Read Online Proud Hearts (Wild Hearts Romance Book 2) by Phoenix Sullivan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Phoenix Sullivan
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concept he knew? Or would arrogance get the best of him?
As a way to gain insight into him, this idea was intriguing. And once I started wondering about how it would play out, I knew there was only one answer to his invitation.
“Sure. It’s a date. But let’s see how it goes before we decide whether we’ll be having breakfast together afterward. Because breakfast…that’s a pretty big commitment.”
He nodded, very serious. “You’re right, it is big. Almost as big as my…challenge.”
I hid my snort in a gulp of coffee.
There was a wrongness in the air from the moment we parked the Rover. Nothing I could pinpoint, although I kept looking around and behind as we unpacked the equipment to carry to the escarpment.
“What is it?” My behavior must have put Chris on guard as well.
I shook my head and shrugged. “Maybe nothing.” But I couldn’t shake the feeling the world was holding its breath right before unleashing some catastrophe. Some kind of psychic intuition? I didn’t disbelieve something like that existed, had possibly caught some flashes of it before, although coincidence could probably account for most of the incidences. It certainly wasn’t something I normally held active court on, but today the feeling only kept growing as we started our trek toward the pride.
“Hey!” It was the back of Chris’ hand thrown against my shoulder—a gesture as protective as a mother crossing an arm in front of her child to stop her from heading into danger—that made me turn.
Caesar came plunging out of the brush to our right. Out of pure reflex I thumbed on the handheld and started filming the cub, at the same time craning around to see what had inspired his mad dash.
Almost immediately I saw. A flash of gold with dark mottled spots sped out of the brush behind him. Elegant, collected and focused, the big cat leapt, catching the cub across the shoulders and bringing him down in a tumbled match of half-grown lion and full-grown leopard.
Oh. God.
I had weapons. I could stop this. My maternal heart cried for action. But first and foremost I was a naturalist and a journalist. And this was Nature. No different from the lions taking down a gazelle. This was what leopards did. If the lions ran across a leopard cub they would attack it too. My job was to capture it on film to analyze later. Nothing more. And I couldn’t let my tears interfere.
Chris’ actions, though, had no such shackles. Unable to rip the strap of the tranq rifle slung across my shoulder opposite him, he drew my .38 instead.
“No!” I cried after him, fearing what he’d do, fearing for the leopard, for him, for Caesar.
So much fear.
For a moment it looked like Chris would run right up on the cats. Maybe only ten feet away he stopped, firing the revolver into the air, yelling “Hai!” to scare them apart.
As the scuffle came to an abrupt stop, he leveled the gun at the leopard.
“No,” I whimpered, too quietly for him to hear.
He didn’t shoot; it was a protective stance only.
The leopard stood there, startled but not as frightened by the gunshot as Chris had hoped. As I had hoped. It could as easily rush Chris as return to ravaging the cub.
Its decision was made for it when Portia charged out of the bush, her momentum driving her relentlessly toward the leopard who would need precious seconds to accelerate.
Muscles bunching in panic, the leopard abandoned the cub, springing with precision, arrowing away from the charging lioness, from Chris, and from the wide-angle lens of the camera.
I zoomed back in to see Portia swing her head toward Chris and heard her warning growl.
.38 muzzle aimed at Portia, Chris backed his way toward me, one slow, deliberate step at a time.
At Chris’ first backward step, however, Portia’s attention was only for her cub. Zooming in tighter, I watched her licking him, seeing splashes of blood across his shoulders and chest. How badly he was wounded I couldn’t tell. Not until Portia
As a way to gain insight into him, this idea was intriguing. And once I started wondering about how it would play out, I knew there was only one answer to his invitation.
“Sure. It’s a date. But let’s see how it goes before we decide whether we’ll be having breakfast together afterward. Because breakfast…that’s a pretty big commitment.”
He nodded, very serious. “You’re right, it is big. Almost as big as my…challenge.”
I hid my snort in a gulp of coffee.
There was a wrongness in the air from the moment we parked the Rover. Nothing I could pinpoint, although I kept looking around and behind as we unpacked the equipment to carry to the escarpment.
“What is it?” My behavior must have put Chris on guard as well.
I shook my head and shrugged. “Maybe nothing.” But I couldn’t shake the feeling the world was holding its breath right before unleashing some catastrophe. Some kind of psychic intuition? I didn’t disbelieve something like that existed, had possibly caught some flashes of it before, although coincidence could probably account for most of the incidences. It certainly wasn’t something I normally held active court on, but today the feeling only kept growing as we started our trek toward the pride.
“Hey!” It was the back of Chris’ hand thrown against my shoulder—a gesture as protective as a mother crossing an arm in front of her child to stop her from heading into danger—that made me turn.
Caesar came plunging out of the brush to our right. Out of pure reflex I thumbed on the handheld and started filming the cub, at the same time craning around to see what had inspired his mad dash.
Almost immediately I saw. A flash of gold with dark mottled spots sped out of the brush behind him. Elegant, collected and focused, the big cat leapt, catching the cub across the shoulders and bringing him down in a tumbled match of half-grown lion and full-grown leopard.
Oh. God.
I had weapons. I could stop this. My maternal heart cried for action. But first and foremost I was a naturalist and a journalist. And this was Nature. No different from the lions taking down a gazelle. This was what leopards did. If the lions ran across a leopard cub they would attack it too. My job was to capture it on film to analyze later. Nothing more. And I couldn’t let my tears interfere.
Chris’ actions, though, had no such shackles. Unable to rip the strap of the tranq rifle slung across my shoulder opposite him, he drew my .38 instead.
“No!” I cried after him, fearing what he’d do, fearing for the leopard, for him, for Caesar.
So much fear.
For a moment it looked like Chris would run right up on the cats. Maybe only ten feet away he stopped, firing the revolver into the air, yelling “Hai!” to scare them apart.
As the scuffle came to an abrupt stop, he leveled the gun at the leopard.
“No,” I whimpered, too quietly for him to hear.
He didn’t shoot; it was a protective stance only.
The leopard stood there, startled but not as frightened by the gunshot as Chris had hoped. As I had hoped. It could as easily rush Chris as return to ravaging the cub.
Its decision was made for it when Portia charged out of the bush, her momentum driving her relentlessly toward the leopard who would need precious seconds to accelerate.
Muscles bunching in panic, the leopard abandoned the cub, springing with precision, arrowing away from the charging lioness, from Chris, and from the wide-angle lens of the camera.
I zoomed back in to see Portia swing her head toward Chris and heard her warning growl.
.38 muzzle aimed at Portia, Chris backed his way toward me, one slow, deliberate step at a time.
At Chris’ first backward step, however, Portia’s attention was only for her cub. Zooming in tighter, I watched her licking him, seeing splashes of blood across his shoulders and chest. How badly he was wounded I couldn’t tell. Not until Portia
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