Page 4 of Her Protective Lumberjack

“The guestroom is all ready for you.”

She nods, shooting me a smile that turns my stomach to liquid. “Thank you.”

I grab her luggage and beckon her to follow me to the guestroom.

Fuck, I wish I was leading her to my bedroom instead.

The thought arrives before I can stop it, and another pang of guilt hits me square in the chest.

Goddammit.

I’m her protector, the man her father trusts to take care of her. I shouldn’t be thinking these things. And I sure as hell shouldn’t be getting a hard-on over this girl. But my body is winning the battle against my conscience, flooding me with forbidden desires…dirty thoughts…

Fuck. Something tells me having Chloe here to stay is going to be way more complicated than I thought.

3

CHLOE

My legs feellike Jell-O as I follow Trace out of the living room. I can’t believe this is happening. When Dad told me I’d be staying with his old friend from the military, I never imagined he’d turn out to be the hottest man alive. Trace is a giant, towering head and shoulders above me. His plaid shirt barely contains his thick, bulging muscles, and raw masculinity emanates from every inch of him—from his broad chest to his heavy brow. I struggle to draw a breath as he leads me into a cozy bedroom. My eyes flicker toward the bed, and I instantly picture Trace pushing me down and dominating me with his powerful body, forcing me against the mattress.

Oh God, what the heck is wrong with me?

The last thing I should be thinking about right now is Trace and me in bed together. I got a death threat this morning, and my dad is currently driving back to Phoenix, putting himself in danger to catch the bad guy who wrote it. I shouldn’t be thinking about his buddy like this. It’s all wrong. But my body is betraying me. A warm tingle is blooming between my thighs, and when Trace turns to face me, I feel a spasm deep in my gut. He’s impossibly gorgeous. Ruggedly handsome with a thick beard,intense brown eyes, and a panty-melting scowl that makes my pulse race.

No! Stop!

Dad. Phoenix. Death threat. Will Mercer.

“Will this room be okay?” Trace asks, his voice a deep growl that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.

I nod. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Rocky darts out from behind me and leaps onto the bed, curling up. He’s a big dog, his fur a beautiful mix of black, white, and brown.

“Come on, buddy,” Trace mutters. “You can’t stay in here tonight.”

Rocky’s puppy-dog eyes blink up at us pleadingly.

“I don’t mind,” I say. His coat is silky-soft beneath my hand, and he pants with delight as I scratch his ears. “If it’s okay with you, I’d love for him to stay.”

Trace shrugs. “Sure.”

At that moment, Rocky lets out a sigh, almost like he’s relieved. I can’t suppress my giggle.

“He likes you,” Trace says, watching as I rub Rocky’s belly.

“I like him too.”

There’s a twinkle in Trace’s eyes as I smile up at him. His irises are like molten chocolate flecked with gold, and after staring at him for a beat too long, I have to force myself to look away. The tension in my gut is unbearable. I’ve never felt this way before—it feels like a horny monster has taken control of my brain, driving away all the craziness from today and filling my head with nothing but Trace instead.

“Well, I’ll leave you to get some sleep,” he says eventually, his permanent scowl back in place. “You need anything?”

Yes. You.

“No,” I say, barely recognizing the breathless squeak of my voice. “I’m good, thanks.”

Trace nods and starts to leave. When he reaches the doorway, he turns back to look at me, his eyes burning with an intensity that makes my heart thump.

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