Sneak peek:
Here's a scene of The Centaur Choice, published today!
“Hello?” Bree called.
A figure appeared out of the brush ahead—a tall man she didn’t recognize, with huge dark eyes that immediately captured her attention. His face was red, perhaps sunburned, but it didn’t detract from his good looks—a long face and pointed chin free from any type of beard.
Only when he looked away, scanning their surroundings, could she catch her breath. The stranger returned his gaze to her. He inclined his head, but his expression remained impassive.
“Are you lost?” he asked. His voice was rich and deep, and so quiet that she had to concentrate to pick out his words.
“No.” She glanced behind her, but saw nothing through the brush. “I was separated from the party, but they should be just over the slope.”
“I see.” He turned his horse straight toward her. Bree suddenly realized that he wore no shirt. She averted her eyes, too aware of her flaming face. She’d seen the estate laborers remove their shirts on a hot summer day, but Mama would be horrified to know that she hadn’t looked away. She supposed that explained the sunburns.
She should run. Laborers were rough and uncultured and she was not to go near them.
But he hadn’t grabbed her hand. He didn’t stare or make suggestive comments. Despite their nice clothing, Papa’s guests had been far rougher.
His horse’s hooves thumped slowly on the ground as he neared her. She found herself staring into his eyes, so brown they were almost black, with a mesmerizing depth she couldn’t describe. His black hair was shoulder length, sticking up in all directions and yet never hiding those incredible eyes.
He’d come nearer than she realized. She knew she was blushing but couldn’t look away.
“You shouldn’t be alone out here,” he said. “Why don’t you come home with me? You can meet my family.”
“Aren’t they at the estate?” Bree asked.
He cocked his head. “I don’t know what that means.”
She froze. He wasn’t one of her father’s laborers? Then he was a stranger. Strangers were even worse than laborers. But he sounded so polite, so concerned for her, not at all like the wild, dangerous men that Mama described.
He studied the brush again. Perhaps he was serious about predators. He never seemed to look at her for more than a few seconds, like a deer starting to suspect it was being watched.
She picked up the reins and nudged her mare forward. Dilly left the bush she was grazing on with a grumpy snort.
The stranger stared at Dilly. His eyes widened and he backed away.
He couldn’t be afraid of horses, since he was riding too. “What’s wrong?” Bree asked.
“Nothing. I must leave.” He eased away from her.
“Wait.” Bree scrambled to think of an excuse as she nudged Dilly forward.
The brush opened up into a clearing. Bree gasped. The stranger was not a man. She was staring at a centaur.