The Right to Bear Arms: BBW Military Paranormal Romance (Wild Operatives, #1) Read Free Page B

flesh.
    His fingertips had the calloused texture of a man who worked with his hands. Slender but strong digits crawled over my hips — the ones I used to loathe for their width — introducing me to the scratch of his roughened skin.
    I startled awake when his fingers dove into my pussy, sprawled on my back with the sheets tangled around my legs. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d woken from a dream so stirred up, but the aching need I felt was undeniable. Sliding my fingers down my body, I traced the path my dream lover had taken, skimming over my full breasts, then down to my hips. The dream had ended there, but I wanted more.
    I sighed. Masturbating wasn’t going to scratch the itch I had for a man.
    “I’m losing my mind. Dreaming about bears and sexy widowed Army men,” I groaned into one hand. As far as I was concerned, I hoped to never run into my gorgeous neighbor again after that humiliating debacle in my front yard.
    I left the bed with Sergeant Sexy on my mind. Wearing only a thin robe over my curves, I invaded the kitchen and fried up a heavy breakfast of potatoes, chorizo, and eggs.
    Michael would have bitched, claiming the meal would add a few more inches to my thighs. The more he stressed me about my weight, the more I seemed to gain. I couldn’t even fit a calf into my old jeans, but I was happy now and free of the constant dieting to try to please him. I’d never be content with the jiggling of my thighs, but I didn’t miss food diaries and slaving over a treadmill.
    The rain had ended sometime during the night, leaving a layer of moisture on the patio and the world beyond it. I sighed and watched from the glass door instead of going outside to enjoy the birds flitting to my bird feeder. It was doomed to be one hell of a muggy, uncomfortable Texas day. Leaning against the glass door with my plate in hand, I shoveled food in my mouth and muttered about the unfortunate weather.
    Then I saw him. The bear shuffled past at a lumbering pace. He glanced at the hammock in passing, like it had become habit for him now, too.
    Impulse made me throw open the door. “Wait, don’t go!”
    The bear halted immediately and turned his face toward me.
    “I have eggs!” I called out to him, feeling silly the very moment the words left my mouth.
    Without considering how absurd it was to expect him to understand me and wait, I hurried back to the stove and shoveled most of my plate into the cooling skillet. The bear had not left when I came back outside, standing still behind the leafy ferns. I ventured forward a few feet and set the heavy cast iron on the grass, then backed away slowly. The breeze caught my loosely sashed robe and blew it open, but with no one present but the bear to see it I didn’t care.
    I humanized him when I imagined appreciation in his deep brown eyes. Brown eyes that struck me as familiar when I watched him from afar. The animal ate his meal and continued out of the yard, but he left me with the lasting impression that he would continue to return.
    If I could feed a bear, I could feed the lonely man down the road. It was the least I could do after he defended me. As my furry friend continued on his passage through my yard, I fetched the empty pan and rushed back inside to place it in the sink.
    “I’ll bake him a... what should I bake him?”
    I considered the American flag flying in his yard, the time served in the military, and the southern drawl that attracted me to him.
    Apple pie. There was nothing more American than apple pie, unless I stenciled a bald eagle on the crust maybe. One glance at my half-empty fruit bowl foiled that. I’d given the last of my apples to my bear a couple of days ago.
    “Pecan, it is,” I announced. Grinning, I fetched my recipe box and began to gather ingredients. Two hours later, I had a cooling pecan pie and a stupid plan that all depended on the man actually being home on a Saturday afternoon.
    It cost another half an hour to ransack my closet for