Page 14 of Grumpy Alien Lumberjack
She looked at the pie, then at him. He was watching her, his expression a mixture of disgust and profound disappointment.
With a deep breath, Jeneva scooped up a spoonful of the green-brown sludge and brought it to her mouth.
“Oh. Oh, God.” It was dreadful. The texture was slimy, the taste was a jarring combination of pepper, dirt, and bitter herbs. She swallowed hard, fighting the urge to gag.
She looked up to see Methic chewing his own spoonful, his jaw working stoically, his face a mask of profound suffering.
A single tear of laughter escaped her eye. Then another. Soon, she was covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking with silent hysterics.
His scowl deepened. “It is not palatable.”
“No,” she gasped, wiping her eyes. “It’s absolutely, completely terrible.” She picked up her spoon and took another, defiant bite. “And it’s the best pie I have ever had.”
He stared at her, his confusion warring with the beginnings of a smile. He saw the truth in her eyes—not about the taste, butabout the meaning. He looked down at the pie, then back at her, and the scowl finally melted away. In its place was a look of such raw, unguarded affection that it made her chest ache.
“Besides,” Jeneva set her plate aside. Standing, she trailed her hand on the table as she walked to his chair and stopped in front of him. He spread his legs wide and she instinctively moved in between his massive thighs. “I have the taste of pumpkin spice right here.”
Chapter Six
Methic
The words, whispered with a confidence that defied her frailties, struck him right in the chest. A low growl from his throat. His hands shot out, circling her narrow waist and lifting her as if she weighed nothing. He pulled her onto his lap, her back pressed against the hard edge of the kitchen table, and crushed his mouth to hers.
She tasted of sweet jam. He slanted his mouth, deepening the kiss, his tongue tangling with hers in a dance of pure hunger.
Her small hands came up to clutch at his shoulders, her fingers digging into his muscles. He was acutely aware of every point of contact: the soft press of her legs against his thighs, the way her entire body seemed to melt into his. She was so small, so breakable. The thought sent a simultaneous surge of fierce protectiveness and ravenous desire through him.
He had to be careful. He had to be gentle.
But she was making it incredibly difficult.
His hand slid from her waist, down over the curve of her hip, and cupped her through the soft flannel of his own shirt. A soft gasp escaped her lips into his mouth. He groaned, the sound torn from him as he broke the kiss to trail his lips down the column of her throat. Her pulse fluttered wildly against his mouth, a frantic bird he wanted to soothe and devour all at once.
With a clumsy movement, his thigh bumped the table, sending the plate with the disastrous pie skittering to the edge. It teetered for a moment before clattering to the stone floor, splattering green-brown sludge everywhere. Neither of them cared.
“My bed is too far,” he rasped against her skin, the words a raw confession of his impatience.
He stood, lifting her with him, her legs wrapping around his waist as if she had been born to be there. He carried her out of the kitchen, past the offensive mess on the floor, and lowered her onto the thick pallet of furs before the fire.
The flickering light danced over her, turning her hair into a halo of gold and casting soft shadows on her flushed face. She was still wearing his shirt, the black and white plaid dwarfing her, the hem falling to her mid-thigh. His little lumberjack. The thought was so possessive, so perfect, it made his groin ache.
Kneeling between her legs, he took the hem of the shirt in his hands. “I require this back,” he murmured, his voice thick.
A playful light danced in her eyes. “You’re just going to leave me naked?”
“That is the idea.”
He worked at the leather ties, but his fingers were clumsy with need. The simple knots felt like complex tactical puzzles. With a growl of frustration, he abandoned finesse, gripping thefabric on either side of the opening and pulling. The leather ties snapped with a sharp crack, and the shirt fell open.
His breath caught.
The firelight kissed her pale skin, illuminating the gentle swell of her breasts and the valley between them. He reached out, his calloused thumb tracing the scar near her collarbone.
“You are beautiful,” he whispered low.
She shuddered under his touch.
He leaned down to kiss the scar, but she placed a hand on his chest, stopping him. She pushed gently, a silent command. Confused but intrigued, he allowed her to guide him onto his back amidst the furs. She rose onto her knees, straddling his hips, the open shirt falling around her like a cloak.
