Page 8 of Wooded Bliss

There’s no reason for a car to be pulling up to my place, unless Grady is here to annoy the fuck out of me or something. When I step out of my shop to find a white minivan with some sort of logo on the side and a woman sitting in the driver’s seat, I’mshocked. Her eyes widen and she takes a deep breath when she catches a glimpse of me.

There’s something a little familiar about the woman, but I can’t put my finger on it. When she opens the door, the scent of wildflowers and sunshine has me taking a step closer while she heads toward the back of the van. The moment I do, the scent grows.

My bear growls,“Mate.”

What the fuck? I want to turn and run, but I know my bear will riot if I do. How the hell is my mate showing up here now after all this time?

The memory of the way Circe looked at me this morning, all sly and secretive, flashes in my mind. I don’t know how, but I have no doubt the witch had something to do with this.

“Don’t fuck this up,”my bear growls as the woman turns toward me with nervousness written all over her face.

Fuck. I don’t want this; I won’t survive any more loss in my life.

CHAPTER 4

BIRDIE

The longer I drive for this delivery, the more a feeling starts swirling in my gut. It is a feeling like something is on the horizon, an impending something I don’t know and can’t name. I can’t shake it, and butterflies are swarming in my belly.

When the trees on either side of the road start to thin out, I realize I’m approaching a huge lodge, but it isn’t where my phone is telling me to go. Honestly, I should just be happy my GPS even works out here.

Pulling up to a gorgeous cabin, I suck in a sharp breath. While nestled in a small clearing, the way the forest encloses the home lets me know that the views from inside would be breathtaking. Movement near a building off to the side of the cabin has me looking that way and my breath stalls in my lungs.

As if I was thinking about him too hard yesterday, Thatcher Bosch is standing there with his intense dark eyes trained on me. My heart starts to pound in my chest as I take him in. The ten years between the last time I saw him and now, melts away.

The way he’s grown into himself has my body going on high alert. It’s not just attraction, it’s something more, something wilder. My heart is fluttering in a way that tells me I’m the prey.

It’s ridiculous since there is no way Thatcher would look twice at me. Even though I wish he would.

I take a moment and catalogue everything that is Thatcher Bosch. He was tall ten years ago, but I think he’s even taller now. The way his broad shoulders, arms, and chest are wrapped in muscles have my thighs clenching. His dark hair is spiked up as if he’s run his fingers through it a few times, while it’s short on the sides.

The flannel he’s wearing is stretched across his chest, and I swear the buttons on that thing must be getting hazard pay or something because even from here I can feel the strain being put on them. His jeans are perfectly worn and stretch across his thighs that are so damn thick that I have no doubt he’d be able to pick me up and fuck me against the wall.

Woah.

No. No fucking against any walls.

I’m here to make a delivery and then I’m going to head back to Whispering Pines to be kept warm at night with this memory.

Fuck, he looks good.

I can almost feel the way his arms would wrap around me and keep me safe and warm. His chest would make a damn goodpillow. Well, maybe it would be a little too hard, but I could deal with it. For him, I could deal with a hell of a lot.

Knowing I can’t keep putting it off, I open the door and step out. The fact that I don’t stumble the moment I take a step toward the back of my van is a miracle. I take a chance and glance at Thatcher to find emotions flitting across his face which I can’t discern.

His shoulders are stiff and everything about him is taunt and rigid. Sure, he looked strong the moment I pulled in, but this is different. This looks like tension.

While holding the bouquet of flowers in front of me like a shield, I step toward where Thatcher is standing. No one can be mad about getting flowers. Right?

His jaw is clenched tightly and I’m a little concerned about his teeth. But I can’t let it stop me. I have a job to do and I’m here to do it.

“What are you doing here?” His growled question has me almost tripping over my feet, but I’m able to right myself.

As I take a deep breath, I swear I hear a low warning growl, but I ignore it. No, I don’t ignore it so much as I’m distracted by the scent of petrichor and fall. Is it coming from him?

I want to wrap myself up in the scent and roll around in it. My stomach clenches with the thought, but I don’t understand my reaction. Even when I bury my face in the flowers I’m holding, Thatcher’s scent easily overrides it.

“I have a delivery,” my voice wavers slightly and I find myself holding my breath at the way his eyes become even more intense.

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