The Hero I Need: A Small Town Romance
“Car trouble?” a deep voice booms behind me.
The back of my head smacks the steering wheel in my rush to get up. Ow.
Pressing a hand against the stinging pain, I stand up, close my eyes, and say a quick prayer in my head.
The gruff voice isn’t Niles or Priscilla Foss’, but only God knows who they’d send after me if they’ve figured out Bruce the tiger is gone.
“Lady? You okay?” the stranger thunders again, this time closer.
“Yes! Never better,” I strangle out. Not easily with my heart pounding in my throat.
“Funny kind of better,” the voice growls to my back. “Looks more like you could use a hand.”
Hoping it’ll help, I gather my hair in one hand and lift it off the back of my neck, which is slicked with sweat in the humid night air, and finally turn around.
I have to release my hair in order to tilt my head back far enough to see more than a massive chest covered with a black t-shirt sporting a picture of a purple bob cat. Mouth open. Teeth showing.
And it turns out that slab of a chest is attached to a mountain with arms and legs.
He’s tall, dark, shredded, and deliriously handsome.
I won’t call him muscular because it would be an injustice. Like calling Samson a bodybuilder.
This man looks like he could hoist Bruce over his head without breaking a sweat.
Moving my eyes up over shoulders that’d make Atlas seethe with jealously and a thick neck worthy of a bull, my gaze lands on a face. An amused one, with deep manly lines around flinty hazel-dark eyes.
This looks like a face that’s used to smiling, even if he’s rocking that scary-hot vibe like he invented it.
Only, right now, there’s a smirk carved on his chiseled face that says he might be insane enough to try lifting a full-grown tiger as a feat of strength.
If there’s one thing I can’t do—besides let this guy climb inside my head and eat crackers nice and slow—is let him catch on to the fact that I’m hauling around some very illegal cargo, and it’s alive.
“What kind of trouble are you having?” he asks, his eyes twinkling in the dim light.
At the moment, breathing.
Next up, peeling my eyes off him and finding the willpower to mutter more than a squeak in reply.
His jaw is square, his nose straight, his hair short, but not too short. And his mouth, that smile, it’s--
It’s officially too much to handle.
I huff out a loud breath to stop a heavenly fantasy from forming and get my thoughts back to hell. Because that’s where I’m actually at right now, blundering around an isolated parking lot in the middle of the night with a strange man and a not-so-well concealed monster in my trailer.