Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
I’m beginning to suspect I might be in love with her, as wild as that might seem after just one night, and this could be it—my long-awaited shot to turn things around, to convince her that I can be worthy of her, if she’ll only give me a second chance.
I’m almost to the swing, close enough to smell her light, floral perfume on the breeze, when it happens. A long, sleek shadow separates from the tree trunk and dashes toward me, flowing gracefully over the rocky dirt like an eel slipping through water.
As it zips closer, I have a split second to notice the big blue ribbon tied around the creature’s neck—a ribbon the exact shade of Tessa’s dress—before it leaps at my crotch, fangs bared.
Chapter 7
TESSA
One second, Freya is chilling peacefully near my feet, digging at something between the roots of the tree. The next, she emits a clucking battle cry and charges into the shadows behind the swing.
I spin, half expecting to see a drunken Nate coming back for another unwanted cuddle.
But it isn’t Nate, it’s Wesley. He isn’t moving quickly or aggressively—the things that would usually set Freya off—but I’ve been fostering my cousin Nancy’s ferret long enough to know when she’s in attack mode.
My lips part in a warning for Wes to back off, but it’s too late. Freya is already leaping into the air, her sharp fangs aimed between his legs.
I bolt from the swing as my heart leaps into my throat, every cell in my body electrified with panic. I may be annoyed at Wesley right now, but not annoyed enough to wish harm upon any part of him—especially that part I can’t stop dreaming about, fantasizing about, moaning about as I guide my vibrator between my legs and wish he were in bed with me to pull my hair and tell me what an incredible fuck I am.
“No, Freya! Down! Let him go!” I rush toward the scene of my volatile charge’s latest attack, praying I can get her dislodged before she does permanent damage. “Wesley, hold still! Don’t move.”
“Not moving,” he says, freezing in a bow-legged position with his arms raised in surrender that has the teenagers behind him snickering. And yes, he looks funny with his legs spread and a long, writhing ferret dangling between his thighs, but it isn’t kind to laugh at another person’s misfortune, even if you are sixteen and have yet to develop an adult-sized helping of empathy.
Glancing their way, I snap, “You three, go get Barrett. We need a doctor out here, ASAP. Go. Now! If he bleeds to death when she lets go, I’m blaming you for standing there giggling when you should be going for help.”
The teens hustle away, and I lower my voice, “Okay, Freya, calm down. We all just need to calm down.”
“I won’t bleed to death,” Wesley says, triggering another round of aggressive dooking from Freya. Dooking is the ferret equivalent to “barking,” but it sounds more like a husky chicken cluck than a bark.
“Hush,” I whisper. “She doesn’t like loud male voices.”
“Sorry,” he whispers in an almost comically soft tone. “I just meant she didn’t break skin. She’s hanging from my pants.”
I exhale, my shoulders dropping away from my ears in relief. “Thank God,” I mutter. “I’m so sorry. She doesn’t usually get aggressive unless someone is coming in hard and fast.” I reach for the ferret, whispering, “Here now, love. It’s all right. He isn’t going to hurt us. I promise. There, now.” As her body goes still, I cradle her bottom in one hand and reach for her mouth with the other. “Just let go. That’s right.” I apply gentle pressure to both sides of her jaw with my fingers and thumb.
After a beat, her small fangs slide free from Wesley’s pants, leaving two tiny holes behind.
Rocking her in the crook of my arm, I step back, scratching her scruff until her clucking takes on more of a purring quality. Only when she’s relaxed do I tell Wes, “Okay, you can stand up and back away slowly.”
“Standing,” he says, rising from his crouched position, his hands still raised. “But is it okay if I don’t back away just yet? I wanted to apologize.”
“All right,” I say, my fingers still playing through Freya’s fur beneath her ribbon. “You’ve apologized. Now, you can go tell Barrett that you’re not dying.”
“Please, Tessa, can’t we talk?” he asks, his voice low and soft and every bit as sexy as I remember. God, I love the way he says my name. No one has ever been able to make me shiver with a single word the way he does.
But no one has ever made me so ashamed of myself, either.
This sweet-and-dirty-talking man turned me into a cheater. Or a cheating accomplice, anyway, and that’s not something I can forgive. Especially considering the way things played out after our night in the woods.