Maizie sucked a breath, the sensation tripling the intensity in her pussy. Then he did it again, this time pushing at the opening.

“Yes.”

His tongue pressed again, firm enough to spread the tight muscles but soft and moist enough that it didn’t hurt. Her breath caught in her chest, muscles snapping tight, coiling, sensation building…building, and then just like that her release swelled over her restraint and every nerve ending in her body trembled in its wake.

Gray stayed there toying with the virginal opening while her fingers pumped her sex, her palm stroking her clit. Her body clenched around her, milking her for more.

She was drenched, creamed from thigh to thigh, and she was coming. Really coming. She held her breath. Yes. Gray. Yes.

“What’s that knocking?” Gray said in that the sexy radio voice from between her thighs.

“Anyone home? Hello?” The voice wasn’t as sexy anymore and sounded farther away.

Maizie opened her eyes. Scanned the room. Her room. In Granny’s cottage. She looked down, her spaghetti-strap nightgown was pushed below her breasts, both her hands were in her panties, knees wide, sheets a tangled mess around her feet.

“Shoot.” She dropped her head back into her pillow. The world’s most mind-blowing orgasm was gone. “Today already sucks and I haven’t even gotten out of bed yet.”

“Hello? Last chance. Anyone home?”

Maizie jackknifed in bed. That was a man’s voice. Coming from inside the house. She kicked her feet free of the sheets and scrambled toward her bedroom door, straightening her nightgown, grabbing her robe.

Pounding down the stairs, she shoved her arms through the sleeves. Who was it? Some squatter who’d found Granny’s cleverly hidden key, a vacuum salesman, a born-again something-or-other? Whatever.

Whoa, Nelly, did they pick the wrong house to break-and-enter. Well, enter. Hell hath no fury like a sexually frustrated woman. The first time she’d spent the night at the cottage in months and she caught someone taking advantage of Granny’s down-home trust. They had it coming.

The front door was open. Maizie raced down the last few steps and grabbed the corner wall to help swing herself into the kitchen. She reached across the counter and snagged one of the big cleaver-style knives from the woodblock holder and headed back toward the living room.

“Hey. What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She rested the cleaver against her shoulder, her weight on one hip.

Yeah, she wouldn’t kill him. Didn’t have it in her. But he didn’t know that.

The man-tall, probably six-one, six-two-spun to face her from just past the threshold to the all-season room. He was older, around forty-five with thick black hair graying at the temples. He was kind of stocky, but very debonair with his coal-black suit, powder-blue shirt and matching tie.

“Oh. Sorry. Didn’t think anyone was home.” His brown eyes raked down her body, pausing a little too long at her breasts. A lopsided grin blossomed over his clean-shaven face. “You must be Maizie.”

There was a leer in his voice, if a voice could leer, that made a cold chill settle at the base of her spine. Maizie straightened, suddenly feeling vulnerable despite the six-inch cleaver in her hand. She pulled the edges of her robe together, holding them shut rather than setting the knife down to tie the belt.

“You’re trespassing,” she said. “I already called the cops.” Great idea, too bad she hadn’t thought of it before she raced down half-dressed to shoo away the criminal. Ugh. Her brain was oversexed, frustrated mush.

“Really? How awkward. You see, I’m here at your grandmother’s behest.” He stepped into the living room.

“Stay back.” Maizie brandished the cleaver in both hands.

The man stopped instantly, his cocky smile melting away along with all the color in his skin. He held up his hands in surrender. “Hold on, Maizie. Relax. I told you. I’m a friend of Ester’s. Call her. Check it out.”

“Yeah, right. How do I know you’re not some serial killer here to chop me into little pieces as soon as I turn my back to use the phone?”

His smile returned, minus the cockiness. “Well, you’re the one waving the meat cleaver around. And this isn’t my people-chopping suit.”

Okay, good point. Most serial killers probably didn’t wear Versace on the job. She recognized the style. “Who are you? Gran didn’t mention anyone was coming. I just saw her yesterday.”

He dropped his gaze, looked away for a moment then back, his eyes suddenly sad. “Ester doesn’t always remember things clearly. I’m sure she would’ve told you, but, you know.”

Shit. She knew exactly what he meant.

His smile warmed. It was a nice smile that lit his eyes and sharpened the roundness of his jaw. He was kind of handsome, in a stiff, businessman sort of way, with a thin nose, thick brows and short wavy hair, cut just above the collar.

“The name’s Anthony. Anthony Cadwick.” He stretched one hand toward her, very slowly. “I don’t bite and I only chop people into little pieces figuratively.”

Okay, so now she felt kind of stupid holding the cleaver like a hatchet ready to chop off a limb. She lowered it to her side, then set it on the end table next to the front door.

“Hi, Tony. I’m Maizie, the crazy granddaughter.”

“It’s, um, Anthony, actually. Nice to finally meet you. Your grandmother speaks of you often.” He stepped forward.

They shook hands. His skin was warm and soft, his handshake firm not wimpy like he worried he’d hurt her. She liked that.

“Anthony. Sorry. Nice outfit.”

“Same to you.” His gaze dropped to her open robe and then to her bare legs from above her knees. “I woke you?”

Maizie tied her robe, made a knot. She shoved her bed-hair back from her face, the other hand holding her collar together. “Actually you interrupted a really great dream.”

“Mm, sorry about that. Ester said you lived in the city. Didn’t think anyone was here.” He checked his watch. “Afternoon, someone’s got a great work schedule.”

“I stopped by last night to check on things. Took a walk in the woods. It got pretty late, so I just stayed. The place is more comforting than I remember. Particularly the wildlife.”

“Umm…”

“Wait. What time did you say?”

He checked his watch again. “Twelve twenty-five, now.”

“Oh, crap. I don’t even have time to shower.” She spun around and headed for the stairs. “Uh, listen, I have to be at work, like now, so if you can see yourself out… Lock the door behind you. Thanks.”

She’d already turned the landing when she heard him start up the stairs. “Actually, it’s quite a propitious circumstance. Your being late for work notwithstanding, of course.”

She stopped and leaned over the banister. “Okay, maybe I was too vague before. I have to change clothes and haul ass. You need to leave.”

“But I’ve been wanting to speak with you. It’s about your grandmother. I’m really quite concerned.”

“Yeah? Maybe it’s something in the water.” She didn’t have time for this. Maizie took the last two steps at once and raced to her room. She slammed the door and twisted the cheapy knob lock. Better than nothing. Maybe he’d see the closed door and get the idea.

Maizie jerked out of her robe and ripped her little nightgown over her head. Her gaze fell on her sundress from yesterday. Not only had she worn it to work the day before, but her escape from the pissed-off wolf had left a nice long tear in the hem. There had to be something better.

She went to the closet. Maybe some scrap of her old clothes had hidden out in there. She started digging and realized her old room closet had apparently become the place where out-of-date coats went to die.

“Y’know…Maizie?”

Sheezz, the guy couldn’t take a hint. Or a simple direct order. She rolled her eyes and kept searching through the plastic-covered garments. “Yeah?”