Page 5 of Her Protective Lumberjack

“Listen, Chloe,” he says, his voice deep and quiet, “I just want to say…I won’t let anybody hurt you. You must be scared as hell after what happened today, but I’m here to protect you.” His frown deepens. “Your dad brought you to me for a reason. He knows he can trust me to take care of you. Nobody will lay a finger on you while you’re under my roof. I’ll make sure of it.”

I gawk at him, nodding dumbly. “O-okay.”

His words have turned my insides to mush, and my throat is too dry to say anything else. I just stare at him, trying to ignore the burning heat between my legs.

Trace swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Just wanted you to know that. Don’t want you lying awake worrying.”

I nod again. “Thanks. I, um…I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it,” Trace mutters with a shrug. “It’s what I’m here for.”

We look at each other, and the room feels like it’s closing in on us, walls shrinking, everything darkening except Trace’s handsome face. Then he turns away.

“Goodnight, Chloe.”

I suck in a breath. “Goodnight.”

He closes the door behind him and I immediately flop onto the bed, my head spinning as I try to figure out what the heck is happening. The electricity, the sizzling connection between us—can Trace feel it too?

Of course not,I think to myself bitterly.

In Trace’s eyes, I’m just his buddy’s chubby, plain Jane kid. He’s probably mortified that I keep staring at him and praying I go back to Arizona as fast as possible.

With a sigh, I get onto my stomach and reach out for Rocky, smiling sadly when he looks at me.

“Don’t tell him I said this,” I whisper, “but your dad is one hell of a hottie.”

He blinks at me, then yawns in my face, hitting me with a blast of dog breath.

“Charming.” I shake my head and laugh, letting out a yawn of my own. I should change my clothes and get ready for bed, but sleep is already pulling me under, turning my limbs to lead. The exhaustion of my crazy day hits me all at once, and as I drift off, I hear Trace’s voice in my head.

I won’t let anybody hurt you.

The next morning,I wake up to something wet and warm lapping against my hand. Blinking groggily at the ceiling, I turn my head and see Rocky licking my fingers, panting impatiently.

“Okay, okay…I’m up,” I murmur, my voice thick from sleep.

Forcing myself out of bed, I hop in the shower and change my clothes before padding into the living room with Rocky by my side. I was too distracted to take in Trace’s cabin last night, but now I’m blown away by how beautiful it is. Cozy and rustic, like a fairytale cottage, with wooden walls, overstuffed armchairs, and a stone fireplace big enough to stand up in. The windows overlook the surrounding forest, where the first whispers of fall are starting to appear. Patches of golden leaves mingle with the bright green remnants of summer, and I watch as they sway in the wind, like something out of a painting.

This place is a work of art.

The only thing missing is Trace. I can’t see him anywhere, and I’m just starting to wonder if he’s still in bed when I hear a muffledthwackfrom somewhere nearby. Tiptoeing closer to the window, I peer out into the trees. My heart stutters when Icatch sight of Trace near the tree line, lifting an axe over his head before swinging it down against a tree with the confidence of a man who has done this many times before. His plaid sleeves are rolled up, revealing his thick forearms as he repeats the motion, slamming the axe against the trunk again and again. Even from here, I can see the way his muscles ripple with each cut, the furrow of his brow as he concentrates. He looks just as big and solid as the tree he’s chopping down, and I feel a rush of heat between my legs, just like last night.

Crap.

Part of me hoped yesterday was a one-off. That the weirdness of everything that happened was to blame for my crazy feelings about Trace. But no. In the cold light of day, my desire for him is stronger than ever.

The tree begins to topple, creaking loudly as it lands with a thud on the forest floor. Trace looks down at it, then turns his head, frowning. It’s like he can sense eyes on him, and before I have a chance to hide, he’s staring right at me, rooting me to the spot. His intense gaze sucks the breath from my lungs, and I feel my cheeks burning, a mixture of need and embarrassment.

Oh God, this is all wrong.

I force myself away from the window, sitting in one of the comfy armchairs by the fireplace. A pang of familiar guilt is clogging my throat, and I pull out my cell phone, writing my dad a quick text.

Let me know you got back safely. Love you.

I hit send and sigh deeply, resting my head in my hands. I need to keep my cool and wait out these crazy feelings. Soon enough, I can go back to my regular life, without sexy lumberjacks or guilty thoughts or death threats. I doubt the receptionist job will wait for me, but I can find another jobsomewhere close to home. Then everything will go back to normal—just me, Dad, and our house in the Phoenix suburbs. But until then, I need to get myself under control.

My pulse quickens when I hear Trace’s heavy footsteps approaching, and I take a deep breath, attempting a casual smile as he opens the door. His hair is tousled, his face shining with sweat. He looks more masculine than ever, hulking and wild, and I can smell the forest on his clothes.

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