Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
Gathering my courage, I glance over my shoulder. I should look him in the eye and assert dominance. Does that work on mountain perverts?
Suddenly, I’m staring into the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re the exact shade of the Atlantic right after a storm has rolled in. His dark hair is tousled, and his thick beard has me remembering the way that Hugh Jackman in Wolverine makes my panties go wet.
He’s wearing a uniform that identifies him as the local sheriff. Suddenly, I realize that this is easily the hottest man I’ve ever seen in real life and I’m squatting here with my pants around my ankles.
Brock
The Toyota on the side of the mountain has me sighing. Every so often, I get a couple of tourists that get lost here in South Tahoe. Usually, they’re found safe and sound within a few hours.
I make a call to dispatch. My sister, Piper, is on duty. She’s been working at the local police department since the day she graduated high school.
I don’t bother waiting for her to run the plates. I’m already guessing that it’s a rental. We can get the name, but it’ll take some time. Since I hate sitting around, I get out of my cruiser.
The driver’s side door is open, making me wonder briefly about foul play. Then I remember where I am. South Tahoe is a little tourist town. Bad stuff usually doesn’t happen here. But it’s hard to keep that in mind after years spent in big cities with high crime rates.
Pressing my hand to the hood of the car, relief goes through me when I realize it’s still warm. It means our missing tourist should be close by.
Tracks through the snow lead into the forest. They’re small steps, a woman maybe and definitely some kind of four-legged animal with her. I’m about to relay this new information to dispatch when I hear the noise of someone in pain. It’s a haunting noise, and I quickly untap my holster. There was no blood back at the car, but that doesn’t mean much to me in this moment.
I’ve just grabbed my radio when I realize no one is being hurt. The sound is a woman making a dreadful warble. It’s the worst rendition of “We Will Rock You” that I’ve heard in my life.
Two more steps and I spot her through the clearing. She’s hunched in the snow, her perfect heart-shaped ass on display. I can die a happy man now because I’ve seen the eighth wonder of the world, and it is spectacular.
She continues her seventies cover. There’s something about that messy red hair and the off-key voice that instantly make my cock go hard.
I start to clear my throat, but I don’t want to frighten her or her little dog that’s tied to a tree a few feet away from her. He yips in time to the beat as if they’ve been practicing together for years. Unfortunately, practice hasn’t made perfect for either one of them.
She straightens and shuffles to the nearest tree with her dark wash blue jeans around her ankles. Instantly, I recognize she’s reaching for the hairy vine that covers the trunk.
There aren’t a lot of potential tissue substitutes around in the winter wonderland. But that’s the wrong thing to choose. “Freeze!”
She instantly freezes, holding her hands up like I have a weapon raised. Then her shoulders tighten, and I can practically feel her trying to gather her courage. Still, her voice shakes just the tiniest bit when she says, “Stop spying on me, you pervert!”
Then as if in slow motion, she glances over her shoulder.
Attraction punches me in the gut. Her eyes are the prettiest shade of green I’ve ever seen. They’re gemstone green, the color of a perfect emerald. But they’re wide with a mix of fear and anger.
I hate that I startled her and made her afraid, even for a second. Clearing my throat, I say, “Whatever you do, don’t touch that vine again. It’s poison ivy.”
She mutters something about it looking different in the winter while I keep standing there like an idiot. You’d think I was fourteen again and had forgotten how to talk to a girl. “Napkins. I got napkins.”
But she’s already pulling up her pants, her face a deep shade of red. She unties her dog from a nearby tree with short, jerky movements. “Do you always walk through the woods quiet as a ghost, Sheriff?”
2
BROCK
“Do you always walk through the woods quiet as a ghost, Sheriff?” The beautiful redhead in front of me demands.
I’ve learned enough to know that some people respond to fear by dissolving into laughter and others respond in anger. The second response makes them feel strong. But I want to put her at ease. “Do you always butcher every seventies cover or was this a special occasion?”