Page 10 of Protected By the Ranger

As I stand there, a flush of heat rises within me, spreading from my cheeks to my neck and down to my chest. I can feel my pulse race, my breath coming a little faster. There’s something raw and primal about watching Gideon work. His presence fills the space, commanding attention, and I feel helplessly drawn to him.

“Careful there, you might start drooling,” Gideon says, sensing my presence. He turns to face me with a smug smile. He sets the ax down, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low and slightly husky from exertion. It sends a thrill through me, a tingling sensation that settles low in my belly. I try to respond but my voice catches in my throat. I clear it again, hoping he doesn’t notice my flustered state.

“Hi,” I croak out. My heart races as he closes the distance between us.

“Did you need something?” he asks. His tone is light but there is an undercurrent of something else.

I struggle to find the right words, my mind a jumble of thoughts and emotions. “I just… heard the noise.”

“Power went out in the middle of the night,” he explains, his eyes never leaving mine. We’ll need more kindling for the fire.”

The world outside the garage fades away, leaving just the two of us in this quiet, intimate space. The close proximity makes my breath hitch, and I struggle to keep my thoughts from spiraling. Those eyes—deeply emerald and intense—seem to see right through me, piercing my very soul. For a moment, I forget to breathe, caught in the magnetism of his gaze.

Gideon breaks the spell and asks, “So, Ariel, have you chopped wood before?”

I laugh, nostalgia warm in my voice. “No, never. Grandpa wouldn’t even let me near an ax. He’d watch me like a hawk every time I came in the garage, just to stop me from trying to steal it.”

An idea seems to light up his face. He shrugs the blanket off my shoulders, his fingers brushing against my pulse. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he asks, “How about I show you how to do it?”

My face splits into a big smile and I nod in glee. I feel excited to live my silly childhood dream at last, but truthfully, my heart skips a beat at the prospect of being close to him.

I take his hand, the touch sending a jolt of electricity through me. Gideon leads me to the chopping block set in the middle of the room, his hand lingering on mine a moment longer than necessary. He picks up the ax and hands it to me.

He steps behind me, his body pressing close to me, and places his hands over mine on the wooden handle. The warmth of his body seeps into me, and I can feel the steady beat of his heart against my shoulder. His breath is heated on my neck, breaking out in goosebumps on my skin.

“First things first, you need to have a good grip on the wood,” he says in his smoky voice. “Firm but not too tight.”

I can’t help but wonder if we’re still talking about the ax. His chest presses even closer to my back, the heat between us almost unbearable.

“Now, feel the motion,” he murmurs, dipping his head until his nose brushes my hair. Desire ignites in my veins, my knees turning to jelly. His arms tighten around me, and his tongue grazes the outer shell of my ear, sending a shiver through me. A soft gasp slips out before I can stop it.

Guiding my hands, he lifts the ax with me, his movements fluid and deliberate. I can feel every flex of his muscles, every inch of him against me. Together, we bring the ax down in a clean, powerful swing, the wood splitting with a sharp crack.

“Just like that,” he whispers, his breath hot and his lips hovering near my ear.

With each swing, the air practically crackles with the rising tension between us. I feel it in the way his breath catches when I move my ass against him, in the quickening pace of his heartbeat. It’s a powerful, undeniable pull.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and full of praise when his name falls slips through my lips. He rewards me a thrust against my ass and all thoughts fly out of my mind.

Desperate to touch Gideon, I turn too quickly, and a sharp pain shoots through my injured foot. The sudden agony radiates through my leg as I stumble. Gideon’s strong arms wrap around me, dropping the ax. His eyes search mine, worry etched in every line of his face.

“Ariel, are you okay?”

“I put too much pressure on it. I’m fine,” I grit out, as I try to breathe through the pain.

His brow furrows, clearly unconvinced. “You need to rest that foot,” he glances down at my bandaged ankle. “Let’s get you inside. I need to change your dressing.”

Before I can protest, Gideon scoops me up effortlessly, cradling me against his chest. My hand rests over his heart, feeling its rapid, steady beat.

“I can walk, Gideon,” I try to argue, but my arms instinctively wrap around him.

“And deny me this pleasure?” He arches an eyebrow, a devilish grin curling his lips. He carries me inside and sets me down on the sofa’s plush cushions, then gently tucks a thick blanket around me.

Without a word, he moves to the fireplace, arranging kindling and logs with practiced ease. The fire catches quickly, the flames crackling and dancing, chasing away the cold that lingers in the room. Satisfied, Gideon turns back to me, his voice soft. “I’ll grab the medical kit.”

He returns quickly with the kit in hand. Sitting beside me on the sofa, he lifts my leg and places it on his lap. His grip is careful and considerate as he unwraps the old dressing from my foot.

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