Page 18 of Falling for the Grumpy Orc
"I have to go," I say quickly. "He's here."
"Perfect timing! Remember what I said. You're a catch, Cassidy Perkins."
I hang up, my face burning. The rumble of Gerralt’s truck gets closer, and I walk to the large bay window to see him arrive. As soon as I glimpse his olive-green face behind the windshield, my stomach does a funny little twist and sets my nerves on edge. There's no denying how attracted I am to him. I just have to glance at his large hands, roughand strong, to imagine how they would feel on my body. And the way those tusks gleam, making his full, hard lips appear even thicker when he frowns.
Yeah. Maybe all the squirming on my air mattress from last night was more because I kept thinking of Gerralt's lips and hands.
Orcs get horny in the fall and winter. It's their mating urges.Silvia's words come back to me and it's not helping.
That funny little twist in my stomach turns into a flood of heat when Gerralt gets out of his truck. Even from this distance, I can see his frown as he walks to the back of his truck, like he has a personal grudge with whatever waits for him in the truck bed. The way those arms move in his perpetual flannel shirt is enough to make my mouth dry, and then there's that ass, large and round and so powerful…
Jeez! Down, girl!I shake my head, tearing my eyes from Gerralt's ass as my cheeks burn up. It's surprising I don't look like a roasted turkey by now.
I glance out the window again, the mug warming my hands as he pulls away the big blue blanket hiding whatever cargo he's hauling. I expect to see building tools and supplies, maybe lumber, but instead, what I see leaves me speechless.
What in the world?
My jaw nearly drops when I spot him wrestling a wooden bed frame out of the truck bed, his massive hands gripping the polished wood like it weighs nothing. Putting the mug on the counter, I hurry to the door. The morning air is crisp, and the vegetation is covered in a gleaming layer of frost. Frost clings to the porch railing, and I wipe my hands on my jeans as I step outside, careful not to snag my socks on the splintering wood.
The sun’s just cresting the horizon, casting warm golds and soft pinks across the sky. It should be a peaceful scene. But my heart’s pounding as I watch Gerralt maneuver what looks like a full bedroom set onto the gravel driveway.
“What are you doing?” I call out, squinting at him.
He doesn’t bother looking at me, his wide shoulders hunched as he angles the frame toward the porch. His jeans stretch taut against his thighs as he straightens and hefts it higher, and I can't help it as my wandering gaze catches on his rounded ass again.
“You can't keep sleeping on an air mattress,” he grunts. “Or live out of suitcases.”
I blink, trying to process that.
“What?” But already, that funny twist in my stomach is turning into a full-blown hurricane.
"Gran had this set sitting in her garage." He jerks his chin toward the wood in his arms. “She's glad to have the space back.”
I fold my arms over my chest, heat rising to my face. The furniture is heavy and obviously high quality. It's not something I have the budget for. “I didn’t ask you for this.”
“Didn’t ask for your opinion.” His tone is flat, like the discussion’s already over.
He trudges past me, up the creaking steps, and my porch groans in protest under his weight. The bed frame gleams in the soft light, the rich wood polished enough to reflect the sunrise.
I follow him as he ducks through the doorway, my bare feet padding against the floors.
“You didn’t have to do this. Really. I’mfine—”
“I didn’t say you weren’t.” He sets the frame down with a thud that makes the walls rattle. His amber eyes flick to the now deflated air mattress, then to me. His gaze is steady and unreadable. “But you’re not sleeping on that crappy air mattress another night. Doesn’t matter if you think you’re fine. I won't have it and that's it.”
My words catch in my throat. No one's ever done something like this for me before. No one ever noticed what I needed and just, well, just provided it. Without me asking, without making me feel small for needing help. His gruffness should put me off, but there's an undercurrent of genuine concern in his actions that makes my chest feel tight in a way I'm not ready to examine too closely.
"Wait," I call out as he turns to leave again. "How much do I owe you for all of this?"
"Nothing." His response is immediate and firm, not even breaking his stride as he maneuvers the dresser into position. "I told you already. Gran had it in her garage."
I take a moment to consider that he can maneuver a large bed frame with his own two hands like the furniture in a dollhouse. I know orcs are strong, but to see it actually in front of me, it steals my breath away. A piece of heavy wood furniture like that would take two strong humans to move in place. Yet Gerralt doesn’t even look like he’s straining a muscle.
That thing in my belly does another little squeeze and I press my thighs together as he straightens, the muscles in his arms bulging.
"Gerralt, I can't just accept this kind of generosity."
"You can and you will." He straightens, fixing me with that intense amber gaze. "It's not for sale, so you're not buying."
