Page 1 of Tempted By the Lumberjack

one

Sienna

Warm, muscular hands roamup and down the sides of my body, leaving me craving for the touch I really want. His fingers graze the underside of my breasts, causing my hips to shift restlessly, until the weight of him presses against me, stopping my movements.

Why does he always tease me like this? Keeping himself just out of reach.

A needy whine escapes my lips, causing him to laugh—the deep rumble vibrates through my chest where he's lightly pressing me down, limiting my movements. If I wasn't so desperate for him, I would shove him off of me and banish him from my bed. But I'm not strong enough to let him go.

My need is stronger than it's ever been. But he continues to tease me relentlessly. His laughter rises to a high-pitched ringing sound as he vanishes before my eyes.

No! I reach out to him, but I'm too late--he's gone.

My eyes snap open as I inhale sharply, realizing it's my alarm clock ringing—not his laughter, and I realize it's another dream about Wyatt—not the real thing.

Slamming my hand on my alarm clock, I silence the beast that interrupted my nightly fantasy of Wyatt, the sexy lumberjack who follows my every move during the day and haunts my dreams at night.

Speaking of my sexy lumberjack, I'd better hurry and get ready for work since he'll be here in forty-five minutes to take me to the flower shop.

I rush through my daily morning routine, cursing my limited amount of time. What I wouldn't give to practice a little self-care in the shower to take the edge off the burning desire throbbingin my clit. But there's no time for that—Wyatt will be here any minute.

Grabbing a shirt and a pair of jeans from my closet, I hastily slide them over my favorite lavender lace matching bra and panty set. The color enhances my browneyes and hair, making me feel beautiful, although I doubt Wyatt will ever see me in them.

Curse my life.

If my life were actually my own, I would act on this crazy instalove attraction I've felt for Wyatt since the first day he walked into the flower shop. However, because of an arranged marriage, I'm promised to someone else, although not officially yet.

That's the reason I ran away from home. I wanted a chance to experience a little bit of freedom before I married Arthur Webster the third, or Artie, as he insists on being called. Soon to be running for public office. He needs a trophy wife who understands her place in the political world.

It's not the life I want. I want a simple life—living with a man I love who loves me back. Not a showpiece, used as a pawn in a world of power and deceit. Unfortunately, I was born into that life.

A knock on my front door pulls me out of my impending doom. I glance at my alarm clock—Wyatt is right on time, as usual.

I grab my coat and purse and head towards a future I can't have, waiting for me behind the door. Teasing me just like my dream lover Wyatt teases me at night.

"Hi. "I smile at my sexy lumbersnack—you know the type. A man who works in the woods who is so damn sexy with washboard abs and dark, broody looks—one strong enough to throw his curvy woman over his shoulder and carry her to the bedroom.

Holding in a sigh, I pull the door shut behind me, turning the handle to make sure it's locked. Not that anyone in this small mountain town would steal from me. It's more out of habit than anything else.

"Hi, yourself." Wyatt smiles, brushing a lock of hair out of my eyes, as I fight the urge to turn my head and rub my cheek against his palm.

"We should go. I don't want to be late." I step out of his touch, hating how empty I feel.

Get over it, Sienna. Wyatt isn't meant for you. He's meant for a sweet mountain girl who will willingly warm his bed at night and give him a dozen children. Not some political princess caught in a game of lies.

Wyatt quirks an eyebrow, as if I'm a puzzle he's trying to figure out. It's a look I know well from him.

"Right," he finally says as we walk to his truck, the silence between us almost too much for me to handle.

I wish I could tell him all my secrets, especially the one where I confess my love for him. "It's just that it's Friday and you know how busy Fridays are," I say instead, trying not to let my sadness show.

Once we reach his truck, he opens the door, helping me climb onto the running board—a new addition to his truck, added after the first day when I struggled to get in. At five feet three inches, it was like scaling Mount Everest instead of the cab of a truck. Not that I minded having his hands grip my hips as he lifted me onto the seat that first day.

"We're still having movie night tonight, right?" He holds the door as I scramble into the seat.

"Of course. It's a tradition." A tradition that started six weeks ago on Valentine's Day.

It was storming so badly that night that I couldn't let Wyatt drive on the twisty mountain road that leads to his cabin in the woods. Especially not after he helped me at the flower shop when my boss went missing while making deliveries on that same mountain road.

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