Page 3 of Falling for the Lumberjack

Because, of course, the universe was on Landry’s side. Always conspiring to make my life more difficult, more complicated.

I pushed harder, frustration mounting. “Oh, come on, you piece of—”

The door flew open suddenly—because gravity was a bitch and Landry freaking McAllister decided to help. He yanked it open with zero effort, the metal yielding to him in a way it never did for me.

And before I could gracefully tumble face-first onto the gravel, huge, rough hands caught me. Strong fingers curled around my upper arms, their grip firm but not painful. Never painful.

And then I was yanked forward. Right against a wall of muscle and heat. Landry’s chest.

I froze. My fingers splayed over firm, unforgiving heat, feeling the rapid thunder of his heartbeat beneath my palm. A direct contradiction to the composed expression on his face. The realization that he might not be as unaffected as he seemed sent a thrill through me.

And dang it, he smelled good.

Like a fresh cut pine tree and pure, rugged mountain man. Underneath it all was something uniquely him—something masculine and earthy that made my head spin. I’d make a fortune if I could bottle his scent. I breathed him in unconsciously, filling my lungs with the intoxicating aroma.

My fingers tightened in his shirt. Just slightly. Before I could stop myself. The fabric was soft with age and wear, warm from his body heat. I could feel every ridge of muscle beneath, every controlled breath he took.

His chest rose, a slow inhale. As if he, too, was breathing me in. Memorizing my scent the way I was memorizing his.

And then—his grip tightened. Just for a second.

Barely long enough for me to be sure I didn’t imagine it. It was long enough for my body to register the possessive nature of that grip, the barely leashed strength in those fingers.

And then, just like that, he dropped his hands. As if touching me had been a mistake. As if the brief connection between us had burned him.

“Careful,” he muttered, voice low and rough, like stones grinding together. There was something in his tone I couldn’t quite place—restraint, definitely. Regret? Probably.

I stumbled back a step, blinking hard, my cheeks flaming, my heart racing like I’d run a marathon. “Well, now we know my middle name isn’t Grace.”

His jaw clenched, like he had something to say. Or maybe, he just wanted me gone. I’d put a two-dollar bet on the last one.

A hot, stupid pang twisted in my stomach. Part desire, part disappointment, wholly unwelcome. I shouldn’t care. I really, really shouldn’t. But I did.

So, instead of dealing with whatever ridiculous feelings were trying to claw their way up, I shoved them down and turned to grab the damn part from my truck. Buried them beneath layers of practiced indifference, the way I’d learned to do with so many unwanted emotions.

I bent over the seat, reaching in. The position made my jeans pull tight across my rear, but I wasn’t thinking about that. Not really. Not consciously.

But then, I swear I heard it.

A low, barely-there sound.

Like a groan. Deep, involuntary, and quickly stifled. The kind of sound someone makes when their control slips, just for a moment.

My pulse slammed in my ears. My body tightened, a coil of anticipation winding deep in my core. And even though it was probably just my imagination, I couldn’t stop myself from shifting—just a little. Just enough to put a little more curve in my stance. Just enough to test a theory.

Silence.

Of course. Why should I expect anything else? I swallowed hard, the sound audible in the sudden quiet, and grabbed the box, fingers gripping the cardboard too tightly. Straightening slowly, I tried to compose myself, to calm the riot of sensations coursing through my body.

When I turned back, Landry was exactly where I’d left him.

Expression unreadable. Eyes dark. Shoulders rigid with tension. The pulse at his throat jumped erratically, the only sign that he might be affected by our proximity.

I wasn’t stupid enough to think I’d gotten to him.

But oh, how I wanted to.

I held the box out between us, a flimsy barrier. “Here’s your part.”

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