Page 23 of Mountain Wood

“Stubborn and self-sufficient are not the same,” I say over my shoulder.

He huffs a little laugh but when I trip over a divot in the dirt drive, he’s on me in an instant. “Give it to me.” He tugs the bin.

I tug it back. “I’ve got it!”

“Just let me—”

“Lay off, before I beat you with a piece of oak.”

He pauses, eyes narrowing. “Fine.” He lets go and I reinforce my hold on it as I start walking again.

Tears spring to my eyes because I can’t believe I’m being difficult with him over a container of wood. It’s just that being self-sufficient is important to me and a baddie shouldn’t need a man, or a set of controlling super rich parents, to live her best life.

He’s only trying to be nice, Grace.

I turn around to apologize and am momentarily struck speechless. Dean’s staring at me with this mixof emotions I can’t decode. Frustration, for sure. But also… lust, maybe? Regret? I can’t even tell.

“Do you mind getting the door for me?”

“Not at all,” he says a little stiffly.

He follows me to the cabin and opens the door. I could have easily put the bin down and opened it myself, but this is my way of trying to make amends.

And it’s a terrible apology.

“Sorry for being a brat.” I drop the bin next to the fireplace and rub my arms. “I just really want to do things for myself.” After brushing the debris and dirt off my coat, I pluck a piece of wood out of the bin and toss it into the fireplace.

“I get that.” Dean drops to his knees and blows on the embers, making them glow.

The fire starts right up, and he quietly adds a few more logs in various sizes, stacking them in a specific way. “This should last you a while. I’ll bring you another load and leave it outside your door later.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.” He looks up at me. “But I want to.”

His eyes are so lovely—dark brown laced with pitch black lashes women pay big bucks to have for themselves. He’s trimmed and shaped his beard since last night, which I noticed in this morning’s video, but it looks even better in person. His nose has this regal slope that’s perfect too. And his mouth… too kissable. Too fuckable.

His flannel shirt is thicker than the one he wore yesterday. It’s almost like a coat, which hides the muscles I know he has. My hands itch to run over his arms, shoulders, and down the chiseled abs that I drooled over in all his videos last night.

Dean slowly rises, his eyes never leaving mine, and he takes a step closer.

My heart thunders in my chest.

His gaze drops to my mouth, and I get a little light-headed.

“Are you warm enough now?” he asks in a deep, quiet voice.

All my feminism evaporates. “No.”

His brow twitches and a smirk plays on his face. “No?”

“I’m freezing,” I lie.

“Then get a little closer.” He snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me to him. The heat from the fire has nothing on blazing inferno between us. “Is this better?”

“A little.”

My pussy floods with arousal.

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