed it farther into the recesses.
    He definitely should have sent her packing. His feet carried him into the kitchen, while better judgment urged him back to the chopping block.
    “Oh, hey.”
    She whipped around with her hand over her heart like she had many times in the past day and a half. Like he scared the shit out of her. That couldn’t be right though. She stood up to him when grown men and wiser women had doubled down on retreat.
    “What are you doing?” he snapped. Ever the charmer .
    Onions, spinach, carrots, mushrooms, and chicken littered the counter, along with pots and pans, cutting boards, and a big-arse knife.
    Huh?
    “Cooking lunch.” Her nose scrunched. “Dinner really. It’s almost four p.m. I mean, only old people eat this late, but since you didn’t have breakfast or lunch…” She bobbed her tiny shoulders and swatted a strand of white blonde hair from her brow. “I just figured you were hungry. I am, and I ate breakfast.” Her fingers toyed with the hem of her shirt. “I ate some lunch too. I didn’t know when you’d come back. Or if you’d come back at all.”
    “You’re rambling.”
    “I know. I felt bad for running you out of your own home.”
    “It’s not my home.”
    “You know what I meant.” Her hands bracketed her hips. There was the gusto.
    “You felt bad?”
    “Yes.”
    “Bad enough to leave?”
    Her pretty pink mouth formed a thin line.
    “Guess not.” He nodded to the cabinet. “And there?”
    “Oh, I can't reach the glasses.”
    Greer gave him a doe-eyed, please-help expression that looked totally out of place on her usually determined features.
    Zeke stepped back, grabbed the back of the dining chair, and dragged it between them. “Problem solved.”
    She flashed him a crooked smile and hopped onto the chair. Too late he realized her round bottom would be within biting distance. Damn her, but she still had to stretch to grasp a glass in each hand. His extra-large shirt flagged with the movement, giving him a clear peek of her abdomen.
    Still on the chair, she turned with both glasses hugged between her breasts and stared down at him. “Thanks. You go get cleaned up and dinner will be ready soon.”
    “What are you up to?”
    Her head canted. The shorter strands of her hair fell over her forehead. “Are you always this hesitant when