Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
As a kid she’d always looked so delicate. Not now, though. Cute and sweet, yeah, but not fragile. She was slender, but she had soft curves and an incredible rack that made his palms itch. There was a fierceness about her that would have caught his wolf’s interest if the animal’s focus hadn’t already been locked on her like a laser beam.
Her Persian-blue gaze met Trick’s, and his surroundings just seemed to fade away until there was only her. Something inside him roared to life, and a strange possessiveness began to viciously claw at his gut and tighten his chest. It was as primal and basic as the need that twisted his stomach. His cock twitched, thickened, hardened—until he was full and aching like a bitch. The word “mine” pounded around his skull over and over. And that could only mean one thing.
There you are, Trick thought with an inner smile.
His wolf froze the way a predator would as he eyed his prey, watching it closely, looking for weaknesses, raring to pounce. Raring to claim what was rightfully his.
Her gaze held Trick’s with a boldness that surprised him, considering she was truly the most harmless-looking thing he’d ever seen in his life. Trick was highly dominant, but she didn’t cower from his scrutiny. No, she returned his stare. Pride flared inside him and his wolf. Their mate was strong. A match for them.
Trick saw a raw need in her eyes, knew she’d felt the same powerful snap of elemental attraction, but he didn’t think she knew what it meant. Not yet. Especially since he wasn’t feeling the tug of the mating bond. No, something on her end was jamming the frequency.
Her head slanted, making her long, glossy curls slide over her shoulder. One brow imperiously arched. “Do I have something stuck between my teeth?” she asked drily.
Not quite as sweet as she looked, apparently. But that wasn’t why he blinked in surprise. He just would never have suspected a voice like that could belong to someone who looked so innocent. It was . . . He didn’t really know how to describe it. Smoky. Raspy. Gritty. Like she’d spent a night doing nothing but smoking cigars, chugging whiskey, and screaming in ecstasy. His cock jerked. Yeah, that voice packed a hell of a punch.
Trick gave her a lazy smile, like she hadn’t just turned his world upside down and changed everything for him. “Actually, there does seem to be a little something wedged between your two front teeth.”
“I’m saving it for later.”
His smile widened at the wry response. “Been a long time, Francesca.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Do I know you?”
“You did, once upon a time.” Trick inhaled, taking her scent inside him. He inwardly groaned. She smelled like mango, lime, and lemon fucking sherbet. When they were kids, he’d found it comforting. Now there was a “zest” to her scent that hadn’t been there before—the zest of a fully mature female. A low rumble of arousal trickled out of his pacing wolf, who wanted to surface and claim what belonged to him.
Trick was in no better state. All he himself could think of doing was pinning her to the nearest wall and driving deep inside her. He didn’t just want to fuck her, he wanted to completely possess her. Wanted to keep and protect her.
Oh yeah, she was his all right. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind.
She pointed a finger at him. “Wait . . . you’re the guy on that video who saved a human girl from being mugged, right?”
His mouth flattened. “I’m Trick Hardy, one of Lydia’s pack mates.” And your true mate, but we’ll get to that later. “You and I used to play together as kids.”
“Huh.” No, Frankie didn’t remember him. His scent did prick at her memories, though. Black pepper, charred pinewood, and smoky leather. It was . . . reassuring, somehow. It was also making her nipples tingle—well, that was new. Her wolf stirred, intrigued by the rich scent and the darkly dominant air about him. The animal recognized his scent, thought of him as “pack.”
Frankie took a good long look at him. He was, in a word, ripped. Not in a “someone obviously loves steroids” way where he’d have to turn sideways just to fit through a door—Frankie didn’t go for that look. No, Trick Hardy was perfectly toned and spilled a raw animal energy. All that roped muscle, sleek skin, and the dips and lines of the six-pack beneath his shirt . . . Yeah, God was a seriously creative being.
Trick’s dark-ringed mocha-brown eyes were as sharp as they were warm. His short hair was the color of deep-brown leather, but it wasn’t so short that a girl couldn’t get a firm grip on it. The angles of his face were hard and rough, and they gave him a dangerous look that was accentuated by the claw marks that scarred one side of his face. The black, tribal, warriorlike tattoo sleeve on his left arm only added to his badass image.