Page 6 of Love… It's Wild

With desperate grips, I claw at the branch. I’m crazy strong from regular workouts, but my arms burn, and my hands can’t grasp the loosening bark as it scratches at the pads of my fingers.

I slip even more and panic.

This isn’t good. I haven’t even met the man of my dreams, and now, I’m going to die from falling out of a tree. Okay, maybe I won’t die, but this can’t end well.

I grasp and scratch and try with all my might to help myself, but it’s no use.

My fingers slide down the bark, and I lose my hold.

I fall fast and far down the tree.

Falling …

Falling …

I yelp again loudly and then gasp as I land on something hard.

I’m not on the ground.

No, I’m in the strong arms of a man who caught me with a step back and a steadying of his body, hoisting me up with his rugged and tanned hands peeking out of the sleeves of a gray suit.

I grab on to his titan-like shoulders. My heart is beating a million miles an hour. My breath is coming out in heaving pants.

I thought I was going to crash onto the hard ground, yet here I am, cradled against the chest of my hero.

I turn in the man’s arms to look at him and find myself face-to-face with rich almond-shaped eyes, darkly peppered stubble, and the concrete jaw of the one man I never ever in my life would have thought would play hero to my damsel in distress.

Robert Bronson.

Fuck my life.

CHAPTERTWO

“You saved me.”

I look at my hero.

Rob Bronson, oldest brother of the Bronson clan, has a roguishly handsome face. His thick, dark hair and prominent cheekbones, add a sense of masculinity and strength to his appearance that his brothers don’t have. It’s a sculpted, chiseled look that’s severe because he’s always glaring so seriously.

While I’ve noticed this man before, I’ve never been this close to him to appreciate his chestnut-colored eyes—warm in color yet there’s a harshness to his gaze. If I wasn’t in his arms, I wouldn’t feel the buzz that courses through his body with the rush of testosterone. His parted lips let out the faintest sound of hurried breaths.

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just stares at me.

“Thank you.” I swallow hard.

He grunts a deep, gravelly sound that vibrates through his chest. It would be sexy if it wasn’t the only form of communication this man has had with me. I’d think it was just his way, but I’ve observed him speaking with other people. He has a voice. A nice one too—a low timbre that’s kind of sexy. For me, he just makes these animal sounds.

It’s not sexy. It’s rude.

I put on my best dramatic damsel-in-distress voice. “You know, Rob, if we were in a movie, this is where the heroine would kiss the hero for rescuing her from uncertain peril.”

Another low grunt escapes his hard-lined mouth. There’s something about his displeased aura that makes me push further.

“Have you come to rescue me and then carry me out into the sunset? I am now forever in your debt and will serve you all the days of my life. Marry me, Robert Bronson, and let me love you forever!”

“They told me you were crazy,” he mumbles, and my face lights up with joy.

“He speaks!” I declare dramatically. “I knew you could do it, big boy. You can let me down now.”