Free Falling Read Online Free PDF Page B

awkward
moments after the second knock, the door swung inward. Her gaze
traveled up the length of him, from his long, well-formed feet,
well-fitted jeans, and a bare chest to die for, two shoulders so
wide they filled the doorway. His hair hung loose around his
shoulders, the way she liked it. Free almost frowned, but caught
herself just in time. When had she decided she liked his hair—down
or pulled back in a ponytail?
    “If you’ve come to try and finish me off, at
least give me a chance to defend myself,” he said wryly, a smile
tugged at one corner of his mouth.
    Free’s frustration dissolved and she smiled.
He seemed to be in a good mood tonight—considering the way she had
accidentally whacked him. She offered the pie. “A peace offering,”
she said hopefully.
    He eyed the dessert skeptically. “It’s not
laced with anything lethal, is it?” The smile won the tug-of-war,
drawing his lips into a beautiful curve.
    Free shook her head, breathless from the
sheer beauty of his smile. “Just the usual. Sugar, butter, fresh
apples, cinnamon.”
    He rubbed a wide hand over his incredibly
lean and marvelously rigid abdomen. “Apple pie is my favorite.”
That blue gaze connected with hers and static crackled between
them. “How’d you know?”
    “Either I’m psychic or just a good guesser,”
she teased.
    “My money’s on psychic,” he said then stepped
aside for her to enter. “Gypsies always have that sixth sense.”
    “Who says I’m a gypsy?” His description hit a
little too close to home. Her spirit had always been a wanderer…it
was only her body that never got to go anywhere. She strolled
across the threshold and into his kitchen as if coming to this
house was the most natural thing in the world for her. She had
visited her elderly neighbor many times in the past—but this wasn’t
little old Mrs. Lassiter. Free watched Mac watch her as he closed
the door. This was a man who exuded sexuality. A man who attracted
her on some elemental level she didn’t quite understand yet.
    He hooked his thumbs in his front pockets,
cocked his head and made a slow circle around her, appraising every
square inch. Free moistened her lips and then chewed her lower one
as he continued his unhurried study.
    When he finally stopped, he pursed those full
lips and set one hand on a lean hip. “Let’s see,” he began,
stroking his square jaw thoughtfully. “Bare feet, a long flowing
skirt, a peasant’s blouse.” He flicked one silver bracelet on her
wrist. Free shivered when his fingertips brushed her skin.
“Bangles,” he added and lifted one dark eyebrow in punctuation.
“Big earrings, and lots of long curly hair.” He crossed his arms
over his broad chest and nodded. “A gypsy, all right. You didn’t
bring a spell in that bag, did you?”
    She told herself to relax, smiled, enjoying
this stress-free side of him. “Maybe. What good’s a gypsy without a
few spells and potions?”
    Content that her plan to set a more pleasant
tone between them was a success, she padded across the huge kitchen
to the long, wooden trestle table. She nudged some of the paperwork
scattered across it aside, and deposited the pie and bag on the
space she’d cleared. “What’s all this?” she asked, scanning the
array of papers and drawings.
    “Homework,” he said with a sigh. “It’s taken
me all evening, but I’ve finally gotten the final touches on these
blueprints and contracts.” He ran a hand through his hair and
shrugged lightly. “Another hour, tops, and the planning part of
this project will be over.”
    “Do you work like this every night?” Free
looked up at her new neighbor and for the first time noticed the
lines of fatigue marring his handsome face. He worked too hard,
pushed himself too far, she knew as surely as she knew her own
name.
    Ignoring her question, Mac peeked inside the
bag. “Any ice cream in there? I love vanilla ice cream on apple
pie.”
    Free batted his hand away and shouldered
between