Page 15 of Claimed By the Lumberjack

I spin on him. “No, I mean fairytale.”

He rises slowly from his chair, crossing his arms over that broad chest. “You think this is a fairytale?”

“You don’t?” I tease.

He steps closer. “We’ve got no power. No running water. A stalker with a camera in the trees.”

“Sounds like chapter five of a bestseller.”

His eyes flash. “You romanticize everything, don’t you?”

“It’s better than living like everything’s a punishment.”

He’s close now. Too close. His jaw is tight. His eyes are hard, but he doesn’t move away. “Why are you really here, Tessa?”

I stare up at him, breath catching. “I told you. The story—”

“No. Not the story. Not the magazine. You. Here. With me. Now.”

The words lodge in my throat. Why am I here? Not for the assignment, at least not anymore.

“I don’t know,” I whisper. That’s the truth of it. Raw and unfiltered.

Sawyer breathes out slowly, like the fight just drains from his chest.

“You drive me crazy,” he says.

“Right back at you.”

His hands are at my waist before I realize what’s happening, his head dipping low. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.

I don’t. Instead, I rise on my toes and kiss him. It starts soft, a brush, a breath. Then he groans low in his throat, and everything explodes.

His mouth crashes into mine, hot, urgent, starving. His hands grip my hips, pulling me flush against him. I gasp, and he swallows the sound, tongue sweeping into my mouth with devastating skill.

We stumble backward, knocking into the couch. He catches me, one arm around my waist, the other fisting in my hair.

I clutch at his shirt, yanking him closer, needing more. More of his mouth. More of his hands. More of this thing between us that’s been threatening to detonate since the moment I laid eyes on him.

He kisses like he’s angry at how much he wants me, and I match him, kiss for kiss, fire for fire.

My back hits the wall, and he presses into me, all hard muscle and heat. His thigh wedges between mine, forcing them apart just enough that I feel the thick, undeniable shape of him.

Sawyer pulls back, panting.

“Tessa…”

“Don’t stop.”

His eyes search mine, wild and dark. He lifts me. Just…lifts me like I weigh nothing. My legs wrap around his hips, and he carries me to the couch, laying me down carefully, reverently, before crawling over me.

Our clothes are a blur. My shirt goes first. Then his. His hands find the skin at my waist, sliding up to cup my breasts. He growls. Actually growls.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, mouth moving down my neck, across my collarbone, between my breasts. I arch into him, fingers threading through his hair, tugging gently.

“You’re shaking,” he says against my skin.

“I want this.”

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