Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 59022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
The bear listens.
Ladies and Gentlemen, here we have the bear whisperer.
They stay like that for a while before the bear turns and I swear to god locks eyes with me—yes my face is still pressed up against the glass, glued to the scene like I’m somehow taking part in it—looks at the man, then turns and runs away like it’s just another day in the polar bear world.
Before I can even process any part of this, the man turns and looks right at the buggy—right at the glass—right at me.
He has the brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.
CHAPTER THREE
“He’s like the polar bear whisperer!”
I don’t know who says that but it’s accurate as fuck.
I push away from the window and the intensity of his gaze in one fell swoop. I take a shaky step back from the window and try to calm my racing heart and the faint feeling that swept over me the second my gaze locked with Mr. Polar Bear.
Okay…Wow.
It’s the only profound word that comes to mind. It sums up the feeling of him as accurately as anything could.
Just wow.
Something shifted in the air, it almost tasted sweet on my tongue, for a brief minute it wasn’t fear that was stirring in my chest, it was something deeper, richer, something I suddenly felt like exploring and it all leads back to those bright blue eyes and promises whispered without words. Maybe I’m losing my mind from the terror or going from the insane cold air to the heat inside the buggy, but dizziness washes over me in small sensual waves, just beneath the surface of my once cold skin. For the first time since getting in that buggy, I don’t want to pull my coat tighter—I want to take it off—no, I want to strip.
“Who is he?” Ellie says with barely repressed awe reading my mind.
The door slams open and blue eyes strolls in with his friend, dragging the cold in behind them like they own the weather. Frost sweeps through the buggy, sharp as an ice storm, but for once? I don’t care. Not one goosebump. Not one shiver. The chill licking over my skin has nothing to do with winter and everything to do with him.
I hang back as Grace and her flock swoop in, tripping over themselves to gush about polar bears and “oh my gosh you’re so brave” like it’s a Hallmark blooper reel. Their chatter melts into background static. I don’t hear any of it. I only want one thing.
His voice. Just his. Because you just know it has to be smooth and I swear if it’s high pitched and not gravelly I’m suing.
I can’t even bring myself to fully look at him.
The desire’s there, but something’s holding me back.
I mean… his energy takes up the whole damn space in the buggy. I wasn’t wrong. He is tall, well over six feet and he’s broad, I can tell he is, even though he’s wearing a snowsuit just like us—but he fills it out as though it was made for him and not the other way around. He fits in here like it’s natural, not like an intruder out looking for an adventure, he is the adventure. He’s the tree you climb, not the one climbing, the river you ride, not the rider. Shit, why in every scenario in my head am I naked?
“Let me get you a drink,” I hear Devon offer kindly.
“Whiskey.” I hear his voice for the first time.
I know it’s his.
It’s deep, raspy, with a hint of an accent I can’t place, but full-bodied masculinity in its prime. I don’t know even know what he looks like besides the color of his eyes, but I’m completely turned on.
Like seriously turned on to the point that I almost let out a low moan—completely out of character and embarrassing is what it is, but it’s like my body can’t help it. Are they pumping pheromones through the air vents, should I be concerned? Holy shit is this what rich people pay for? Near death experiences and a show? Is he an actor? Is he going to strip? Imagine that… God it sucks to be poor if this is what they’re getting served for the holiday’s— bears with a side of man steak.
“Charlie, come over here,” Grace turns toward me with wide eyes like she’s trying to communicate to me how hot this guy is.
Is she for real?
Like I don’t already know. Does she think I need my readers to see it for myself? The fact that I even have readers makes me want to hide even more.
Again I want to say something, but I’m feeling shy.
Suddenly… shy.
And I don’t know why. Hah, that rhymes. Yeah, they are definitely pumping something through here because none of my thoughts feel strung together or normal and why is it so freaking hot?