Page 12 of Falling for the Lumberjack

I rolled my eyes, but he was already kneeling next to the machine, grabbing the part. For the next thirty minutes, we worked in silence, our hands brushing every so often as we tightened bolts, checked hoses, and fought the broken piece into place. His hands moved with confidence, familiar with every inch of the complex equipment. Watching him work, seeing the competence in every movement, sent an unexpected thrill through me.

I tried to ignore the way my stomach flipped every time his fingers lingered just a little too long. The way heat pooled low in my belly when he muttered a lowgood girlafter I adjusted something correctly.

I’d never thought of myself as someone who needed approval or praise, but coming from him, it did something to me. Made me want to earn more of those rare, gruff compliments. Made me wonder what other sounds I could draw from that stern mouth if given the chance.

The air between us grew thick, charged with something neither of us wanted to name. The silence wasn’t comfortable.It was heavy. Weighted with the undeniable truth that last night had changed something. Shifted the ground beneath our feet. Made the possibilities that much more real.

I reached for a wrench at the same time he did, and our fingers collided. A sharp jolt shot through me, electric and startling, my breath catching as I glanced up—and found his eyes already locked on mine. Everything inside me tightened. My stomach, my chest, my thighs. Like my body was preparing for something it had been waiting for without my conscious knowledge.

His breathing was slow, controlled, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw ticked like he was holding something back. Restraining something wild and hungry. My fingers flexed against his, testing, teasing. Pushing, always pushing, because I couldn’t seem to help myself around him.

He didn’t move away. Didn’t pull back.

Instead, his fingers curled around mine, his grip rough, calloused, firm. Possessive. The simple touch more intimate than it had any right to be.

“Sally,” he said, voice low, warning. A growl more than a word.

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “What?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, nostrils flaring. And then he was moving. Fast. One second I was crouched beside him, the next, I was pinned against the nearest wall, my back pressing into rough wood, Landry’s body crowding into mine.

I gasped, my hands flying up to his chest on instinct. Solid, unyielding heat met my palms. His heart thundered beneath my touch, surprisingly fast for a man who always seemed so controlled.

“Landry—”

His mouth crashed down on mine before I could finish.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a claiming. Rough, desperate, searing. His hands were everywhere at once—gripping my hips, sliding up my back, threading through my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss. My world tilted, the force of him stealing my breath, leaving me lightheaded, dizzy with want and need and a hunger I hadn’t known I was capable of feeling.

I arched into him, pressing closer, chasing the heat of his body, the hardness of him against the softness of me. His growl vibrated against my lips, animalistic and raw, his hands tightening like he was barely hanging on to his control.

I wanted him to lose it. Wanted to feel what Landry McAllister was like when he wasn’t holding back. When he wasn’t fighting himself at every turn.

He shoved a knee between my thighs, spreading me wide, pressing into the ache that had been building since the second I met him. I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders, leaving half-moon indentations I hoped would linger. Marks that would remind him of this moment, of me.

His mouth broke from mine, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. I whimpered, tilting my head back, giving him more access. The rough scratch of his stubble against my throat was the perfect counterpoint to the softness of his lips, the wet heat of his tongue.

“Fuck,” he muttered against my throat. His breath was ragged, his control fraying like a rope under too much strain. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“No,” I gasped as his teeth nipped at my collarbone, sending shivers down my spine. “Just break your damn control.”

Something snapped. I felt it—the exact moment his restraint gave way. His hands slid to my ass, gripping, lifting me onto the worktable by our side. His hips pinned me there, the hardlength of him pressing against my core, and—heaven help me—I wrapped my legs around his waist, locking him in place.

The friction was maddening. The heat unbearable. My body ached for more, needed more. His hands were rough against my skin, sliding under my shirt, calloused palms skimming my ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts. I moaned, arching into his touch, silently begging for more.

And then—he stopped.

One second, he was all over me. The next, he was pulling back, ripping himself away like he’d been burned. His breathing was harsh, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as if he didn’t trust himself to touch me again.

I stared at him, dazed, frustrated, aching. My lips felt swollen, my body thrumming with unfulfilled need. “What’s wrong?”

His gaze was dark, wild. His eyes half-lidded and that muscle jumping in his jaw. “If I take you, I take everything.” His voice was thick, rough, like gravel wrapped in velvet. “You ready for that?”

“I—” I didn’t know how to respond. But it didn’t matter. He didn’t let me.

With a muttered curse, he spun on his heel and stalked away, leaving me breathless, trembling. I slid off the worktable on shaky legs, my body still humming with need, the ghost of his touch lingering on my skin. I watched him disappear into the cabin, the door slamming behind him like a period at the end of a sentence I didn’t understand.

I didn’t know what had just happened.

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