Page 6 of Falling for the Lumberjack

I turned away before my body betrayed me. Again. Twice now, I’d had her pressed against me. Twice I’d felt the soft yield of her body against mine. Twice I’d had to push her away, fighting against every instinct that screamed at me to pull her closer.

I was known for my control, but she was quickly testing my limits. Pushing at boundaries I’d thought were made of steel, only to find they bent like tin beneath her touch.

I shoved some wood into the metal stove, striking a match with more force than necessary. The small flame flared to life, catching on the dry kindling, dancing with the same restless energy that coursed through my veins. There was a chill in the cabin and I needed to get it warm for her. Plus, it gave me something to keep my hands busy before I did something real stupid.

Like drag her against me and taste that smart-ass mouth.

I watched the flames grow, tried to focus on their dance rather than the woman behind me. The heat from the stove warmed my face, but did nothing for the cold dread—or the hot desire—twisting in my gut.

I wasn’t supposed to want her.

Didn’t mean I didn’t.

She was still watching me, her mouth set in that stubborn little line that made me want to test just how stubborn she could be. It was as simple as that. And twice as complicated.

Because now, she was in my space, filling the air with the scent of rain and something sweeter underneath—somethingthat made me think of sweat-damp sheets and whispers in the dark. Something that made my body tighten with anticipation and my mind cloud with images I had no business entertaining.

I slammed the stove shut a little harder than necessary, straightening to find her watching me. Her gaze traveled over me, leaving heat in its wake—like fingers tracing patterns on my skin. I could feel it. The weight of her attention. The curiosity in her eyes.

Those dark eyes, sharp and unreadable. That mouth, just a little too smug. Like she knew.

Knew she was testing me.

Knew she was winning.

I moved to what passed as a kitchen, trying to find some distance from the charge that seemed to build between us with every passing moment. I found two cans of soup and started heating them, movements mechanical, practiced. I needed something to do. Something to focus on that wasn’t the curve of her waist or the way her jeans clung to her thighs. Something to stop thinking about what it would feel like to have her under me, those smart lips parted in a gasp, those clever hands clutching at my back.

I heard her shift behind me, her shoes scuffing against the wooden floor. A small, ordinary sound that shouldn’t have sent heat down my spine. “Not exactly cozy, huh?”

“No one’s ever complained,” I muttered, rubbing a hand over my jaw, feeling the rough scratch of stubble beneath my palm. No one else had been here to complain. No one that mattered, anyway.

She snorted, moving toward the small kitchen, inspecting the place with those keen eyes that seemed to miss nothing. “I bet the bears love it.”

I snorted, the sound somewhere between amusement and irritation. “It’s a work cabin, not a damn bed-and-breakfast.”

“Seriously, McAllister,” she went on, trailing her fingers along the counter, leaving invisible marks that I knew I’d feel long after she was gone. “You live like a recluse up here. Ever think about getting some furniture that doesn’t look like it was chopped down yesterday?”

I turned, leveling her with a look that had sent grown men backing away. “You need a mint on your pillow or something?”

She rolled her eyes, unfazed by my glare. “I need a blanket that doesn’t smell like sawdust and testosterone, but I’m guessing that’s too much to ask.”

I grunted. Because the idea of her wrapped up in my blankets, buried in my bed, surrounded by my scent—was a thought I didn’t need in my head. It would haunt me long after she left. Long after the storm passed and we returned to our careful distance.

“No, can do.” I tried for casual disinterest instead of the raw need clawing at my insides.

She shook her head, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “You always this charming?”

“Only when I have company I don’t want.”

Lie.

The problem wasn’t that I didn’t want her here. The problem was that I did.

Too much.

And she had no business being in my cabin or my damn head. She had no business making me feel things I’d long since buried. Making me want things I’d convinced myself I didn’t need.

I leaned back against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest, a barrier between us. I watched as she wandered around the small space, taking in rough-hewn table and the large, beat-up leather couch. Every piece had been chosen for function, not form. All of it served a purpose. A place for me and my brothersto crash during bad weather or equipment failure. Delays that kept us on site longer than planned. There was always something testing my control.

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