Page 22

Chapter 21

Mila

F uck a duck on a goddamn truck. Jesus.

Had I seriously asked the man to give me a massage?

My instincts were screaming for me to run. To throw my shoes on and hide in the forest. Paint my face with mud so I’d blend in with the trees and die a slow death from exposure. I’d be alone, and it’d likely be painful, but at least I’d be spared this embarrassment.

The look on his face when I turned? He’d looked angry.

And he didn’t even have it in him to be a dick.

As always, he’d been kind. Practical.

And he’d looked like a goddamn snack.

I paced the living room. Ripley followed me for a bit, but before long, she lost interest. This house was too small. Even this state was too small.

This humiliation would follow me forever. There was no way he hadn’t noticed how heavily I’d been breathing, how hard my nipples were.

Fuck. I’d thought the hair-brushing was hot. But his hands on my skin? Kneading away the tension? It was on another level.

I could take a shower, try to calm myself that way. But that would defeat the purpose of having him apply the BioFreeze. I could take Ripley for a walk, but if I did, Jude would insist on coming along.

So I hid in the spare room, throwing myself back into studying the recording and photos, searching for more clues. Desperate to push away the mortification that hit me when he shot up and darted away.

Apparently, I hadn’t learned my lesson after the kiss the other night. If only I’d gotten the memo that he wasn’t into me. Maybe then I would have stopped shamelessly flirting and saved myself the embarrassment.

But it was impossible.

He was so damn attractive. He was the definition of a man, yet everything about him, right down to the careful way he brushed my hair, was so sweet.

Jude was pure juxtaposition. Soft-spoken and quiet, yet mighty. And it wasn’t only his powerful build.

It was in the way he carried himself. The quiet, contemplative confidence.

The careful way he considered everything, always observing and calculating. That was why he was so good at Scrabble, because he took the time to ponder every possibility.

I, on the other hand, became obsessive and formed tunnel vision, which sometimes led to chasing my own tail.

Back to work, Mila . Mooning over my hot roommate was getting me nowhere fast.

With a sigh, I sat at the desk and rolled my neck. It was nice, the ability to take breaks from the sling. My entire left side was weak and useless, but at least I had two hands again.

My typing speed had plummeted, but it was better than hunting and pecking with one finger. Combing through these financial records was painful, but the devil was always in the Excel-spreadsheet details.

Just as I dug in, a loud noise caught my attention. I snapped up straight and spun, scanning the space around me, looking for an item that may have fallen. I was still searching when I heard it again.

Another loud thwack.

I stood and peered out the window. The forest looked as calm as usual, so I headed through the house in search of answers.

In the living room, Ripley was lounging in front of the wood stove, soaking up the warmth. Now that it was almost October, it was getting chilly up here.

Another loud thump sounded, this one even closer, so I headed to the kitchen and peered out the back window.

What I saw nearly knocked me on my ass.

Jude was outside next to the garage, chopping wood.

His chest was heaving and his hair hung in his face. And the focus in his eyes? Shit. It was unnerving and incredible.

I involuntarily squeezed my thighs together. What the hell was this? Was I dreaming?

He stood another log on its end and sized it up, walking around it and cataloging the grooves. Turning, he rolled his shoulders, the move forcing my attention to the rippling muscles in his back.

And… were those suspenders?

No. No way.

Jesus, take the wheel. Never in my life would I have considered suspenders sexy. But holy shit, the combination of tight white T-shirt, jeans, and suspenders was rewiring my brain.

He picked up a small metal wedge and stuck it into one of the grooves of the wood. Then he stood back and picked up his axe.

When, with one swing, he spit the massive log in half, my jaw hit the floor.

And my panties disintegrated.

I leaned in to get a better look.

The white T-shirt was smudged with dirt and clung to his pecs. If memory served me correctly, his body was ridiculous. I’d assumed he was one of those gym and protein shake guys.

Now that I thought about it, I’d been here for weeks, and he hadn’t once mentioned hitting the weight room.

No, what he possessed was real, hard-earned strength.

And it was mesmerizing.

He rolled a log at least two feet wide onto his wooden platform and lined up his axe. In one fluid, graceful, precise motion, he swung.

This time, the wood didn’t split all the way through. So he put one boot on it and pulled the axe out, then dropped it to the ground.

He walked around, inspecting the log.

I held my breath in anticipation of what he’d do next.

I never could have predicted that he’d pick the damn thing up, wedge his fingers into the crack left by his axe, and pull.

But fuck, that’s exactly what he did. Every muscle in his body strained with the effort, his biceps rippling as he pulled as hard as he could.

With a roar, he tore the fucking log in half.

I whipped around and slumped against the wall. What the hell had I witnessed?

Did mild-mannered, graphic novel–loving Jude Hebert rip apart a tree trunk with his bare hands? Like the Hulk in glasses and suspenders?

Sweat dotted my hairline, and my pulse raced as my legs wobbled, threatening to give out.

Goddamn him and his morals and his whole protector bullshit.

Yeah, I was hurt and on the run from homicidal drug traffickers, but I had needs, dammit. For God’s sake, I was a red-blooded woman trapped in a small cottage with the hottest lumbersnack in history.

But he’d made it clear that he wouldn’t cross the line.

So if I couldn’t hit that, I’d at least enjoy the show.

