Page 51 of Roughing It

Hudson grumbles but extends his hand, encouraging me to step closer. With a gentleness that belies his size, he snags the hair tie off my wrist and carefully pulls my hair into a messy bun, making sure all the long strands are up and off my neck and back.

“Wouldn’t want your pretty hair to get in the way,” he murmurs.

Sparks dance along the sensitive skin beneath my ear, where his lips graze as he speaks.

“Ready?”

With a resolute nod, I hold out my hand, nearly falling forward from the weight when he places the axe in my grip. Over my shoulder, I call out toward my phone. “Damn, y’all. This axe is heavy! Which makes what we saw this morning even more impressive.” I wiggle my eyebrows and grin.

“Who are you talking to? Me? Because I know it’s heavy.”

Bless his heart. I point my thumb at my phone.

Annoyance tightens his features. “You’re still filming? I thought you ended it when you went inside.”

I screw on a smile and, through clenched teeth, say, “Of course, I’m still filming. Now show me what to do.” Louder so the audience can hear me, I giggle. “Hudson, you big goof, the BBs are waiting!”

When he doesn’t do anything, I widen my eyes in a silent plea ofplease-move-you-giant-handsome-asshole.

His sigh tells me he’s giving in, but also that I’m going to catch hell for this later. Oh well. Worth it.

Glancing over his shoulder, he pulls us out of the phone’s aim. Then he leans in and nips my ear before whispering, “Don’t think we won’t talk about this.”

Guiding me back into the frame—all while ignoring my little whimper—he places his large hands over mine, showing me how to grip the handle properly. He guides my arms up andover my head, then down, and in a smooth swing, the axe cuts through the air with awhoosh. He repeats the action three more times.

I should pay attention to my actions, but all I can focus on are his arms around my body, the heat of his chest against my back, and the subtle scent of my shampoo mixing with his natural one. I can’t be held responsible when my body reacts, my back arching so I can press my ass against his hips.

“Blakely.” His voice is a low warning, but it doesn’t stop him from rocking his hips. “It’s a good fucking thing this releases a lot of tension.” Then louder, he says, “Ready to try on your own with an actual piece of wood?”

Hudson takes a step back, and I feel empty without the weight of his body against mine. But it also helps clear my head.

Flashing a brilliant smile at my phone, I say, “Okay, BBs! Here I go!”

With a Herculean effort, I swing the axe up and let the weight carry it downward. A third of the wood splits away and falls to the side. I did it.

Dropping the axe, I crash into Hudson, jumping and grabbing his shoulders. “I did it! I chopped wood!”

“Sure did, Spitfire.” His fingers brush against my jaw, and for a second, I think he might kiss me. Despite the phone filming us. Despite the thousands of people watching him with hearts in their eyes. But he just smirks.

Taking a calming breath, I walk over to my phone and smile into the camera. “BBs, I hope you saw that. I’m practically a wilderness expert now.” With a quick goodbye, I sign off and take a couple of steps toward the porch.

“Hold up. Where do you think you’re going?”

“Um, inside.”

“Nope. You said you wanted to learn how to chop wood.”

“And I did.” I give him my bestduhface.

“You cut one piece of kindling. Now get over here and let me show you again. This time without an audience.”

Like a scolded child, I drag my feet over to him. But when he grips my hips and hauls me into position, there’s nothing childish about the feelings he ignites. Hudson’s large fingers walk a path upward, skating over my rib cage, then skating over my shoulders and down the length of my arms until our fingers curl together. He guides my hands, positioning them on the handle.

I swear my heart is pounding loud enough for the people back in Trail Creek to hear it.

He swallows, the sound faint but audible. Then, he steers my swing and helps me put more force into it, so this time, the axe head strikes in the middle and splits the log evenly. Before I can do a celebratory dance, a new uncut piece is on the stump we’re using as the base.

We repeat that same sensual slow dance. His hands skimming my body until our hands clasp together. I’m sweaty and tingling, but the only release comes from the crack of the wood.

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