Dedication
For you—you know who you are.
[Back to Table of Contents]
6
Primal Instinct
by Helen Hardt
PRAISE FOR AUTHOR
Helen Hardt
AND HER BOOKS
THAI'D UP
"Is it hot in here? I mean it's July, the sun is blazing, but
I'm sitting in an air conditioned house sweating bullets.
Congratulations Ms. Hardt, you dropped me into the middle of
a scorching hot story and let me burn."
~Seriously Reviewed
Montego Lay
"All I can say about Ms. Hardt's scintillating tale is...Hot!
Hot! Hot!"
"A gorgeous man, a sizzling, exotic location and enough
rum drinks to go around...when you put them all together you
get a gratifying story that will leave you out of breath and
ready to book your own vacation."
~Cherokee Rose, Whipped Cream Reviews
[Back to Table of Contents]
7
Primal Instinct
by Helen Hardt
Primal Instinct
The scent was unmistakably female.
Columbine, yeast, mingled with fresh morning dew.
With something more. The golden-brown lion perked his
ears. His flowing mane drifted softly in the night breeze. She
is here.
A second lion, as pale as wheat, padded toward his
companion. He sniffed the air. Mate.
Brown eyes met blue. Can it be?
The dark cat shifted from one large paw to the other. If we
both sense it, it must be.
Needles on the evergreens whistled dulcetly, a nocturnal
melody to their feline ears. They inhaled in synchrony.
Female. Mate. Ours.
The spicy scent of wild plum sashayed through the air and
sprinkled zest amid the Columbine and yeast fragrance.
Different, yes. But unmistakably female.
Unmistakably theirs.
She was near.
The lions roared to the rising moon. The evergreens
rustled in response. Through the forest the animals ran, their
paws thudding against the cool hard ground.
The scent was unmistakably male.
Two bodies crushed hard against her. They'd appeared
from nowhere when Erin approached the small bar. Though
she'd planned to spend most of the week hiding away in the
small cabin she'd rented in the Rocky Mountains, after two
8
Primal Instinct
by Helen Hardt
days she craved company, so she decided to visit the
clubhouse of the rustic resort.
She breathed in the spicy aroma. Sand. Leather. A touch
of cinnamon. Undeniable male musk. Primal.
A year of voluntary celibacy—were all thirty-something
men married, gay, or brainless boobs?—had prompted Erin to
take a week of vacation from her job as a pharmacist and
embark on a soul-searching pilgrimage. Men? Who needed
them? She'd get to know herself. Get to know what made Erin
Monroe tick and contemplate a life of single solitude.
That enticing virile fragrance, not to mention the crushing
warmth of two hot bodies, wasn't helping her cause.
"Can I help you?" the bartender asked.
Erin's skin prickled as four slightly slanted masculine
eyes—two blue and clear, two dark and smoky—burned into
her.
"She'll have what we're having," the dark-eyed man said.
She turned and met his gaze. "Excuse me?" A mug of stout
sat in front of him. "I don't drink beer. So no, thank you."
"Whatever you want then, honey," he said. "It's on us."
"For sure," the other said. His body edged closer to hers,
until not a part of her wasn't touching him. Erin tingled. What
the hell was going on? The caress seemed far too intimate,
though they were all fully clothed and in a public place.
Her skin warmed with embarrassment over how she was
dressed. Sweats and a tank top. Clingy, yes, and her body
was pretty good thanks to daily doses of yoga. But sweats?
She was hardly clothed for seduction. The two men, though,
looked gorgeous in loose faded jeans. Dark Eyes wore a black
9
Primal Instinct
by Helen Hardt
polo, Blue Eyes a faded gray T-shirt. Both sported finely
sculpted shoulders and arms that pleaded to be stroked.
And she wanted to stroke them.
But that would defeat the purpose of this self-imposed
mini-retreat. Be strong, Erin.
"What's your name, beautiful?" This from Blue Eyes. His
voice was deep
For you—you know who you are.
