Page 50 of Roughing It

I scramble from the door and dash to get my phone. My spidey senses are tingling. Hudson plus an axe is top-notch material. But I screech to a halt because I am in no way, shape, or form camera-ready.

So, like a multitasking fool, I yank a brush through my wavy hair and pull on leggings and a tank top. I shove my hiking boots on with no regard for my feet, and one of Hudson’s discarded flannels tops off my outfit. It’ll do; after all, this live isn’t about me.

Without even pointing the camera at myself, I start talking. “Hey, y’all! I’m coming to you live from my adorable cabin in the woods. And BBs, you are in for a treat today.” I train the phone—and my greedy eyes—on Hudson. I’m rapt with attention as he wipes a gloved hand across his forehead. Tiny beads of sweat glimmer on his skin, and despite the chilly weather, he’s shirtless.

I want nothing more than to trace his skin with my tongue, gathering those drops of salty-sweet sweat. But I’m once again a paragon of restraint. I deserve a cookie for all the damn restraint I’ve shown. With a pout, I settle for zooming in closer than necessary.

“BBs, are you seeing this?” I whisper, not bothering to look at the screen. They are eating this up. Who wouldn’t?

Hudson’s dark hair is disheveled and windswept. He hasn’t trimmed his beard, but it only enhances his rugged looks. He turns his face to the sun for a moment, the rays casting his golden skin in their light.

Another urge strikes me, and I have to ball my free hand into a fist to keep from stalking across the clearing, digging my fingers into his scalp, and kissing the dickens out of him.

My mouth drops open as he swings the axe , splitting a large piece of wood in two.

“Holy shit,” I whisper before catching myself and turning the camera so I’m on screen. With a purr and a giggle, I say, “Daddy’s swinging big today.” From the corner of my eye, I see Hudson’s head shoot up, a hint of pink tinting his bronze skin. He glares at me, so I wink and wave.

“Hudson, say hi to my BBs! They’re very impressed by yourbig axe.” I make sure to place a heavy emphasis on the words, knowing they will fluster him more and drive my fans wild. Plus, I know first-hand how big that axe really is.

Well, not firsthandgiven that we haven’t done more than kiss since the hot springs. It’s like I’m living in my very own closed-door romance.

Whenever I think we might move ahead a step, Hudson pulls back. It’s been two days of tooth-achingly sweet kisses and chaste touches and nothing else. I’m practically throwing up the bat signal, trying to move us forward, but Hudson holds firm. When I ask him why, he gives me a hug or soft kiss and steers the conversation to other things, or makes me do more terrible knot tying, fire making, or navigation practice—which I’m somehow getting worse at.

The sight of Hudson, so masculine and justrawr,has me squeezing my thighs together. I imagine those rough hands exploring my body, pinching my nipples until they ache—the warm, sweaty scent of him enveloping me.

Yeah… those kisses need to give way to more ASAP.

“Hudson! I said say hi!”

All I get is a frown before he sets another large piece of wood on the block and, again, in a single swing, cleaves it cleanly in half.

“This may be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Send a heartif you agree!” My phone screen fills with hundreds of hearts. This is so going viral.

I step closer to where Hudson works, my heart and the pulse between my legs pounding in tandem. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

His eyes run over my outfit, a flicker of appreciation shining when he sees I’m wearing his shirt. “Technically, I can, but this isn’t a toy. The blade is sharp.” His eyes narrow before nodding at the cabin. “Go get the gloves we bought; your hands are too delicate to do this without protection.”

I squeal, then whisper into the camera, “BBs, hold tight. Enjoy the show while I go get my gear.” Setting my phone on a nearby cord of wood, I angle it so Hudson is in view. For his part, he turns his attention back to chopping wood, and by the time I return with my gloves, the stack has grown considerably.

“I’m ready to try my hand at chopping wood.” I flex my bicep in the general direction of my phone. We should both be perfectly in frame. When I reach for the enormous axe, though, he stops me.

“Need you to do a little legwork first.”

Narrowing my eyes, I ask, “What do you mean?”

“Take all the split pieces and stack them by the door.”

The pile at his feet is massive. “Are you serious?”

“Yep.”

“How about you show me how to do it first, then I’ll help pick up?”

“Nope. Stack first.”

My nose wrinkles in distaste, but with a sullen sigh, I pick up a couple of pieces of wood and carry them to the porch. I do this a handful of times until the stack next to the door is knee high.

“Can I be done yet?”

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