She plucked at the high collar of her dress, assaulted by the persistent humidity and press of the crowd. “We should be going.”
“In a minute. I want to see him in action.”
Shamefully, so did she. Her pulse skipped and she nearly forgot to breathe when the handsome rescuer forced heavy boards into the muck beneath the front wheels of the hearse. He ordered the nearby men to take action. The coachman, still wearing his dripping-wet top hat, snapped a whip and urged the horses forward. Another man stepped out to assist in guiding the team.
The wood being used for leverage began to sink. The hearse tilted toward Hercules. Stephanie gasped right along with the crowd. He pressed both hands to the shiny, lacquered side of the vehicle and pushed until his arm and back muscles bulged from the effort. At her side, Eric took two steps forward, perhaps thinking to help, but several other men rushed in with the same intent. At last, the team lurched forward and sprang into motion with enough force to pull the coach free.
Relieved, Stephanie exhaled sharply. People clapped and cheered. A few rowdy men blasted ear-piercing whistles.
“For a minute there, I thought the poor man would be joining the one in the box,” Eric joked. “Good thing he’s a big fellow.”
“Yes. He is, isn’t he?” she agreed, studying the nearly unclad man. He had the elemental rawness of a man in close touch with nature, an intrinsic wildness that made her nervous, even frightened. She imagined him working the docks, cutting timber, or hefting masonry blocks. Whatever his occupation, his strength had served him well today.
A man pumped the rescuer’s hand. “Good work, Mr. Langley.”
Langley? She gasped and shook her head. He can’t be . . .
Yet, another man called out his name. Good Heavens, Hercules wasn’t a dockworker. The gorgeous man with muscles like she’d never seen before was her father’s no-good, cheating partner.
Mud splashed about him with each step he took as Mr. Langley moved in her direction. Panic gripped her. She had no wish to greet the man disheveled as he was―no desire to be closer to his coarse manliness. Or maybe her desire was the problem.
The impulse to flee tore at her but a lifetime of fighting her own battles had taught her the necessity for supreme calm. “Eric, let’s go inside and secure our room,” she urged.
Eric held out his elbow to escort her when a tall fellow, with a small, scruffy dog tucked beneath one arm, burst between them, pushing them both off-balance. Stephanie tried to catch herself as momentum propelled her down the steps. The muck loomed in front of her. No! The cry caught in her throat just before she closed her eyes.
Her book flew from her hands and a jarring wrench vibrated through her when she hit something solid, immovable. But instead of landing in slimy mud, her hands descended on firm, slick skin, and her cheek rested against warm, wet smoothness. The scent of musky masculinity filled her nostrils. Unsure of her own senses, she moved her fingers up and down slowly, testing the texture. Hard muscles flexed beneath her palm, and her fingers ran over the edges of a torn, soaked shirt. She groaned in recognition. Opening her eyes, she beheld mud-splattered flesh.
Mr. Connor Langley.
Shock held her still. For an instant, a shameless part of her acknowledged that he felt wonderful, protective, and this seemed a good place to rest until her world settled. Then she returned to reality, recalling who it was she rested upon. She struggled to push away from him.
“Are you injured?”
His quiet baritone voice slipped through her defenses, touching a tender place in her heart. One strong arm encircled her waist, so close that she doubted even the rainwater could trickle between them. Her gaze traveled unbidden over muscular planes up to a square jaw and angular cheekbones until she met his cobalt-blue eyes.
He studied her with concerned intensity, two deep lines furrowing between his eyes. Though she knew he was only worried about her safety, Stephanie couldn’t get past the raw sensuality of being so near him, or the strange melting sensation that settled low in her abdomen.
Finally, she recalled his question. “No . . . No, I’m fine,” she whispered. Then, finding her customary sturdier voice, she added, “if you would please let go of me.”
He released her, and she recoiled from him like a person jumping away from a snake. She staggered backward until her heel hit the edge of the steps. Giving her hands a shake, she forced them into the folds of her dress and cleared her throat.
But all the while she simply wanted to slip right back into those strong arms.
* * *
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About the Author
Larissa Emerald has always had a powerful creative streak whether it’s altering sewing patterns, or the need to make some minor change in recipes, or frequently rearranging her home furnishings, she relishes those little walks on the wild side to offset her otherwise quite ordinary life. Her eclectic taste in books cover numerous genres, and she writes sexy contemporary romance, paranormal romance, and futuristic romantic thrillers. But no matter the genre or time period, she likes strong women in dire situations who find the one man who will adore her beyond reason and give up everything for true love.
Larissa is happy to connect with her readers. Stop by and say hello: Website, Facebook, Twitter, or send her an email: [email protected]
Other Books by Larissa Emerald
Paranormal Romance
Divine Tree Guardian Series
Awakening Fire
Awakening Touch
Nocturne Falls Universe
The Vampire Bounty Hunter’s Unexpected Catch
The Shaman Charms the Shifter
Vampire
Forever At Dawn – short
Forever At Midnight – short
Romantic Suspense
Winter Heat
Barefoot Bay – Kindle World
Come Sail Away – short
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to my fabulous team of professionals:
Cover design: The Killion Group, Inc.
Interior formatting: Author E.M.S.
Editor: Daniel Poiesz, Double Vision Editorial
Awakening Storm: The Divine Tree Guardians (The Divine Tree Guardians Series Book 3) Page 14