Free Afraid to Love by Leona Jackson Page A

first few pages. Alyssa, the heroine, had laughed at the hero when he invited her to fly to Paris with him. I would have laughed at him as well, because there's only one type of woman a man takes to Paris when he goes on business. The whore, the Jezebel, the mistress, the friend with benefits.
    I read the pages again, focusing this time on his description of sex, or at least I thought he was talking about sex. I laughed as he compared it to the full moon and stars. What did sex have to do with being in the dark? I blinked and continued reading.
    “I'm not a whore,” my lioness growled at me.
    I forced myself back into my seat. It was difficult to suppress the instinct that made me want to flee her presence now that she had rejected me and all that I would offer. I didn't speak. I hadn't called her a whore. I hadn't asked her to come to Paris with me just so I could sink my loins into her cauldron of creation. Had she forgotten her own dreams or had her answer to my question been a lie?
    “You're not even going to answer me?” she growled and pawed at the table.
    Her well-manicured fingers transformed into claws and she dug them into the table.
    “Do you not remember?” I asked her.
    My voice was heavy from the lust and anger that mingled in my soul.
    “Remember what?” she spat at me.
    Her crescent moons had morphed into an angry snarl and she bared her teeth as she spoke the words. My pride was what she was chewing on.
    “Paris,” I whispered.
    My words echoed between, even though we were only parted by a twelve inches of air.
    “What about it?” she growled again and slapped the table with an angry paw.
    “You wanted to go. You told me when we went to the museum. You wanted to go the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower. You wanted to look up at the moon over the water and lose yourself in the moment with a fiery kiss, embraced by all five elements.”
    I lay the manuscript aside and stared at the ceiling. Alyssa had said that. It was almost word for word what she told them after their date at the museum. Their conversation was naturally followed by the two falling into bed together. He had “kissed every inch of her ebony skin” and “sank his throbbing desire into her soft cauldron of life,” but what good was that in the long run. Every man had lips and a dick.
    “You shouldn't have told him,” I said. “Now he's using it against you.”
    I was angry at the man in the story, but I had to find out how it ended.
    “I did... but...” the ebony lioness said.
    Her words were stifled and I could tell she was unsure of herself. In response, my body tensed in case of another attack, but none came. There was no but me. I shook my head. For six years I had tracked the ebony lioness through her own territory. I had given it every ounce of strength and patience I possessed. I was growing weary of the hunt. What I had at first thought of as a chase had morphed into a different creature entirely. She hadn't wanted me to prove my worth nor my intent. The ebony lioness wanted to be left to the solitude of her life.
    I gently touched her face, caressing the soft flesh that was usually hidden by her hateful expression. She pulled away from my touch and tossed her hair. I leaned across the table and brushed my lips against hers before capturing her mouth. My tongue parted her soft lips and danced inside of her mouth for only a second before I broke the kiss, as she had broken me.
    I stood and walked away. She called my name, but I didn't look back. It isn't wise to turn your back to a cat of prey, but that's what I did. I left her with nothing but her own hide and life to gnaw on. I tucked my chewed up heart into my blazer pocket and looked up at the night sky. The moon was full and the stars were bright, but I knew the ebony lioness wouldn't see them.
    I walked away from the heartbreak of that night and I didn't look back. It wasn't my heart that was broken beyond repair, but hers. She had allowed the dangers of the Savannah