Bear shifter Ryland Snow wants a plain and simple life. When a rock star brother, stalkers, and a sexy erotica author descend on his fishing lodge, plain and simple go out the window. Can one ornery bear recognize his mate in all of the madness?
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She was already reviving a few minutes later. Ryland let out a sigh of relief.
Thank God. When he’d first seen the petite woman hurtling through the trees, he’d worried someone was after her. But no one else had barreled behind her. And yet she’d seemed so scared.
They hadn’t helped, presenting her with a couple of snarling bears.
She moaned a little, and the soft sound warmed him, making him hard again. Damn. He glanced around the room, remembered he didn’t exactly tend to stash clothes in guest cabins, and raced for the bathroom. He grabbed a couple of clean towels off the rack and tossed one to Soren. “Cover yourself.”
Soren grinned like a devil and motioned to his nude bottom half. “I can conduct my flirting business much more efficiently this way.”
Ryland glared as he wrapped his lower half in the towel. “Cover yourself or I’ll strangle you with it, lover boy.”
His brother placed the woman’s backpack on the floor and threw the towel about his waist. “Such animosity is really not in keeping with your sainthood, Brother Ryland.”
Ryland ignored him and turned back to the woman. He didn’t know why it mattered so much she recover and feel comfortable in his presence, but it did. Of course, as owner of the lodge, it made sense he didn’t want to see anyone scared or hurt.
Yeah. That’s it. That’s all.
His rationalization did nothing to quell the nervous tremors in his gut, though. Or his excruciating hard-on.
Okay, she’s sorta pretty and has a body made for sin. So what? Get over yourself.
Clearly it had been too long since he’d allowed himself to get lost in a woman’s body for more than a quick fuck. And this woman’s body deserved slow, leisurely loving. Greedy licks. Sensual tugs. Why, her breasts alone were so full and perfect, they just begged one to suck. To say nothing of those rounded hips and soft, womanly ass.
Ryland ran a hand over his face, feeling overly hot. Jesus Christ. Stop thinking like a horny teenager. You sound like Carter.
Besides, she was nothing like him. Human. And if time had taught him anything, it was the pursuit of romance with a nonshifter was a fool’s errand. She didn’t belong here on his resort, on his island. He needed to revive her and get her out of there.
Desperate to relieve the sudden, raging desire shooting up through his body, Ryland forced himself to look away from the woman. In doing so, he caught a glimpse of his brother. Soren was sitting next to her, his gaze contemplative, his eyes trained on her boobs. Ryland realized he didn’t like the way baby brother was looking at her. “Hey.”
Soren looked up. “What?”
“What are you staring at?”
Without batting an eye, Soren turned back to their unexpected guest. “Her. Can’t I stare?”
Ryland’s eyebrows shot up. “Staring at women has already gotten you into trouble. Maybe you should find a new hobby.” He stifled the low growl building in his throat. Now wasn’t the time for brawling, but he didn’t appreciate the way his brother gawked. His cool eye, appraising, as if he’d never seen anything like her before.
“You were checking her out too,” Soren replied.
“No, I wasn’t. I’m not interested in this … person,” Ryland retorted. As he uttered the words, he bit his tongue hard by mistake, as if confirming the words were a lie. “Damn,” he whispered, tasting blood.
“Do you think someone was chasing her?” Soren asked in a pensive tone, picking up one of his drumsticks and stroking it as if it were a lover’s finger.
“I don’t know.” Ryland sat on the other side of her small body and looked her up and down as she lay under the covers. Despite his mistrust of humans, he couldn’t help wondering who would frighten such a tiny, delicate thing. Had someone tried to hurt her? The very idea made him want to bash his head against the wall. Or better yet, bash any lowlife who dared to touch her.
No one touches her but me, his heart declared.
As another stress headache shot through his brain, he wondered at the ferocity and lunacy of the feeling.
About the Author
When not writing, she can be found haunting dusty library stacks or planning her next star-crossed love affair.
She blogs at www.rosannaleo.blogspot.com