Free Let Me In by Carolyn Faulkner Page A

strains across the muscles of his back. And how the material – that's got to be Armani, do you think? Or D & G? – hugs his ass and – daayum – that package of his in the front... mmm-mmm-mmmmmm."
    None of which intrigued Miranda in the least. She'd had a man that sounded very like Mr. Kennedy and she hadn't come out of it well at all – that's why she'd moved down to Podunk, Texas, to get away from someone that sounded alarmingly like this man. She knew his type – self-involved, self-important, privileged, spoiled, heartless, demanding, cruel... She could go on all day.
    Penny had given her all the information she needed to make up her mind about the illustrious Mr. Kennedy, so every time she saw him coming towards her, she did her best to make herself disappear until she thought the coast was clear. It was damned inconvenient. An artist needed to circulate amongst the buyers if she was going to hope to sell anything, and yet there she was – because of him – having to duck into the stock room or the bathroom every fucking five minutes because he was damned near to stalking her, the pervert.
    She would have sworn that he'd left already – or maybe that was wishful thinking – when he'd appeared out of nowhere after she'd already locked the door and she was the only one in the gallery besides him. In reaction and not a little alarm, her body began to shake, although she clamped down on that immediately. She could not let him know that she was afraid of him. She had learned the hard way that it was never a good thing to let a man who was at least twice your size sense your fear.
    The moment she saw him, her nipples went hard, and she refused to confront the fact that it wasn't because she was afraid of him. She began to back away, as casually as she could as if she didn't want to trigger his instinct to chase prey, heading for the door to open it for him and hopefully usher him out of it without any further incident. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize that anyone else was still here. The show is over and the gallery is closed. I'd be glad to let you out, though."
    But he wasn't taking the hint. His hands were in his pockets and he was looking at her expectantly. Mace cleared his throat and came to stand within a foot or so of her – much, much too close for her comfort, not that she was going to let him know that. "I'm sorry. I know it's late and I should do the polite thing and let you go, but I saw a painting that I wanted to purchase from you." He didn't mention that he'd decided to purchase it only a few minutes after her show opened, and yet he hadn't been able to catch a hold of her to do so until now.
    He wanted to buy something? She stopped in her tracks on the way to the door. She didn't know why she was so amazed, perhaps because Zach – the man he reminded her so much of – had spent all of his time denigrating her talent, and here this stranger was wanting to buy something of hers. "Oh, what piece was it that caught your eye?" she asked, feeling a bit more relaxed now that they were talking about her art.
    "I believe it's called Reclining Randa ."
    She colored violently. That particular painting was a self-portrait, a very nude self-portrait and one that she had only just barely allowed Penny to talk her into including in the show. But she'd deliberately put a truly exorbitant price on it so that no one in their right mind would be interested in it.
    "Oh?" She took what she hoped was a casual step back from him, and as soon as her eyes found his again – reluctantly – he let her know silently that he had noticed her retreat. "Well, I'm afraid that that one isn't really for sale."
    "It's not?" He smiled, taking a small step – one almost exactly the size of the one she took – towards her, thus recovering the ground she'd gained. "I was under the impression that if a painting was in the show, that it was for sale."
    Miranda frowned, deciding she did not like his manner in the least. "Well—"
    "I