Page 5 of My Surly Valentine

“Sure.”

To anyone watching, they would see a man with strong hands giving a three-minute shoulder massage. To me, it feels like I’m melting into a puddle. Somehow Axton knows every single pressure point to unlock my tense muscles.

Once everything is relaxed into place, he spends another few minutes running his thumbs gently up the back of my neck. He’s still releasing the tension, but there’s something else in his touch…something closer to a caress. I find myself leaning back into it, never wanting him to stop.

It was the same when he was holding me so close early this morning. Having these huge, warm hands on me is awakening lust in me, dark and heavy, every time I let it consume my mind for more than a split second.

“Better?” He gives me a friendly clap on the shoulder, as if we were…crap…old buddies.

“Much better. Thank you.”

I make a light lunch, pushing aside his offers of help. A few bites in, he gives me a look. “This is amazing, Hazel. Thank you.”

“Thankyoufor sharing your space.”

Axton seems to be staring at my mouth a lot. If anyone else did that, I’d feel self-conscious. With him, I find myself licking my lips and taking small bites in the most enticing way possible. The thought of him kissing me sends a prickle up the back of my spine that refuses to go away.

“So, what do you do, besides read a lot?” I ask. “And fix motorcycles.”

“This and that.” His eyebrow raises, then he sighs. “I have a workshop where I’m learning woodworking. Turns out I’m quite good at making sturdy, comfortable chairs. Twice a year I rent a bigger truck and run them out to my Aunt Lindsay, who upholsters them and sells them in her shop.”

“Hey, people always need chairs.”

He nods. “The antique bikes are slow work. Oh, and I shoot pool with some guys in a bike club. That keeps me entertained a few times a summer.” Axton straightens up and regards me. “How about you? Care to tell me what you’re running from?” His eyes meet mine. “Maybe I can help.”

I decide I might as well just spit it out. “My father fancies himself an important businessman. And I mean, fair, he owns a couple of companies, but he likes to pretend he’s way higher up the food chain than he actually is, you know what I mean?”

Axton grunts. “Yeah.”

“He also seems to think that he owns me.” My fingers tighten on the table. “Some of his competitors have daughters who are running around dating so-called unsuitable guys. Dad thinks that if I get married as soon as possible to someone whoissuitable, it will make him look super traditional, and therefore stable.”

I can’t read Axton’s expression, so I just continue. “More specifically, he wants me to marry his chief business associate’s son, and lock their two companies together. He had it in his head that we’d click at New Year’s. We…didn’t.”

He snorts. “What, the guy wasn’t pretty enough for you?”

“Oh my God.” I can’t stifle my giggle. “I can barely remember what he looks like, even though we’ve met at least six or seven times.” I involuntarily shudder. “He’s also completely full of himself. It makes my skin crawl.”

“What’s this Romeo’s name?”

My eyes roll. “Fern. Fern Crawford.”

“Fern?Like the plant? Isn’t that a girl’s name?”

“It’s short for Ferdinand. His grandfather’s name.”

I’ve heard Axton chuckle several times, with a few half-laughs thrown in. This time his head falls back as he roars with laughter, actually slapping the table. “Fern. Your pompous daddy wants to set you up with some pasty little thing calledFern? What the actual hell?”

I join him, laughing so hard I tear up. “I know. It’s the worst.”

“Where is your mother in all this?”

My laughter fades. “Mom doesn’t stand up to Dad. She’s… Well, she just doesn’t.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.” His fingers drum on the table. “Wait. Your dad tried to push you two together at New Year’s. Does that mean he’s expecting Valentine’s Day fireworks this week?”

“How’d you guess?” I snap my fingers and point at him with a dramatic flourish. “Another reason why I literally headed for the hills and ended up at the wrong cabin in Hope Peak.”

He smirks, shaking his head before digging back into his chicken and broccoli rice. Just then his phone rings shrilly, making me jump. “Shit,” he mutters, rushing to grab it from the charger. “That’s the ring tone for the rescue team. I’m not really part of the group, but sometimes they call if they need an extra pair of hands. If there’s anything you want from the grocery store, can you write me a list quick?” He’s already pulling on a thick sweatshirt and warm socks, bringing my attention back to his graceful, muscular body.

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