Page 11 of Challenged By the Rugged Lumberjack (Curvy Wives of Cedar Falls #2)

The shadows lengthen across Josh's cabin as afternoon slides into evening. I've made dinner—a simple pasta with vegetables—but covered it when six o'clock came and went with no sign of him. Now it's past eight and worry gnaws at me despite my best efforts to suppress it.

I tell myself there are countless innocent explanations for his absence.

The conversation with his brother went well, and they're catching up over beers.

Or it went terribly, and he's walking it off somewhere in the mountains.

Either way, he's a grown man who lived alone until two days ago. He doesn't owe me his whereabouts.

Still, I find myself moving restlessly through the cabin, straightening things that don't need straightening, peering out windows at the darkening forest. Mason fell asleep an hour ago, worn out from our day in town and the excitement of the park.

He barely made it through dinner before his eyelids drooped, and I carried him to the guest room—our room now, I suppose—and tucked him in with Hoppy.

I've been alone with my thoughts ever since, and they're spinning in directions I'm not sure I'm ready to follow.

Because the truth is, I'm not just worried about Josh. I'm missing him. Missing someone I've known for all of forty-eight hours, someone who was a complete stranger the day before yesterday. It doesn't make sense. It doesn't follow any of the strict rules I've set for myself since escaping Jordan.

And yet, here I am, watching the clock, listening for footsteps on the porch.

I press a hand to my belly, feeling the slight roundness there. "What are we doing, little one?" I whisper. "Is this crazy? Too fast? Too risky?"

The baby offers no answers, of course, but the question remains. In two days, I've gone from fleeing one man to moving in with another. On the surface, it sounds like exactly the kind of reckless behavior Jordan always accused me of—impulsive, naive, asking for trouble.

But this doesn't feel reckless. It feels... right. Like finding a path I didn't know I was looking for.

Josh is nothing like Jordan. Where Jordan was charming and smooth, Josh is gruff and direct. Where Jordan demanded attention, Josh shuns it. Where Jordan took and took until there was nothing left, Josh gives without seeming to expect anything in return.

And the way he is with Mason... I can't even imagine Jordan getting down on the floor to play, or hoisting a toddler onto his shoulders, or patiently answering the same question for the fifth time. Jordan saw Mason as competition. Josh sees him as a person, small but complete, worthy of respect.

The sound of footsteps on the porch pulls me from my thoughts. I turn toward the door, my heart suddenly racing, and then he's there, silhouetted against the porch light, opening the door and stepping inside.

He looks tired but not defeated. There's a new openness to his expression, a loosening around his eyes and mouth, as if some tightly-held tension has finally been released.

"Hi," I say, the word coming out softer than intended.

"Hi." His dark eyes find mine across the room. "Sorry I'm late."

"It's okay. How did it go? With Riley?"

He sets his keys on the table by the door. "Better than I expected. Worse than I hoped. But we talked. Really talked, for the first time in twenty years."

"That's huge," I say, genuinely pleased for him. "Are you... okay?"

He considers this, head tilted slightly. "Yeah. I think I am." He glances around the cabin. "Where's Mason?"

"Asleep. He was exhausted from our adventure in town. I barely got dinner into him before he was out."

"Good," Josh says, and there's something in his tone that makes my pulse quicken.

"Good?" I echo, taking an unconscious step toward him.

And then he's moving, crossing the room in three long strides until he's standing right in front of me, so close I can smell the pine and soap scent of him, can see the amber flecks in his dark eyes.

"Elisa," he says, my name a rough caress in his deep voice.

"Yes?" I breathe, barely a whisper.

And then his mouth is on mine, one hand cupping the back of my neck, the other at my waist, pulling me gently against him. The kiss is shy at first, a question asked with lips and breath, but when I make a small sound of surprise and welcome, it deepens into something hungrier, more certain.

For a moment, I'm too stunned to respond.

And then I'm kissing him back, my hands finding his shoulders, feeling him beneath my palms. He tastes faintly of coffee and mint, and his beard is softer than I expected against my skin.

There's a restrained power in the way he holds me like he's afraid of crushing me if he gives in completely to what he's feeling.

When he finally pulls back, we're both gasping. He rests his forehead against mine, eyes closed, as if gathering himself.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I shouldn't have—"

"Don't." I place my fingers against his lips. "Don't apologize. Not for that."

