Page 11 of Falling for the Lumberjack

And him.

I’d listened to him breathing, low and steady. The rhythm occasionally broken by a sigh or a shift of his large frame against the creaking leather. Wondering if he was sleeping. Or if, like me, he was lying awake, acutely conscious of the small distance between us. Wondering if he was dreaming of me, or fighting against thoughts of me the way I was surrendering to thoughts of him.

I’d done my best bad girl imitation and failed miserably. I’d basically undressed before him and he didn’t take the bait. Just that damn clenching of his jaw, which he did when he was annoyed at me.

Not attracted.

Even now, standing in the cool morning air, watching him assess the damage from last night’s storm, I couldn’t help the sting of rejection. The humiliation of throwing myself at him only to be rejected burned almost as hot as my need for him.

He stood next to me, arms crossed, scowling at the downed tree blocking my way out. Downed trees. Now, there were three trees blocking the driveway. Because maybe Mother Nature wason my side after all. “So this is a logging camp, but you don’t have a chainsaw that can cut through that?”

He turned his attention away from the tree and directly on me. Those dark eyes bore into mine, intense and unreadable. I tried not to back away. This morning his countenance was darker than usual. I wanted to think it was because I’d gotten under his skin last night. But I knew that hadn’t been the case. If it had, I would have woken up with an ache between my legs and a growly bear at my back, not this hollow emptiness and lingering frustration.

“No, I don’t.” His voice was clipped, as tightly controlled as the rest of him.

“And your brothers aren’t coming?”

“Not yet. Trees are down all over the mountain.” He gestured vaguely toward the forest beyond us. “Roads are blocked everywhere. They can’t get through any more than you can get out.”

I bit back a smile. Mother Nature, you crafty bitch.

This almost made up for the fact that she’d given me a curvy body that no one seemed to appreciate, and a mouth that held more vinegar than honey—a combination that had scared off more than a few potential suitors back home.

And the fact that she’d thrown down three massive trees, to give me exactly what I needed. More time with the mountain man who thought he could resist me.

I stood there, with the early morning sun warming me. Just like the thought of spending more time with Landry. The tension from last night still crackled in the air between us like static electricity, making the hairs on my arms stand on end. Had my attempt at flirting, heck, throwing myself at him figuratively if not literally, made a dent in his control?

I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t experienced enough to be sure. The few men I’d dated in the past had been so transparent withtheir desires, so easy to read. Landry was a locked vault in comparison, his expressions guarded, his wants hidden behind that perpetual scowl.

The question now was—was I strong enough to continue the push?

Determined enough to see if I could break him.

And, if I did, would it break me?

I think I was because I could still feel his hands on me, the grip of his rough fingers against my waist, the press of his chest against my back. The whisper of his breath over my ear as he’d leaned in close. My body still ached from the near miss of whatever the hell that moment had been—like a wound that almost happened, a hunger that almost got fed.

And now, here we were. Just us, some giant trees, and the unspoken thing that hung in the air between us, growing heavier with each passing moment.

“This is a mess,” I said, kicking at a branch, pretending to be upset.

Landry let out a grunt. “No shit.”

His jaw clenched again—that tell-tale sign—and I felt a flicker of satisfaction. Good. Let him worry. Because while he might have won the first battle, I was planning to win the war. And now I had time, proximity, and apparently, Mother Nature herself as my allies.

He grunted and walked off. When I caught up, he was already assessing the broken-down piece of machinery which had needed the part I’d delivered yesterday. “Well,” I said, setting my hands on my hips. “We better get to work.”

Landry shot me a look. “We?”

“Yes, we. Unless you want to stand there and look pretty while I fix this thing myself.”

His jaw tightened, that telltale sign of irritation that I was beginning to find perversely satisfying. “This isn’t a job for you, Carter.”

“Like hell it isn’t.” I crossed my arms, pushing my breasts up slightly, watching his eyes carefully for any sign that he noticed. “I grew up fixing things with my dad. Just because I don’t swing an axe all day doesn’t mean I don’t know how to handle a wrench.”

His eyes flicked over me, slow and deliberate. Like he was weighing my words. Or maybe picturing me handling something else entirely. I could give him a few suggestions, none of them appropriate for daylight hours.

“Fine,” he said finally. “Don’t cry to me when you break a nail.”

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