Page 12 of Her Rugged Lumberjack

“You want another hot chocolate?” Declan calls from the kitchen.

“No thanks, I’m good!”

The scent of chicken pot pie is wafting toward me, making my tummy rumble. It smells amazing, and I take a seat at thetable by the window. The sky outside is almost black now, but I can make out the shadowy Christmas trees and the glint of the frozen lake in the moonlight. The view must be breathtaking in the daytime.

Declan’s cabin is even more beautiful inside than outside. I barely took it all in before, when I was still drenched in lake water, but now I look around appreciatively at the squashy armchairs and rustic furniture. It’s all warm colors—reds, oranges, browns—and the effect is insanely cozy, like a fairytale cottage. Photos of his parents line the mantel, and I feel a rush of sympathy and affection for this gruff-looking lumberjack who’s really just a family man with a heart of gold.

Crap, I definitely shouldn’t be thinking things like that.

I take a deep breath, trying to clear my head, focusing on the sounds of Declan clattering around in the kitchen. But then I remember how it felt to hug him. How his muscular arms wrapped around me, holding me like he never wanted to let go. Like I was the only thing that mattered. His chest was so strong, hard as rock. Safe. He felt safe. But love is never safe. There are always risks. I know that…so why is it getting harder to hold myself back? Why is my body crying out for Declan’s touch?

The kitchen door opens, pulling me from my thoughts as Declan carries out several dishes, including a steaming golden pie. It smells like heaven. He cuts me a generous slice, and I ladle mashed potato and roasted veggies onto my plate.

“This looks amazing,” I say, taking a bite. The pie is delicious—flaky and creamy, the perfect comfort food. “Ittastesamazing too.”

Declan smiles at me. “Glad you like it. I can’t take the credit, though. It’s my mom’s old recipe.”

He takes a seat across from me, his legs brushing against mine beneath the table. It’s enough to push everything else from my mind, and I’m hyperaware of every movement, every tiny bitof contact. Tension hangs in the air between us, descending like fog over the table as we eat. Something has shifted ever since I opened up to Declan—ever since I wrapped my arms around his thick, muscular body. That tiny moment changed everything.

“There’s something I want to ask you,” he says from across the table. His eyes are fixed on me, burning my skin, and it takes a few moments to find my voice.

“Yes?”

He leans back in his chair, considering me for a moment. “Why didn’t you talk about yourself before? What was stopping you?”

My mouth goes dry. I keep my gaze on my plate and shrug. “I’m just not great at meeting new people.”

“Margot.”

My name sounds delicious in that deep, growly voice, but I still can’t bring myself to meet his gaze. “Yes?”

“Look at me.”

I do as he says, taking in his rugged face, his thick beard, and those eyes…they’re full of so much warmth and affection.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” he says. His tone isn’t mad or accusatory. It’s earnest, serious, like he’s desperate to know what’s going on in my head.

I set down my knife and fork, my face heating. “I…I just didn’t think it was a good idea for us to get too close.”

“Why not?” he asks without missing a beat.

“Because I was worried I might start to fall for you.”

Something flickers in Declan’s expression. “Would that be a bad thing?”

“Yes, it would.” I chew my lip, feeling naked and exposed beneath his gaze. “I’ve seen what happens when people get into relationships. Everything is wonderful at first. Then slowly the resentments build up. The arguments…the finger-pointing…until eventually, they can’t even bear to be in the same room as one another.”

Declan nods. “Your parents?—”

“It’s not just my parents,” I say quickly. “People break up all the time. Or worse, they stay in unhappy relationships while hating each other. Maybe there are some exceptions, a few genuine happily ever afters. But the odds are pretty crappy.”

Even as I say the words, Declan’s knee bumps against mine, making my pulse flutter wildly. It’s maddening. My head is telling me one thing, but the rest of my body wants something entirely different.

“You don’t think it’s worth the risk?” he asks quietly.

I shake my head, but Declan senses my hesitation. He gets up from the table and sits on the chair beside mine. His thumb hooks beneath my chin, forcing me to look up at him. We’re sitting so close that I can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, the strands of silver threaded through his beard. He’s so much older than me, but the rugged maturity only adds to his sexiness, and oh God, I want him so badly it hurts.

“I think you’re worth the risk, Margot,” he says quietly. “Fuck, I’d risk it all for you.”

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