Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(110)

Okay, really good.

I should probably be mad because I’m sure West cut the electricity as a prank.

But instead, I… I don’t know. It sounds crazy, but I’m almost glad he did it?

Ford held me until the lights came back on. He whispered, “I’ve got you,” against my hair and I believed him.

I’d never admit it anywhere except on these pages, but I felt safe in his arms.

And I was disappointed when the lights came back on.





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Need more? Keep reading for an exclusive sneak peek of Wild Eyes, book two in the Rose Hill Series.





WILD EYES SNEAK PEEK


WEST





The sun is shining, the lake is sparkling, and there’s another fucking tourist on the side of the road trying to get a selfie with a bear.

Not just any bear either. A grizzly.

“You have to be kidding me,” I mutter as I press gently on the brakes of my pickup truck and shake my head. I don’t have a clear shot of the woman, but I see skin-tight jeans, a crop top, and a waterfall of loose chestnut waves spilling down her back in shiny ripples.

While the bear forages in the ditch behind her, she lifts one hand, gesturing to it wildly as she talks at the phone held up in front of her.

I pull over onto the side of the road and park in front of her Tesla. Because of course she drives a Tesla. And she has to be a good thirty feet away from it, like she’s slowly edged herself closer to the animal.

When I finally roll to a stop, I just watch in pure, dumbfounded shock for a moment. During the summer months, you see this kind of city-folk stupidity in Rose Hill and it never fails to blow my mind. It’s like people go from having “see a bear” on their bucket list to “get killed by a bear” on their bucket list.

I press the button to lower my window because I don’t want to startle the animal, and I also don’t particularly want to get out of my truck. I enjoy living and my days of testing those limits are—mostly—behind me.

So, using the calmest voice I can muster, I say, “Ma’am.”

But she continues talking to the camera. Clearly recording herself without a care in the world. “It was just a casual drive down a scenic back road when—bam!—the most beautiful bear saunters down into this ditch behind me?—”

“Ma’am!” I lean against my door and wave my arm to catch her eye. Maybe my unwelcome voice in her video will snap her out of it.

And it does. She spins on me with furrowed brows, fiery eyes, and a face I’d know anywhere.

A face most of the world would know anywhere.

Yes, country music superstar Skylar Stone is mean-mugging me for interrupting her video. I suspect I know what brings her to town, but I don’t bother with small talk at a time like this. I don’t want to be the guy known for standing by while a hungry grizzly devours a beloved starlet.

“What?” she asks with arms held wide, like she’s not standing with her back to an unpredictable apex predator. “I’m going to have to re-record this for my socials now.”

“That’s a goddamn grizzly bear. You need to get back in your car!” I hiss, hiking a thumb over my shoulder toward her car.

She shakes her head and continues glaring. “You know what I’m fucking sick of?”

“Is it living?” I bite out, right as instinct takes over and I step out of my truck. As much as I’d like to slam the door, I leave it open to avoid making any noise. “Because that’s what it looks like right now.”

She scoffs. “No. But I am fucking sick of people telling me what to do.”

Her piercing gaze rakes down my faded black jeans, the ones caught on my scuffed charcoal Blundstones, before perusing back up to my plain white T-shirt. Her eyes hover over the hole near the neckline and a small wrinkle crops up on her dainty nose. As though she’s found proof that I’m not worthy of giving her advice.

I approach with caution, craning my neck to glance down the slope at where the telltale brown grizzly hump peeks out above the shrubs. I can hear its deep, satisfied grunts as it forages. Likely ripping berries off a bush as an appetizer before it comes up and tears the limbs off our bodies for the main course.

“I relate. I really do. But this may not be the hill to die on right now. Literally and figuratively. If we survive this, I will personally drive you to a zoo and film your social media content for you. And I hate social media, but I don’t break promises.”

She follows my gaze and then lifts her chin to face me head-on. Plush, heart-shaped lips purse tightly and hazel eyes narrow at me like missiles ready to launch. She hides her phone by crossing her tan arms.

Pure sass.

She reminds me of my six-year-old daughter, Emmy. Something that’s only emphasized when she stomps one foot. The difference is, I’d have picked Emmy up like a football under one arm and gotten the hell outta here a solid sixty seconds ago.

“It’s eating. It doesn’t even know I’m here. And I’ve never seen a bear in person before.” She whines the last part. Like I’m the bad guy ruining all her fun.

My jaw drops as I look this woman over. She’s got diamond studs the size of ripe blueberries in her ears. They’re so big that if she were anyone else, I’d think they were fake. “Listen, I get it. There aren’t bears in the city. It’s an experience. But that”—I point at the bear—“is not Winnie the Pooh down there.”