Page 9 of Peaked Desires

Approaching the cabin, it’s peaceful and quiet. Absolutely silent. I take a moment to look around. Shafts of sunlight filter through the canopy from above, casting a soft light around the clearing. Huxton’s cabin is weathered, the wooden panels showing years of wear. I approach the porch and step up the creaky steps, my heart pounding in my ears.

I hesitate before knocking, and when I finally do, I swear my ears almost explode from breaking the silence. I wait for a response, looking around the clearing to see a wood chopping area to the side. Stacks of split logs are neatly arranged, the split wood dry. There is a red and black plaid shirt draped on a worn chopping block, and as far as I can see from the distance, it’s dry too.

It’s evidence that Huxton has been here recently, so I knock again.

“Hello?" I call out softly, nervousness catching my voice. “Mr. Barrel?”

A sudden noise from behind the cabin catches my attention. I turn down the stairs and walk around the back. There, sheltered from the wind is a woodshed lined with endless rows of chopped logs.

That’s when I see him.

My mouth drops as I stare ahead of me. Huxton stands there, shirtless with an axe in his hand, a sharpening stone at his feet. My eyes roam all over his body. It’s even more perfect than I’d imagined. I watch as he bends down and collects the sharpening stone, his jeans sliding down his ass slightly.

I gulp down hard and take a step towards him. His muscular back is glistening with sweat, the afternoon sun catching every ripped muscle on his back. Every movement he makes tightens and clenches his body, his back a work of art. My skin prickles with a feeling I’ve been trying so damn hard to ignore all week, and then he turns around.

Gaaaaawd. He’s goddamn perfect.

A big muscular chest meets my gaze, massive arms and a chiseled six-pack. The worn-out old jeans don’t bother me, and I love the way they only just hang to his hips. It reveals that carved V-shape that has me practically drooling on the spot.

His intense eyes suddenly lock on me, and my chest squeezes tight.

“Elise?” he grunts, eyes squinting. “What are you doing up here?”

His expression is unreadable, but I know I need to get this man’s help.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, Mr. Barrel,” I say, my voice coming out all shaky. “But we’ve got a problem.”

He cocks a brow at me and props the axe up against the wall of the woodshed.

“I’ve told you to call me Huxton.”

I manage a smile, my heart lifting at the sound of that deep, booming voice.

“R-right,” I stammer. God I’ve missed him this week. Is that weird? “Huxton.”

He watches me with those intense blue eyes. “Elise.”

“Yes?”

“The problem?”

Shit!

God, I really am a flustered mess.

“Right. Sorry, the problem…” I shake my head, trying to maintain a stable train of thought, but there’s a shirtless mountain man in front of me. “Um, I sort of double booked a whole bunch of rooms.”

His eyebrows raise. “Do we have more rooms?”

“Yes, but there’s more to it than that,” I grind out. “When I was trying to fix the double bookings, I’ve somehow deleted everything. All the guest contacts are gone. Everything is wiped.”

I take a deep breath and stare at the ground. I can’t bring myself to look at him. I don’t want to see disappointment, or worse, heartbreak, in those gorgeous eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my mouth dry.

Huxton doesn’t say a word, instead he steps forward and lifts my chin with a single finger. His touch is rough on my skin but when my face lifts, he looks me directly in the eyes.

I’m surprised when I see a softness in his gaze. He’s not mad. He’s not angry. He’s definitely not about to turn around and grab that axe and start swinging it at me.

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