Page 1 of Falling for the Lumberjack

CHAPTER ONE

Sally

There was nothing worse than a man who made your thighs clench and your teeth grind at the same time.

And that, unfortunately, was Landry Freaking McAllister in a nutshell. Or should I say flannel. The big, burly lumberjack was the bane of my existence.

The man was infuriating. Arrogant, broody, and about as emotionally expressive as a damn tree. A huge, six-foot-five wall of raw, muscle-bound irritation wrapped in flannel. His presence in a room was like gravity itself—impossible to ignore yet pulling everything toward him whether he wanted the attention or not.

And worst of all?

I wanted him.

Not in some dreamy,I doodled our names together in a notebook way. Not in a love song and grand romance kind of way.

No.

I wanted him in a filthy, consume-me-completely kind of way. The kind that kept me awake at night, sheets twisted around my legs, skin flushed with heat as I imagined those large, callused hands exploring every inch of me.

Ever since I’d moved to Lone Mountain, Montana, six months ago, I’d tried to shake it. Tried to logic my way out of it. I’d dated other men in the past—kind, considerate men who smiled easily and wore their emotions on their sleeves. Men who made sense for someone like me.

I knew Landry McAllister was not the kind of man who whispered sweet words or caressed with gentle touches. He wasn’t the guy who kissed you slow, hands cradling your face like you were the most precious thing in the world.

He was the kind of man who grabbed, took, and left you trembling. The kind whose touch would brand itself onto your skin, whose kisses would haunt you long after they ended.

And that?

That terrified me. And thrilled me in equal measure.

Because if he ever looked at me the way I secretly wished he would—if he ever touched me the way I fantasized about at night—I didn’t know if I’d survive it. The intensity of him, the raw power he contained beneath that stoic exterior, might consume me entirely.

Which was why I shouldn’t have been here, driving my beat-up truck up a rutted, dirt logging road, every bump rattling my bones and my sanity. With dark storm clouds gathering on the horizon, promising the storm that had been threatening all day.

Yet here I was.

Because the universe hated me.

Or, more accurately, my boss at the hardware store hated me. I knew deliveries were part of my job, but still. This was not how I wanted to spend the last of my shift. I’d rather be sorting nuts and bolts, inhaling the comforting scent of metal and sawdust than anticipating the heady, masculine scent of him. But, like the moon-struck idiot I was, I’d agreed.

So now, I was stuck white-knuckling the steering wheel, stomach tight, pulse already too fast. Because in a matter of minutes, I would have to stand within six feet of Landry McAllister’s impossible body. My fingers tightened on the worn leather of the wheel as I imagined the coming encounter—the inevitable clash of wills that always left me feeling both exhilarated and exhausted.

Two minutes of hearing that deep, gravel-rough voice that seemed to vibrate through my chest and settle somewhere much lower.

Two minutes of not trying to stare at the way his shirt stretched across those unfairly broad shoulders, at the flex of muscle beneath worn fabric, at the strength contained in every controlled movement he made.

Two minutes of pretending he didn’t make my panties wet, and my body burn with a need so intense it bordered on painful.

Honestly? Even though I was crushing hard, I’d rather roll naked in a patch of poison ivy.

The man barely acknowledged my existence on a good day. On a bad day? I was pretty sure he actively resented the air I breathed. As if my very presence was an affront to his carefully ordered world.

I drew in a deep breath as the logging site came into view. His logging camp consisted of heavy machinery and piles of logs waiting to be picked up and processed.

Then, suddenly, there he was.

Standing right in the middle of the damn driveway leading to his office, arms crossed over his chest like living barriers, jaw clenched so tight I could almost hear his teeth grinding, radiating that infamousI don’t have time for your nonsenseenergy. The breeze ruffled his dark hair that was a touch too long and curled slightly at the nape of his neck. I hated that I noticed. Hated even more that I wondered how it would feel between my fingers.

And his face?

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