Wild in the Moment Read Online Free Page A
Author: Jennifer Greene
about everything he did. Bullheaded. Thosekinds of guys always were. The thicker the neck, the more stubborn the brain. And the bigger the feet, the bigger⦠Well, it wasnât as if she cared how big he was under that zipper.
She was immune. She could look, she could enjoyâas long as he stayed alive for her, anyway. But she already knew he was totally wrong for her. She didnât know why at that precise moment. Maybe he was married. Or maybe he couldnât define faithful with a big-print dictionary. Or maybe heâd found some creative, new way to break a womanâs heart.
The details didnât matter.
The reality was that she had neverâeverâfallen for a good guy. The flaw was in her, not them. She had some kind of chemistry surge near bad boys. The difference between when she was seventeen and now, though, was that she faced her problems. No more ducking or denial.
Which meant that when and if she liked the looks of a guy, that was itâshe shut the barn door and padlocked it.
Right now, though, she couldnât be worried less about falling for Mr. Adorable. She was focused on one goal and one goal onlyâwhich was to pull the big guy into the living room before she collapsed from 1) a broken back, 2) exhaustion, 3) starvation, or 4) all of the above. My God, he was heavy. Sweat prickled the back of her neck. She pulled with all her might, groaning to give herself extra strength, and still only managed to drag him a few more inches.
Jean-Luc, her ex, had less character than a boa constrictor. But at least heâd been relatively light. Even when heâd been three sheets to the windâor highâheâd usually been able to at least help her move him around. This guyâ¦
When she glanced down at him again, the guy in question not only seemed to be conscious, but was staring with fascination at her face. âNot that I mind being carriedâ¦but wouldnât it be easier for me to get up and walk?â he asked.
She couldnât kill him. No matter how mad she was, you just couldnât murder a man who was already hurt. But an hour later she was still ticked off.
That was also the soonest she could find time to close the door on the kitchen and call the sheriff to make another report.
âI hear you, George,â she said into the receiver. âAnd I admit it. Heâs alive. I even admit that it doesnât look as if heâs going back into a coma anytime soon. But I still have no way to know how badly hurt he is. I need an ambulance. Or a helicopter. Or a snowmobileââ
While she listened, she also ground a little fresh pepper onto the potato soup. The stove and refrigerator were still functioning in the torn-up kitchen, but that was about it. There was no sink or running water. All the pots and pans and dishes had been moved elsewhere, ditto for silverware, food and spices.
Daisy considered herself outstanding at making something out of nothingânot because sheâd ever wanted that talent, but God knows, because being married to Jean-Luc had required some inventive scrambling to just survive. Sheâd always been her momâs daughter in the kitchen, besides. So she started out with a bald can of potato soup she found in a basement pantry, then found kitchen tools and the spices in boxes in the dining room, then raided the depths of the fridge,finally came through with some bacon crumbs and a beautiful hunk of cheddar.
The chives and pepper werenât as fresh as sheâd like, but a decent soup was still coming together. If she could just get rid of her unwanted invalid, she might even be able to relax.
âYes, George, I hear that wind outside. And I canât even see for the snow. But thatâs why you guys have snow machines, isnât it? To be able to rescue people in all conditions? No, Iâm not exaggerating! At the very least, he needs some X-rays. And some antibiotics or medicine like
She was immune. She could look, she could enjoyâas long as he stayed alive for her, anyway. But she already knew he was totally wrong for her. She didnât know why at that precise moment. Maybe he was married. Or maybe he couldnât define faithful with a big-print dictionary. Or maybe heâd found some creative, new way to break a womanâs heart.
The details didnât matter.
The reality was that she had neverâeverâfallen for a good guy. The flaw was in her, not them. She had some kind of chemistry surge near bad boys. The difference between when she was seventeen and now, though, was that she faced her problems. No more ducking or denial.
Which meant that when and if she liked the looks of a guy, that was itâshe shut the barn door and padlocked it.
Right now, though, she couldnât be worried less about falling for Mr. Adorable. She was focused on one goal and one goal onlyâwhich was to pull the big guy into the living room before she collapsed from 1) a broken back, 2) exhaustion, 3) starvation, or 4) all of the above. My God, he was heavy. Sweat prickled the back of her neck. She pulled with all her might, groaning to give herself extra strength, and still only managed to drag him a few more inches.
Jean-Luc, her ex, had less character than a boa constrictor. But at least heâd been relatively light. Even when heâd been three sheets to the windâor highâheâd usually been able to at least help her move him around. This guyâ¦
When she glanced down at him again, the guy in question not only seemed to be conscious, but was staring with fascination at her face. âNot that I mind being carriedâ¦but wouldnât it be easier for me to get up and walk?â he asked.
She couldnât kill him. No matter how mad she was, you just couldnât murder a man who was already hurt. But an hour later she was still ticked off.
That was also the soonest she could find time to close the door on the kitchen and call the sheriff to make another report.
âI hear you, George,â she said into the receiver. âAnd I admit it. Heâs alive. I even admit that it doesnât look as if heâs going back into a coma anytime soon. But I still have no way to know how badly hurt he is. I need an ambulance. Or a helicopter. Or a snowmobileââ
While she listened, she also ground a little fresh pepper onto the potato soup. The stove and refrigerator were still functioning in the torn-up kitchen, but that was about it. There was no sink or running water. All the pots and pans and dishes had been moved elsewhere, ditto for silverware, food and spices.
Daisy considered herself outstanding at making something out of nothingânot because sheâd ever wanted that talent, but God knows, because being married to Jean-Luc had required some inventive scrambling to just survive. Sheâd always been her momâs daughter in the kitchen, besides. So she started out with a bald can of potato soup she found in a basement pantry, then found kitchen tools and the spices in boxes in the dining room, then raided the depths of the fridge,finally came through with some bacon crumbs and a beautiful hunk of cheddar.
The chives and pepper werenât as fresh as sheâd like, but a decent soup was still coming together. If she could just get rid of her unwanted invalid, she might even be able to relax.
âYes, George, I hear that wind outside. And I canât even see for the snow. But thatâs why you guys have snow machines, isnât it? To be able to rescue people in all conditions? No, Iâm not exaggerating! At the very least, he needs some X-rays. And some antibiotics or medicine like
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