On the Wild Side (The Wilds of Montana #4) Read Online Kristen Proby

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Chick Lit, Sports, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: The Wilds of Montana Series by Kristen Proby
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Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
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Again.

Nope, even that didn’t do it.

“You’re in here,” she says, gesturing to the fourth door on this floor. “You’ll have to share a bathroom with Daisy.”

“No problem.” I grin and walk inside, setting my bag on the queen-sized bed. “I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome. I’m making pancakes for breakfast, in case you want to stay in the morning.”

“Just for me?”

She laughs softly and shakes her head. “No. We have pancakes every Sunday. Good night, Brady.”

“’Night, Abs.”

She bites her lip and flushes, as if she wants to say something else, but she decides against it and closes the door behind her.

When I’m alone, I blow out a breath and shake my head. I shouldn’t have kissed her, no matter how badly I wanted to. But damn it, hearing her say that I might not find her attractive was fucking ridiculous. Does the woman not know how damn hot she is?

I guess not.

I was happy to remind her.

But this can’t become a habit because I can never commit to her, and she’s a mother. You don’t fuck around with that. She deserves so much more than I can give her.

CHAPTER TWO

ABBI

The man who has starred in all of my sexy fantasies for the past year and a half is still sleeping just down the hall from me.

How in the hell was I supposed to sleep through the night with Brady Wild so damn close? Especially after that kiss in my kitchen. I almost stripped out of my clothes and begged him to fuck me right there on the island. Has anyone ever made me feel so sexy? So wanted?

Nope.

No one. Not even Nate, and he was always attentive, but I knew that I wasn’t really his type. In my experience, the curvier girls are typically overlooked for someone more…athletic.

Which is funny because I’m in excellent shape. I clean for a living, which means I carry heavy vacuums and buckets full of water up and down stairs and in and out of my SUV. I push and pull furniture, and I bust my ass to do a good job in a timely manner so I can move on to the next job.

I’m athletic.

But I’m also naturally curvy, and sometimes, men are assholes about that. At least, the men in my past have been.

But not Brady. Not only did he assure me that he found me hot, but he kissed me like I was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen in his life. And that kiss alone is going to fuel all my spicy dreams for months.

As if he didn’t already.

With a sigh and resigned to dragging ass today, I pull on some wide-legged yoga pants and a cropped sweatshirt, twist my hair up into a bun, and wash my face. It’s too early for makeup, and it’s Sunday, so Brady’s going to get my lazy look today.

When I step out of my room, I notice the guest room door is open and, with a frown, walk down to peek inside. The bed is made, and his bag is gone.

Daisy’s door is closed, so she’s still asleep. Otherwise, she’d come looking for me.

I pad downstairs and find it empty, and my stomach drops.

He left.

He didn’t even say goodbye. He just left. And for some reason, that hurts my feelings.

I blow out a breath and scrub my hands over my face.

“Get over it,” I mutter. “He doesn’t owe you anything.”

Walking to the windows, I glance out at the snow. It’s still falling, but it’s a normal, light snowfall now, and the wind is gone. There are piles of snow where Brady shoveled it out of my driveway, clearing it for not only his vehicle, but mine, too.

Yep, he’s gone.

And he shoveled my driveway. A chore I hate. I would kiss him again, just for that alone.

Not that I would need a reason to want to kiss him again. The man is a grade A kisser.

I check the time and see that it’s still quite early. Daisy will probably sleep for another hour or so, but I can get everything ready for breakfast.

I take my time, enjoying the quiet, pulling out the griddle and setting it on the counter, and then I start to mix the batter for the pancakes. Just as I set the oven to preheat for bacon, my front door opens and in walks Brady, a tray of to-go cups in his hand, looking fresh and sexy as hell in blue jeans and that black Carhart jacket.

His eyes find me and warm, and my mood is instantly a million times better.

“I thought you’d left,” I admit as I step around the island, watching as he sets his tray down so he can take off his jacket, hang it by the door, and step out of his snowy boots. He’s in a green Henley that hugs his shoulders perfectly, making me salivate.


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