Page 10 of Jealous Lumberjack

The rhythm becomes a drumbeat in my blood. My breath goes shallow, and that heat turns into a furnace, billowing between my legs.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I tear myself away from the window. I have to get out. Before I do something insane, like press my hand to the glass and beg him to notice me.

The front door is out of the question of course, but I move fast, checking the corners. The shelves. The stone hearth and dining room. No easy way out. All the windows seem to be bolted shut and way too high out of my reach anyway.

I reach a large door, and my pulse spikes when I turn the handle and find a room.

His bedroom.

A bed dominates it.

Massive, rough-hewn wood frame, the mattress wide enough to swallow a dozen of me whole. At the far wall, a simple dresser with two weathered,supersizedboots similar to theoneshe’s wearing. I don’t even need to snoop to know the drawers will contain denim and no-nonsense plaid shirts.

The space smells of pine and smoke and him. Masculine. Animal. My knees wobble, my throat thickens.

I force myself to back out, heart pounding. This place is a mountain man’s lair. A feral testosterone cage. And I’ll suffocate if I don’t find a way out.

The last room down the small hallway at the back of the cabin turns outtobe a bathroom, with—hallelujah—a window cracked open, a darkgraycurtain fluttering in the breeze. Salvation.

I don’t look back and I don’t think.

Jumping up onto the vanity, I crawl through, ignoring the scraping of my palms on the sill, and drop to the ground outside.

The dirt stings my bare feet but I’m running, running, lungs burning, dress snagging.

Shrubs and small branches whip past but the sweet air of freedom makes me run faster.

For two blessed minutes I think I’m free.

Then it comes.

A roar.

It rattles through the trees, low and furious, the sound of something wild and wounded. It freezes me in place for stupid, precious seconds.

Branches snap.

With a yelp, I bolt again but the heavy footfalls thunder closer. And even before I’ve made ten more feet, I know it’s too late.

He bursts from the shadows like the beast he is, and I don’t even get the chance to scream before his arm bands around my waist, hauling me up against his chest.

“Got you,” he growls against my ear.

“No! Let me go!” I kick and thrash.

He doesn’t budge a single inch.

With barely a grunt, he marches me back to the cabin, drags me inside, and drops me on the floor.

When he turns to shove the bolt closed again, I scramble up and spin, heart frantic, eyes catching on the rifle above the fireplace.

It’s high up, I know, but I don’t care. I’m desperate.

So I take a runningleap, myfingerssnagging the butt. It slides off the wall and my fingers close around it with a burst of relief. When I yank it down, the weight almost tips me over. I’ve never held a rifle in my life, but damn it, how hard can it be?

Then I turn and aim straight at his barrel chest surging before me, filling every square inch of my vision.