Page 11 of Her Rugged Lumberjack

Margot’s pretty blue eyes meet mine, her eyebrows raising slightly. Her hair is still damp, pushed away from her face, framing her soft cheeks. She’s so fucking beautiful it hurts.

“I’ve wanted to hear about your life since the day I met you,” I add, crossing my arms, “but you have a talent for avoiding questions.”

Margot’s lips quirk into an apologetic smile. “Well, now you know all about me and my boring life. Sorry if I got your hopes up and made you think I was a spy or an undercover agent or something.”

I chuckle, leaning toward her. “I definitely don’t know all about you, Margot. What do you do when you’re not working?”

She fiddles with her sleeve, frowning like she’s deep in thought, and my pulse quickens with anticipation. All week I’ve been trying to figure this girl out, and now she’s finally opening up a little.

“I write,” she says eventually. “Thrillers, mysteries, things like that. I’m working on my first novel.”

“Damn. I’m impressed.”

She shrugs. “It’s not finished. There isn’t much time for writing at the moment. But one day, I’d love to publish it.”

There’s a glimmer of longing in her eyes, and more than anything, I want to make this dream come true for her. I want to see her pretty face lit up with happiness. She deserves it.

“That sounds awesome,” I tell her. “Can’t wait to buy all your books.”

She presses her lips together, her cheeks pinkening. “Thanks. Hopefully, one day it will be more than just a dream. But it feels pretty far off right now.”

Instinctively, I reach out, resting my hand on hers. Her skin is still a little chilly, but her hand is soft and the contact makes my breath hitch.

“You have all the time in the world to figure it out,” I tell her. “Nobody has it all figured out at your age. Hell, even at my age, most people are only pretending they know what they’re doing.”

“Even you?” Margot asks tentatively.

“Even me.” I squeeze her hand. “Some days, I feel like I’m fucking up the family business. I tell myself I’m a failure. That I’ll never make the farm as successful as my dad did. I tell myself he’d be disappointed in me if he was still around.”

Margot looks stricken. “Declan, that’s not true.”

I shrug. “Maybe not, but our brains can be assholes. They convince us we’ll never achieve our dreams, never be good enough. But it’s all bullshit.” I meet her gaze, trying not to let my eyes drift to her lips. “You’ll finish your book, Margot. I know you will. And it will be fucking amazing.”

Margot stares at me for several moments, and my chest tightens when I see there are tears gleaming in her eyes. I’m about to apologize for upsetting her when she springs up from the chair and throws her arms around me. Her curves melt against my body and my cock stiffens, heat flooding through me. I hold her tight, pulling her closer, but she quickly lets go, and the warmth of her body on mine is gone as quickly as it arrived.

“Thank you, Declan,” she says, wiping away her tears. “I really needed to hear that.”

I nod, already missing the feel of her, trying hard to ignore the growing bulge in my pants. My thoughts are racing. It was just a hug. A quick, friendly hug. But fuck, it felt like so much more.

“I…I should get going,” Margot says, taking a step back from me. “You probably have other things to be doing.”

“I don’t.” There are definitely a million things I should be doing, but all I care about is Margot. “Let me cook dinner for you. I’m making chicken pot pie.”

She bites her lip, looking hesitant. There’s some kind of internal struggle going on—I can see some of her guardedness returning—but finally, she says, “Chicken pot pie does sound really good.”

“I’ll make us some cookies after, too.”

“Well, I definitely can’t say no to cookies.”

She grins at me, her face glowing, and I swear I feel my heart melt like butter in my chest.

7

MARGOT

How the heckdid I land myself in this situation? I’ve been trying to avoid getting too close to Declan, and now I’m staying for dinner at his cabin while wearing a blanket instead of pants. I should have refused, but I couldn’t resist. Being around Declan makes me feel so alive, so warm…and I’m scared to figure out what that means.

At least my clothes and shoes are dry now, so I can put my pants back on. I get dressed in the bathroom before heading back to the living room and curling up in the armchair. I asked Declan if he wanted help making dinner, but he insisted I stay by the fire to keep warm. My body is finally starting to feel normal again after nearly drowning in an icy lake, and I know I owe Declan my life. Maybe that’s why I’m finding myself opening up to him. All the things I was so careful not to say before seem to be pouring out of me like water. I guess near-death experiences do that to you.

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