Page 14 of My Lumberjack Valentine

I wonder if he’s replaying the kiss in his mind like I am.

I wonder if the lines are starting to blur for him, too.

8

BOONE

I watchas Rosalie touches the ring on her finger, adrenaline pumping through my veins.

That kiss…

When Rosalie’s lips touched mine, it’s like my body sprang to life. All the desires I’ve been pushing down since I met her are rising uncontrollably, like a tidal wave threatening to consume me. I can still taste her on my tongue—sweet and warm.

Fuck.

I can feel myself losing control. This fake relationship feels more real than ever, and after that kiss, we’ve entered dangerous territory. I don’t know what to do. I’ve been trying my hardest to keep my distance, to draw boundaries and remind myself that we’re just pretending. But it hasn’t worked. Hell, if anything, it’s had the opposite effect. I want Rosalie so much it hurts. My cock is throbbing with need, my body aching for this perfect girl. I’m desperate to pull her into my arms and kiss her again, then carry her to bed like I’ve wanted to do since we met.

But this isn’t just about what I want.

It’s about Rosalie.

She’s still staring down at my grandma’s engagement ring, the diamond glinting as she turns it this way and that, and I feel a pang of longing in my chest.

I wish this was real.

Goddammit, I wish she was really mine.

“You okay?” I ask, just to break the silence.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

I wish I could read her thoughts. She’s still not looking at me, and I figure she must be upset about the kiss. The realization hurts more than it should. But hell, she never signed up to kiss a grumpy lumberjack who’s twice her age. She has every right to be upset, and I grab my tumbler from the table, turning toward the fire.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, my throat tight.

You’re a fucking idiot, Boone.

As if this beautiful girl would ever want you.

“Sorry about what?” Rosalie asks, her sweet voice cutting through me like glass.

“For kissing you like that.”

There’s silence for a few moments, and I take a sip of whiskey, feeling Rosalie’s eyes on me.

“You don’t need to be sorry.”

I look at her. I can’t help it. Those pretty brown eyes blink up at me, and I feel my heart melt like butter.

Goddammit, I’m falling for her.

It was stupid to think I could resist this gorgeous angel. I never stood a chance.

“Well, I’m sorry anyway,” I say hoarsely. “We never agreed?—”

“Boone.” She cuts me off, my name like honey on her lips. “I mean it. You don’t need to be sorry.” Her cheeks pinken, turning the same color as her hair. “I…well…I liked it.”

I stare at her, my mouth dry.

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