Page 94 of Daddy's Little Christmas

His breath hitched. I pretended not to notice. His hands slid around my waist, then up my arms when I nudged them there.

“Follow my movement first,” I said. “Then we’ll swap.”

I lifted the axe slowly, letting him feel the way my shoulders and back engaged, the shift of weight in my feet. Then I brought it down in a controlled arc. The blade bit cleanly through the log, splitting it into two satisfying halves.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Okay, that was… hot.”

“It’s just physics,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said faintly. “That’s what I meant.”

I swallowed down a laugh. “All right, Woodsman Rudy. Your turn.”

We traded places. He picked up the axe with both hands, expression caught somewhere between eager and nervous.

“It’s heavier than it looks,” he said.

“I know.” I stepped in close behind him again. “Set your feet like I did. Good. Hands a little wider. There.”

My palms covered his, adjusting his grip. The contact zinged through me, awareness sparking low in my stomach. He leaned back just enough that I could feel the curve of his ass against my thighs.

“This feels very not OSHA-compliant,” he said, voice a touch breathless.

“We’re off the clock,” I said. “Now lift. Don’t muscle it. Just raise it and let gravity help.”

We brought the axe up together. His shoulders trembled slightly under my hands. When we swung down, we were a little off-center. The blade grazed the edge of the log and buried itself in the block instead.

He yelped, stumbling forward a step. I caught him around the waist, pulling him back against me before he could pitch sideways into the snow.

“Sorry,” he gasped, laughing shakily. “I almost killed us both.”

“Just the chopping block,” I said. “We’re fine.”

He turned his head, eyes wide, pupils blown just a little wider than the near-miss warranted. “You’re very close,” he said.

“That’s because you’re very distracting,” I said honestly.

His mouth curved. “You like me dangerous and incompetent. Good to know.”

I huffed. “You’re not incompetent. You’re learning.”

“Mm.” He wiggled his hips back deliberately. “Maybe I need more hands-on instruction.”

Heat licked through me, fast and sure. “Rudy.”

“Graeme,” he echoed, sing-song, head tipping back against my shoulder so he could look up at me. His nose was pink. His lips were damp. His eyes, though, were pure mischief. “It’s cold out here,” he said. “Don’t you think we should go inside and… warm up?”

I didn’t need to be asked twice.

I took the axe from his hands, wedged it safely into the block, scooped up a few split logs and stacked them against my chest, then tugged the tarp back over the woodpile with more haste than grace. When I turned around, he was already heading toward the house, glancing over his shoulder with a grin that made my blood heat.

“I see how it is,” I said, catching up in three long strides.

“How is it?” he asked innocently.

“You tease,” I said. “You stir things up. Then you run.”

“I’m not running,” he said. “I’m leading.”