Hot Westmoreland Nights by Brenda Jackson Read Free Book Online Page B

hungry,” he added.
    She snorted, not caring how it sounded. “Mama Francine said men are always hungry. Even when their stomachs are full.”
    He leaned against the counter. “And who is Mama Francine?”
    Too late she realized she might have said too much, but quickly decided telling him about Mama Francine wasn’t giving anything away. “She’s the person who taught me how to cook.”
    He nodded and she turned back to her eggs. She wasn’t sure how many men would want their eggs scrambled, but she wanted to have the mixture ready just in case. And Mama Francine had taught her how to flip eggs, so those who didn’t want their egg scrambled could tell her just how they liked it.
    She heard him move, but refused to look up again. Besides, she knew he was moving toward her with a slow walk and glancing around inspecting everything while doing so. And with every step he took closer to her she felt his heat. It was even more powerful than what the stove was generating.
    “I’m impressed.”
    She couldn’t help but smile as she glanced over her shoulder. “Again?”
    “Yep. You’re serving both bacon and sausage.”
    She lifted a brow. Curious. “Something’s wrong with that?”
    He shrugged. “No. It’s just that usually Nellie did one or the other.”
    She gazed him a pointed look. “Well, I’m not Nellie.”
    His heavy-lidded eyes raked over her. Slowly. Thoroughly. Then he said in a voice drenched with masculine awareness. “I can see that.”
    She didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing at all before turning back around, placing the egg mixture aside to give attention to the pan of biscuits.
    She knew he was staring at her legs and was tempted to pull her skirt down. However, doing so would give him the impression she was uncomfortable with what she was wearing. She wasn’t nor should she be. It was a decent length and, therefore, it was appropriate. It hit just a little above the knee, but she was wearing leggings underneath. If he were to see her in some of the other outfits she owned, the ones that barely covered her thighs, he would probably be shocked.
    “And we’re getting homemade biscuits, too?”
    She couldn’t help the grin that touched her lips when she moved to open the oven door and slide the pan of biscuits inside. “Another abnormality?”
    “Around here, yes.”
    That made Chloe wonder why this Nellie didn’t prepare more of a variety of foods for breakfast. After closing the oven door she turned around, trying to ignore how responsive certain parts of her body were to Ramsey’s nearness. He looked like he needed another five hours of sleep to do him justice, yet at the same time he looked sexy as sin. “May I ask you a question, Ramsey?”
    He shrugged those massive shoulders again. “Depends on what you want to know.”
    She crossed her arms under her breasts and wondered if that had been a good thing when his eyes, half-asleep or not, followed the movement and seemed to be staring right through the material of her blouse to her nipples. At least the nipples thought so and were tingling at the attention they were getting. They were tingling and getting hard all at the same time.
    “I want to know why this Nellie didn’t offer more of a variety to the men at breakfast time.”
    She watched as a grin quirked his lips. “If you knew Nellie you wouldn’t have to ask that question.”
    She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know Nellie, so I’m asking it.”
    He tilted his head to the side, focusing those ever-so-intense eyes on her. And weakling that she was, immediately felt her body’s response to his gaze. She wondered if he could detect it. It seemed so unreal that she would react to him this way when Daren couldn’t get a spark of response out of her no matter how much he tried. But then, he hadn’t tried too often. He’d been more interested in building his political future by parading Senator Burton’s daughter out in front of those he felt he needed to