Page 14 of Canadian Wild: Love

I suck in a breath when she seems to feel something and she glances at me, her golden gaze soft and hurt. But so damn calm. Controlled.

Then the car turns and I can’t see her anymore. The dog whines at my feet and I look down at it.

“It’s not my fault. I had to make her go. She needs to find a man who isn’t a mess. Who can love her the way she deserves. I’m not that man.”

But the way my heart pounds in my chest says something different. I can’t breathe. It feels like my heart is pounding out of my chest and my lungs can’t fill with air. My head pounds and I feel lightheaded, rage filling me when I think about George or any other man getting their hands on her.

She’s mine. She’s been mine since I first saw her, wet and bedraggled, yet so sassy.

I took that sass. I hurt her and that makes me no better than that bastard.

The dog whines and puts his paw on my pants leg, staring at me.

“You’re right. I love her. I love her more than any other man will ever love her. I’ve got to get to her,” I gasp, racing to my truck.

The dog jumps up to the seat and wags his tail, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

“Buckle up! We’re gonna get her back.”

He barks and I laugh. “I love her. I’m an idiot.” And the damn dog actually smiles like he knows it but he forgives me anyway.

CHAPTER 9

Lizzie

George chatters beside me but I barely catch a word of it. I don’t care what he says. All I care about is remembering Emile’s face when I left.

I swear he looked like he wanted to call me back. But maybe I’m just projecting my own pain on him.

I desperately wanted to stay. Wanted him to call me back. Tell me he loves me and he’s just an idiot.

But he didn’t. He let me go. And that right there says it all. My ex didn’t want me. Emile doesn’t want me. Right now the only man that does is George and I could care less. His folksy laugh and big smile just make me cringe. I’m not interested in George. Not even as a friend.

I drop my head to the window and watch the forest go past us, watching the endless trees and occasional breaks that show the cliffs that the road perches on precariously.

“I’m so sorry that I lost you. Trust me, I’ll never do that again.”

Cringing, I grunt an answer. I don’t want him to watch me. Don’t want him to find me. I want Emile.

But he doesn’t want me. And that fucking hurts worse than my ex idiot fucking his secretary and telling me he wanted a real woman.

I am a real woman. A real woman with needs and wants. Needs that Emile fills admirably. I flush when I think of him driving into me. When I remember how his beard felt between my thighs. I can still feel the rash on my skin, sensitizing it to the rub of my pants and panties.

I feel the well of tears again and struggle not to wail like a child. I barely cried over what’s his face. But Emile who I just met? I want to curl up in a corner and wail like a baby.

I can feel his arms around me, holding me tight. I felt safe. Felt at home. Felt like I belonged for the first time in my life.

“George,” I whisper. “Stop the car.”

“Hmmm.” He looks over at me and his eyes widen. “Are you gonna be sick?”

“No. I need to go back.”

“But…”

“No.” I shake my head. “I need to go back to Emile.”

“What?” His mouth drops open and then he jerks at the wheel as we hear a horn behind us, over and over. He pulls over to the side and the other vehicle blocks us in. Emile jumps out of the old truck and I scramble to get out of the SUV.

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