Page 14 of Jealous Lumberjack

Her eyes flash, defiant even though her voice trembles. “Tough. It’s all you’re getting. I made the mistake of trespassing onto your precious mountain. That doesn’t mean I owe you my life story.”

My gut twists. Lust and fury tangled until I can’t tell one from the other. I want to rip the rest out of her, force her to lay every secret bare. But the coil of mistrust is louder—women can’t be trusted. I learned that lesson in blood and broken bones.

I stand and step closer anyway, looming over her. She stiffens, but her chest rises quick, nipples straining harder against the fabric. Her scent thickens, unmistakable.

“You’ll tell me,” I promise, voice rough. “One way or another.”

Her chin tips up, eyes sparking, but she doesn’t speak.

I should be furious. Iamfurious. But my cock throbs at her defiance, my hands itch to touch her again, and every breath she takes feels like it’s filling my lungs instead of hers.

Dangerous. Addictive.

Exactly what I swore I’d never let happen again.

And yet I can’t make myself stop.

3

KNOX

The chair creaks every time I shift, as if the heavy oak and thick legs are about to give way. But I built it with my own two hands, which is why I know that despite sitting on this thing feeling like daring it to splinter beneath me, it’ll hold as long as I want it to. I can trust it.

Unlike the woman I’m watching like a hawk, clocking every jolt and squirm as she sinks deeper into my sofa like she belongs there.

She doesn’t belong. Not here. Not anywhere near me.

And yet…

She hasn’t asked to leave for over an hour.

Her calf’s wrapped neat where I cleaned it. She tugs at the hem of her buttercup dress like she can cover herself, like she isn’t already spread across my cabin, her scent in the air, her eyes locked on me like she’s waiting for judgment.

I lean forward, elbows on my knees. My voice drops low. “I’m waiting. Start talking.”

She flinches, then lifts that cute, pointed chin I want to graze with teeth, then my beard. “I told you. I was heading…away and I got lost.”

I grunt in warning.

Her arms fold across her chest, her bottom lip jutting. “Why would I lie? I don’t even know who you are.”

“That’s exactly what a liar would say.” I sit back, wood groaning under me. “Next you’re going to tell me you didn’t see a single one of my warning signs before you were dangling in one of my snares like a rabbit that wandered too far. So try again.”

Her nostrils flare. “I don’t owe you anything.”

God. The fire in her. It burns hotter the more cornered she is.

“And how long have you been heading away?” I ask, skepticism heavily lacing my words.

The very first signs of distress cross her face. “A day and a half. Maybe more.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “You don’t remember?”

“I…lost my backpack when I lost my bearings sometime last night on the mountain.”

“And where were you headed?”

She glances down at her hand, then shrugs. “Just…away.”