Page 7 of Falling for the Lumberjack

Like her.

She looked too damn good here.

Too right.

Like a missing piece I hadn’t known was gone. Like she belonged among my things, her softness a perfect counterpoint to the rough edges of my world.

And that was a problem.

That was why I’d kept my distance. I wasn’t the kind of man who gave women what they deserved. I wasn’t the kind of man who knew how to love gently. I took and I consumed and eventually, I destroyed. It was in my nature.

I had learned that lesson the hard way. Years of short-lived relationships, women who thought they could fix me, who wanted more than I could give. They’d all left eventually, disappointed by the reality of who I was. I wasn’t soft. I wasn’t easy. I wasn’t built for love.

Logging was the only thing that ever made sense to me. The rhythm of it, the way the work stripped you down to nothing but muscle and sweat and force. Out here, things were simple—you took what the land gave, and you respected what it took back. There was no room for complication.

And Sally? She was nothing but complication.

She turned back to me, leaning against the counter. Her hip jutted just enough to test my restraint, the pose both casual and calculated just like it had been when she’d leaned over the seat of her damn truck. “So what now? We sit in silence all night?”

Damn, the attitude on this woman. It made me want to smile. Made me want to see just how far I could push her before that attitude gave way to something else. Something hungry and desperate.

I should have left it alone. Should have turned away, served up the soup. Focused my attention on anything that wasn’t her.

Instead, my mouth betrayed me.

“You’re wet.” The words hung in the air between us, loaded with meaning I hadn’t intended but couldn’t take back. Of course, those words made my hard as a fucking rock. At the thought of her wet. For me. At the thought of sliding my fingers between her thighs and finding her slick and ready.

One of her delicate brows lifted, a gesture that was becoming dangerously familiar. “Yeah, that’s what happens when you walk in the rain, Captain Obvious.”

Something flickered in her gaze. Something like amusement. But beneath it, something heated. Something that matched the fire building in my gut.

“If I didn’t know better,” she mused, taking a step toward me, closing the careful distance I’d maintained, “I’d say you’re worried about me, McAllister.”

“I just don’t want to deal with your ass getting sick while we’re stuck here.” The words came out gruffer than I intended, defensive.

Her mouth curved, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she reached for the hem of her polo and peeled it over her head in one smooth motion, exposing inches of smooth, damp, freaking curvy, skin.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Underneath she had on a thin, black bra. The fabric was wet, clinging to her breasts like a second skin. Her nipples pushed against the fabric. Hard and thick. Begging for attention I had no right to give.

My throat went dry, blood rushing south. I clenched my jaw so hard it ached, fighting the urge to cross the room and put my hands on her. To discover if her skin was as soft as it looked. To taste that damn rainwater that still clung to her collarbone.

She tossed the polo over a kitchen chair, looking straight at me. Like she wasn’t completely unraveling my damn sanity with every casual movement.

She let out a slow breath, her chest rising and falling with the motion. “Better?”

No.

Not even close.

Better would be her beneath me. Better would be her moaning my name. Better would be her wrapping those strong thighs around my waist as I drove into her.

I gave a low growl and marched toward her, unable to stand still under the weight of those thoughts. She didn’t move, didn’t flinch. Just stood there, breathing hard, her eyes tracking me like she was memorizing every movement. I stepped around her and pulled open the top drawer of an ancient dresser by the bed. I grabbed the first shirt I found and tossed it to her.

She caught it, her movements quick and sure.

“Put that on,” I ordered, my voice rough with restraint.

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