Page 8 of Feral
“Good luck to you, then. I sure hope you’re not on your period 'cause the gators can smell blood a mile away.” I laugh as she stomps off, undeterred by my warnings. I take a few steps back towards my front door and reach inside to grab an umbrella from the hook near the door.
“Wait up,” I shout out.
She turns, curious and I throw her the umbrella that she fails to catch, landing in the nearby shrubbery. “Don’t expect me to come after you. I’m not exactly in a position to carry your ass if something should happen.”
She bends over to grab the umbrella and then swiftly turns away from me, her unceremonious departure hitting me like a brick in the gut.
I hate to admit it but she’s feisty and I love that in a woman.
I love her spirit. Her grit. This wild, fearless creature who's come looking for answers and found a debauched, self-pitying loner instead.
Chapter 5
Gemma
Iplanned on every possible outcome when I decided to come out here and find this man.
Everything.
Except for his intoxicating effect on me.
His captivating face.
That long, thick, untamed beard that conceals half his ruggedly handsome face.
His deep, guttural voice.
The way his hungry eyes rake over every single inch of me.
It was true.
Everything they said about him.
The way he looks. His raw, almost primal masculinity and gleaming, mischievous eyes that unsettle me down to my very core. I saw images of his face in the papers after his accident and video from his court case, but none came even close to the truth. And his leg? Covered by loose-fitting blue jeans, cut off just below the right knee, it was only then that the reality of his situation actually struck me.
He’s a man who's faced hell and come back.
A dark cloud hovers over his eyes. Dark, unfathomable eyes that have probably seen wicked, twisted things no man should be allowed to see. When he caved and I finally realized he had invited me inside his house, it was like I entered his very soul.
Dark.
Twisted.
Hellish.
Even in the dim light that filtered through the ancient, yellowed windows, it was clear that the right side of his neck going down to his shoulder was singed. I can't even imagine what the rest of his body looks like, let alone his missing leg. I’d researched so much about him but I didn’t know how unbelievably seductive he’d be up close.
Or that he’d be way more frightening than the Press made him out to be.
Despite all that, I find myself intrigued.
Attracted to him even.
His sharp tongue and crude manners only add to his appeal. He’s like no man I’ve ever met before. Although his eyes would blatantly rake over every inch of my body, his hands were kept at his side. Strong, rough-looking hands that once maneuvered the world's finest sports cars on the race track. A man who, during his prime, had won several international trophies.
A man of few words.
A solemn, dangerous man.