He opens his eyes, searching mine. "I needed to do that. Been thinking about it all day. Hell, since I saw you watching me chop wood yesterday morning." A hint of a smile touches his lips. "Saw you looking."

Heat rises to my cheeks, but I don't deny it. "You're worth looking at."

His smile widens—a real smile this time, transforming his face. "Forty-eight hours," he says, shaking his head slightly. "That's all it took. Forty-eight hours, and I made peace with my brother. Invited a woman and her son to live with me. Rethought everything I thought I wanted."

"Is that a bad thing?" I ask, suddenly unsure.

"No." His answer is immediate, certain. "It's the most right thing I've felt in twenty years." He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch gentle. "I want you here, Elisa. You and Mason. I want to see where this goes—us, together."

My heart swells with emotions too complex, too new to name. "I want that too," I admit. "But Josh, there are things you should know. About why I left Portland, about Mason's father."

"You're running from someone," he says, not a question but a statement. "I figured that much. The way you flinch sometimes, the way you check exits, how you're always listening for sounds that aren't there."

I nod, not surprised he's noticed these things. "His name is Jordan. He doesn't know where we are, but... he might look for us. For Mason, especially. He's not a good man, Josh."

"He won't find you here. And if he does, he'll have to go through me to get to you or Mason." His hand cups my cheek, thumb stroking gently over my skin. "You're safe here, Elisa. Not just with me but with the whole town if need be. Cedar Falls protects its own."

"Its own," I repeat, tears threatening at the simple inclusion. Two days ago, I was a stranger here. Now I'm being claimed, protected, welcomed.

"And you're mine now," he adds, voice dropping to a register that sends heat spiraling through me. "If you want to be."

In answer, I rise onto my toes and press my mouth to his.

This kiss is different—not a question or a revelation, but a promise.

His arms come around me, lifting me slightly as he deepens the kiss.

I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing as close as my slightly rounded belly allows, wanting to feel every inch of him against me.

We move together, stumbling slightly, until my back meets the wall. Josh braces one hand beside my head, the other still at my waist, his body a wall of heat and strength before me. He kisses like a man starved, with an intensity that makes my knees weak and my pulse thunder in my ears.

"I've never met anyone like you," I gasp when we break for air. "Never felt this way."

"Me neither," he murmurs against my throat, his beard a delicious friction against sensitive skin. "Never wanted anyone before. Not like this."

The admission stuns me momentarily. "Never? You're a virgin?"

He shakes his head, "I am. Never had a relationship. Never wanted one, either. Not until you walked up to my door."

This knowledge—that I'm his first, that this powerful, beautiful man has waited thirty-eight years for this connection—has my pussy throbbing and begging for his touch. I kiss him again, hungrier now, more demanding, and feel his response in the groan that rumbles through his chest.

We move away from the wall, still kissing, hands exploring with increasing urgency.

I tug at his flannel shirt, and he helps me push it from his shoulders, revealing the t-shirt beneath and the tattooed arms I've been admiring since yesterday morning.

My cardigan follows, then his t-shirt, revealing the broad expanse of his chest with its light dusting of dark hair, the continuation of the tattoos I glimpsed earlier.

"You're gorgeous," I breathe, running my hands over the defined muscles of his chest and abdomen. "So beautiful."

A flush darkens his cheeks—embarrassment at the praise, perhaps, or simply the heat of arousal.

"Look who's talking," he murmurs, his hands spanning my waist, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts through my dress. "Wanted to touch you since I first saw you. Couldn't stop thinking about it."

We stumble down the hallway toward his bedroom, kisses growing more desperate with each step. At his door, he pauses, looking down at me with a question in his eyes—one last chance to change my mind, to slow down, to reconsider.

In answer, I take his hand and pull him into the darkness beyond.

The bedroom is bathed in silver moonlight filtering through half-drawn curtains, casting Josh's body in dramatic shadows as he closes the door behind us.

My heart pounds against my ribs, desire and tenderness tangling together in my chest. We stand facing each other, breathless from kissing, our lips swollen, cheeks flushed.

"Is this okay?" he asks, his deep voice roughened with want but still careful, still considerate.

"More than okay," I assure him, reaching for the hem of my dress and pulling it over my head.