Page 49 of Roughing It

“Tell me something about you.”

The ice clinks in her glass as she slams what’s left of her whiskey back. “Refill?” she asks with a gasp.

“I told you to sip it.”

Blakely waves her hand. “Yeah, yeah.”

I top off both our glasses and wait.

“So Kirk is the only person who knows this, but I grew up in a small town west of Abilene. Dirt poor.” She shivers, and I automatically pull her closer, wrapping an arm around her. “Like, trailer on blocks, bugs and worse in the walls, no food on the weekends, poor.”

Her long lashes rest against her cheeks as she closes her eyes. “All I wanted was to get out of that place. The town, the trailer. My senior year, I got my wish.”

The way she spits the words tells me there’s more to the story.

She sighs. “Anyway. I started a new life in Austin and never looked back. I’m here to grow my brand. To prove people wrong.”

I brush my thumb over her supple bottom lip. “Is that the only reason?”

“Looks like I was wrong about you being emotionally stunted.” Setting our glasses to the side, she shoots me a half smile. “I was lonely as hell. I thought coming out here might give me a chance to figure out what I want. But I wasn’t expecting to want you.”

Maybe it’s the whiskey or the vulnerability of her words, but with a growl, I capture Blakely’s lips. All the bickering, the tension, the flirting crash over me, and before I know it, I have her pinned between my body and the couch.

Our mouths collide, her tongue slipping between my lips. Can she taste my loneliness, my lust, my need?

I should stop. I’m ignoring every rule I’ve ever set. Instead, I rock against her, and with each press of my hips, her shirt rides a little higher. The soft material of the fuzzy pink sweater is no competition for the silk of her skin.

The dip of her waist, the flare of her hips—every curve of her body is a winding road I long to travel. It would be so easy to lose myself in this moment. Where nothing exists outside this cabin. No responsibilities, no work. Just Blakely and me.

Breaking the kiss, her lips puffy and pink, Blakely whispers, “This is going to end badly, isn’t it?”

I trail open-mouth kisses down her throat until I reach the crook of her neck. Here I bury my face and inhale her sweet scent.

She lifts my head, those fathomless eyes searching my face. “If we stop now…”

I swallow. If we stop now, we can walk away, mostly unscathed. Instead of answering her, I seize her in another bruising kiss and let her lips push away all my doubts.

CHAPTER TWELVE

blakely

DAY NINE

Thwack! Thwack!

Grumbling, I rub my sleep-swollen eyes. “Hudson, what’s that noise?”

When he doesn’t answer, I stretch my toes in search of his thigh to poke. I reach as far as my five-five frame will go, but find nothing except cold sheets. What the hell?

Thwack!

This time, the mystery sound makes me jump. It’s rhythmic and harsh, but I can’t place it. Hudson isn’t here or fussing about the racket, so he must be involved, which means I for sure need to figure out what’s going on.

Thwack!

With more of my wits about me, I pad to a window and scan the treeline. Nothing on this side of the house stands out. So I try again, nudging the front door open and peering over the clearing.

Andthere, like some sort of pagan lumberjack god, stands Hudson Brooks, chopping wood.

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