[Back to Table of Contents]
6
Primal Instinct
by Helen Hardt
PRAISE FOR AUTHOR
Helen Hardt
AND HER BOOKS
THAI'D UP
"Is it hot in here? I mean it's July, the sun is blazing, but
I'm sitting in an air conditioned house sweating bullets.
Congratulations Ms. Hardt, you dropped me into the middle of
a scorching hot story and let me burn."
~Seriously Reviewed
Montego Lay
"All I can say about Ms. Hardt's scintillating tale is...Hot!
Hot! Hot!"
"A gorgeous man, a sizzling, exotic location and enough
rum drinks to go around...when you put them all together you
get a gratifying story that will leave you out of breath and
ready to book your own vacation."
~Cherokee Rose, Whipped Cream Reviews
[Back to Table of Contents]
7
Primal Instinct
by Helen Hardt
Primal Instinct
The scent was unmistakably female.
Columbine, yeast, mingled with fresh morning dew.
With something more. The golden-brown lion perked his
ears. His flowing mane drifted softly in the night breeze. She
is here.
A second lion, as pale as wheat, padded toward his
companion. He sniffed the air. Mate.
Brown eyes met blue. Can it be?
The dark cat shifted from one large paw to the other. If we
both sense it, it must be.
Needles on the evergreens whistled dulcetly, a nocturnal
melody to their feline ears. They inhaled in synchrony.
Female. Mate. Ours.
The spicy scent of wild plum sashayed through the air and
sprinkled zest amid the Columbine and yeast fragrance.
Different, yes. But unmistakably female.
Unmistakably theirs.
She was near.
The lions roared to the rising moon. The evergreens
rustled in response. Through the forest the animals ran, their
paws thudding against the cool hard ground.
The scent was unmistakably male.
Two bodies crushed hard against her. They'd appeared
from nowhere when Erin approached the small bar. Though
she'd planned to spend most of the week hiding away in the
small cabin she'd rented in the Rocky Mountains, after two
8
Primal Instinct
by Helen Hardt
days she craved company, so she decided to visit the
clubhouse of the rustic resort.
She breathed in the spicy aroma. Sand. Leather. A touch
of cinnamon. Undeniable male musk. Primal.
A year of voluntary celibacy—were all thirty-something
men married, gay, or brainless boobs?—had prompted Erin to
take a week of vacation from her job as a pharmacist and
embark on a soul-searching pilgrimage. Men? Who needed
them? She'd get to know herself. Get to know what made Erin
Monroe tick and contemplate a life of single solitude.
That enticing virile fragrance, not to mention the crushing
warmth of two hot bodies, wasn't helping her cause.
"Can I help you?" the bartender asked.
Erin's skin prickled as four slightly slanted masculine
eyes—two blue and clear, two dark and smoky—burned into
her.
"She'll have what we're having," the dark-eyed man said.
She turned and met his gaze. "Excuse me?" A mug of stout
sat in front of him. "I don't drink beer. So no, thank you."
"Whatever you want then, honey," he said. "It's on us."
"For sure," the other said. His body edged closer to hers,
until not a part of her wasn't touching him. Erin tingled. What
the hell was going on? The caress seemed far too intimate,
though they were all fully clothed and in a public place.
Her skin warmed with embarrassment over how she was
dressed. Sweats and a tank top. Clingy, yes, and her body
was pretty good thanks to daily doses of yoga. But sweats?
She was hardly clothed for seduction. The two men, though,
looked gorgeous in loose faded jeans. Dark Eyes wore a black
9
Primal Instinct
by Helen Hardt
polo, Blue Eyes a faded gray T-shirt. Both sported finely
sculpted shoulders and arms that pleaded to be stroked.
And she wanted to stroke them.
But that would defeat the purpose of this self-imposed
mini-retreat. Be strong, Erin.
"What's your name, beautiful?" This from Blue Eyes. His
voice was deep
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