With a deep inhale, I turned back toward the window, eager to get another look.

But when I zeroed in on him, my heart leaped right out of my chest. He stood, feet shoulder-width apart, arms crossed. Biceps bulging against the flimsy white cotton and the dark suspenders calling attention to the sheer breadth of his shoulders.

And he was looking right at me.

Shit.

I hadn’t thought I could embarrass myself any further than I already had. I was wrong. But as white-hot shame washed over me, another feeling emerged along with it.

Anger.

Why was he taunting me? He was the one who’d turned me down.

And now he was out here, putting on a lumberjack show.

The audacity.

He was waving a red flag in front of a horny, repressed bull.

So instead of hiding from him, I stepped into my shoes, pulled on one of his big coats, and marched my ass outside.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I barked.

He looked at me, all sweaty and manly, and grinned. “Chopping wood.”

“Why?”

“Because winter is coming. We’ll need it to heat the house.”

“Really?” I scoffed, propping my good hand on my hip. “You need it today?”

He nodded, blue eyes twinkling.

“What about that giant woodshed right there?” I pointed to the small structure next to the garage. “It’s filled all the way to the door. You think we’re gonna burn all that tonight and freeze to death?”

His cocky smirk faltered.

“It’s bad enough you walk around looking so sexy and being so kind all the time.” A low growl escaped me. “But now, when my defenses are down, you wander out here, wearing fucking suspenders , and start destroying trees?”

Silence.

I pinched my nose. “It’s truly unfair.”

Behind his glasses, his eyes were wide with bewilderment.

“You know, I expected better of you.” I shook my head.

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“You know I’m lusting after you, Jude.” I dropped my arm to my side and huffed. “Could you let me live in peace for a little longer? I get it, you’re not into me anymore. But come on. Cover up, for fuck’s sake. You need to hide all this”—I waved a hand up and down, gesturing to his body—“manly goodness.”

He crossed his arms, which only made his sweaty biceps strain more, and quirked a brow. “Manly goodness?”

“Yes,” I whined. “A girl only has so much self-control.”

With that, I spun, set on storming back into the house dramatically.

But his chuckle stopped me in my tracks.

“You’re really something, Trouble.”

With a roll of my eyes, I whipped around again.

“And if we’re fighting right now, then I have a complaint to air as well. You’re not making it easy on me either.”

“Me?” I slapped a hand to my chest.

“I walked into the house, finding you jumping around in a bra in my living room. A bra that’s too small, mind you.”

Annoyance flared in my veins. “You bought it for me.”

“Oh I know,” he scoffed. “And the sight of your tits spilling out will haunt my dreams forever.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but when the words registered, I snapped it closed again. His comment was… moderately satisfying.

He dropped his axe to the ground and stomped over. “You have been driving me insane since the minute you walked through that door. But I’m a good guy.” He hitched a thumb and pressed it to his chest. “I can control myself.”

I bit my lip hard, quelling the wave of need threatening to engulf me. Fuck, he was mad, and it was hot. “What if I don’t want you to control yourself?”

With a growl, he took a step toward me. “See? This is what you do. You use your feminine wiles.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “And every day, it’s harder to fight.”

My pulse skyrocketed. This conversation was going in a very different direction from what I had anticipated. It was satisfying, really, to know that he was suffering as badly as I was.

“I have to ask,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why did you come home with me that night at the bar?”

That was easy. “Because you’re good-looking,” I replied. “And kind. And when I saw you up on that stage, those big hands on that guitar, I was hypnotized, mesmerized by the thought of what they could do to my body.”

His eyes flashed, igniting like blue flames, and then we were toe to toe, so close I could feel the heat radiating from him.

“Did my hands live up to your expectations?”

I could write a series of erotic novels about those hands. But I didn’t want to show all my cards. So I lifted my chin and kept my expression even. “Yes. They exceeded them.”

He grinned down at me. The satisfaction there made me want to kiss that stupid expression right off his smug face.

“I answered your question, so now I’ve got one for you. Why did you take me home?”

He crossed his arms again.

Fuck, the suspenders only made this hotter.

“Because I’m used to playing in front of a crowd. I’m used to the scrutiny. And I’m used to being hit on. Women are always interested in the quiet guy who plays the guitar.”

I gave him a dramatic eye roll. Yes, I could only imagine the hordes of women who threw themselves at him every time he picked up a damn guitar.

“But when I saw you, when our eyes locked. Shit—” He ran a hand through his hair. “I thought ‘she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.’”

A gasp escaped me, my knees buckling. That was not what I was expecting.

“And when we wrapped, I had to talk to you, to be near you.”

“I felt the same way,” I replied softly, my head spinning. What was it about this man that made every single cell in my body wild with lust?

“And then—”

Cheeks heating, I dropped my gaze to my feet and interrupted him. “Oh, I know what happened next. Trust me, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Really?” He scratched the back of his neck, head bowed, and peered at me, a lock of hair falling into his face. “You think about that night?”

“All the fucking time,” I yelled, stomping a foot. “God, men are so dumb. It’s like you don’t get it at all.”

Before I knew what was happening, he’d looped an arm around my waist and tipped my chin up.

“Trouble, be quiet.”

I gaped at him, incensed. “You don’t just tell a woman to be quiet, Jude.”

“You do when you want to kiss her,” he replied, lowering his mouth to mine.