Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 175(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 175(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
“Don’t suppose you can track him, can you? I know you have a great nose but we don’t know how—”
Piros spun around and lunged forward, the bright orange of his boots a beacon. Clothing scattered and blew around with the wind but she knew in her gut she couldn’t do any more here. She’d peeked into the belly of the plane but nothing had been there. And as much as it bothered her not to provide the deceased with proper burials, she couldn’t. There were going to be predators coming, and she didn’t want to be between them and their food.
When she caught up to Piros he faced a grotto, still, like he was pointing instinctively at feathered game. He wasn’t growling so she didn’t think there was an animal in there. However, if she was right and it was a survivor, she didn’t know this person or his mental state. Iris took another look at Piros and trusted her gut when it came to her dog. He wouldn’t steer her wrong. It was definitely a person.
“Hello?” she called out. “Is someone there? I came across the plane crash. Do you need help?”
Piros pressed against her leg, pushing her back as sound came from inside. A man stepped through, dried blood all over him, His black leather jacket had definitely seen better days, as had his jeans. The holes in them gave them more of a summery look. Dress shoes on his feet weren’t going to help him in the weather either. The man had to be freezing. His short brown hair brought to mind rich fudge with hints of copper, and the scruff on his face was the same color.
Dove gray eyes watched her with confusion from beneath dark lashes. “Help. Me.”
Then he went down.
Chapter Two
Everything hurt. He struggled to open his eyes and winced even at the small attempt.
“Lay still. Your body is still trying to heal.”
That voice. He remembered that voice. Bradford Rhodes had thought he’d been hallucinating at the time. But he hadn’t been positive, with the pain, the cold, the howling winds and the roaring inside his head. He forced himself to open his eyes. Flickering firelight bounced along the peeling whiteish ceiling, making it more of a yellow-orange as he lay…on the floor?
“Where am I?” He licked his lips and cleared his throat. A few times.
Movement to his right but he didn’t have the energy to turn his head.
“It may not look like much but it’s my place.”
God, that voice. Ignoring the pain, he angled his head in her direction. An unknown female sat near the flames. Christ, she was fucking stunning. Not a wisp of a woman but a luscious one with curves. Smooth dark skin, and her hair exploded out from her head. Bradford longed to touch her curls.
At her side lay the same animal he’d seen earlier, the golden-rust canine. But there wasn’t any furniture in the home. It was…sparse. Perhaps that was too kind of a word. It was fucking empty. Unless something lurked in the darkened corners he couldn’t see.
“Your house?”
She pushed up and strolled closer to him, eyes on the bowl she held in one hand as she stirred whatever was in it. God, her figure was going to be the death of him. Who cared how much he hurt from the crash.
“Yes, I just found out I’d inherited it from a father who had walked out on me when I was born. Or rather, I’m the only one left alive. Don’t think he actually left it to me by choice.” She shrugged as if her words didn’t matter, didn’t have the ability to sting with pain, before sinking to her knees by his side. She made sure not to get between him and the fire, however.
Bradford heard the lingering pain she desperately tried to keep out of her voice. Or perhaps she was simply trying to convince herself she was immune to it. He gave a small yawn. “My father’s an ass as well. I wish he’d left me.”
“That’s a harsh sentiment.” She spread the cold mixture along his temple.
He hissed a sharp breath even though he’d been expecting the cold slide of whatever it was she applied. “Well, when he preferred to use me as a punching bag, I think it’s more of a natural one.”
“I’m sorry for that.” This time, truth lined her words. She moved on to the cuts on the other side of his head, allowing him a far better view of her full breasts as they pushed against her shirt. “Did you have anyone you could trust?”
“My brothers. The oldest used to step in and take beatings from him for me when he could. When he was there.”
What the fuck was wrong with him? He didn’t do small talk. He fucked women, left them there and carried on. Also, he didn’t open up about what a bastard his father was.