Page 14 of Falling for the Grumpy Orc
He shrugs those massive shoulders, the movement causing his flannel shirt to pull tight across his chest. Despite his casual posture, tension radiates from every line of his body.
"You needed it anyway."
"Fine. You've made your point." I blow out a frustrated breath, catching the lingering scent of pine that seems to follow him everywhere. My stomach does a funny little flip that I absolutely refuse to acknowledge. "But I still need someone to help me, and you've already made it clear you're not interested. What am I supposed to do now?"
Gerralt goes quiet, his amber eyes studying me with an intensity that makes my skin tingle. The silence stretches between us until I squirm, shifting my weight from one foot to another. When he finally speaks, his deep voice sends a shiver down my spine.
"I've changed my mind. I'll do it."
I blink in surprise, certain I've misheard. "Really? Just like that?"
"Not just like that, Princess." His jaw sets in a stubborn line, those impressive tusks making him look even more intimidating. A muscle ticks in his cheek as he crosses his massive arms over his chest. Themovement sends a fresh wave of butterflies in my stomach. "I've got conditions."
That can't be good.
"What kind of conditions?" I narrow my eyes, fighting the urge to step back. Even with several feet between us, his presence fills the room like a gathering storm and I feel like a scurrying little animal in front of him. Not the boss lady I intend to be.
He lifts one hand in front of my face, his index finger extended.
"One: I do things my way. No questions, no micromanaging. Whatever I say goes." Part of me bristles at his commanding tone, but I bite my tongue and don't respond. He lifts a second finger. "Two: you stay out of my way. I don't need to worry about you breaking your pretty little neck while I work."
Pretty little neck, huh? I try not to care that he called me pretty, but it's too late. The butterflies in my stomach stage a riot and I'm their victim. Still, I lift my eyebrows and brace my hands on my hips, trying to project more confidence than I feel. My fingers fidget with the hem of my blouse.
"Is that all?"
"Not quite." A hint of something almost like amusement flickers in his eyes, softening his stern expression for just a moment. "Evelyn Primrose told me you used to be some kind of fancy interior designer in the city. I'll work everything within your budget and in return, you find me buyers for my furniture. You take my work to those fancy shops you probably know about, so I don't have to deal with city folks myself."
I hesitate, weighing my options. His terms feel invasive, reminding me too much of how Jason always needed to control everything. Ididn't come here to give up control to another man. But as my gaze sweeps over the peeling wallpaper and worn floors, the enormity of what I've taken on crashes over me again. The lodge needs someone who knows what they're doing, someone honest.
Someone like this sexy, grumpy, intimidating orc.
"You've got yourself a deal." My heart pounds against my ribs as I make my decision. “If you stop calling me Princess.”
I extend my hand, and after staring at it for just a heartbeat too long, he takes it. His palm engulfs mine, rough and warm, his calloused fingers a testament to years of working with wood. The contact sends an unexpected jolt through my body, like static electricity but deeper, more primal. His grip is firm but gentle, and he holds on just a fraction longer than necessary, long enough for me to notice how perfectly my smaller hand fits within his.
"I'll be here tomorrow at sunup," he says. "Be ready, Princess."
I watch him leave, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the fading light. My hand still tingles where he touched it.
Still a jerk.
Chapter Seven
Gerralt
WhydidIgetinvolved in this mess, again? Oh, yeah, my Gran and her meddling friends set me up for this.
The sun hasn't cleared the horizon when I pull up to the Saltwater Lodge. Dawn paints the weathered siding in soft gold, making the old siding look almost charming. Almost. My breath fogs in the crisp morning air as I get out of my truck and grab my toolbox fromthe truck bed.
I bet she's still in bed. That's what city folks do, right? Sleep in late, drink overpriced coffee, and pretend manual labor is beneath them. Not that I care. Better if she stays out of my way.
I feel a twinge of guilt at my judgmental thought, but it's tempered by the sight of a sapling pushing through the wood of the front porch. This job will be a real pain in my ass, I can feel it. I get out of my truck and grab my toolbox in the back, then turn to face the Saltwater Lodge again.
As I climb the short flight of steps to the front door, careful not to put my weight on a rotten plank, I expect to find the lodge baked in darkness.
The door swings open before my boots hit the last step. Cassidy stands in the doorway, dressed in worn jeans and an oversized purple t-shirt that slips off one shoulder, revealing a disturbingly creamy shoulder. My throat squeezes and my cock stirs annoyingly at the sight of it and I have to force my gaze away. Her auburn hair's pulled high in a ponytail, loose strands framing her face. Despite the shadows under her eyes, her whole face lights up when she sees me.
"Good morning!" She holds up a cardboard tray with two steaming cups and a paper bag that smells like heaven. "Coffee? Muffin?"
