Free Primal Instinct by Helen Hardt

Dedication
    For you—you know who you are.
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    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
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    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
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    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
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    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