Page 4 of Jealous Lumberjack

I should move. Should close the distance, assess the threat. But all I can do is stand there like a fool and drink her in. That dress—yellow as wildflowers in spring. The way her leg kicks weakly against the rope.

The wobble-firm-wobble of her Cupid’s-bow lips. Then the frantic pulse fluttering in her throat.

My blood is chaos. My brain, worse than mush. Thoughts crashing into each other, ugly and bewildered and hungry.

Who the hell is she? Why is she here? She shouldn’t be here. She’s mine now.

No—no, not mine. Don’t even think that. Fuck, look at her.

Too soft. Too small. She’ll break. I’ll break her. I can’t move. Move, you bastard, move.

Maybe I inhale. Maybe I breathe out. Maybe my body takes up too much room.

She twists in the trap, her eyes darting through the trees. Alarm sharpens her features. “Is someone there?”

Her voice again.

Christ.

It’s like hearing a benediction hymn when you’ve been damned for years. Like a bell ringing through a church long since burned down.

My feet finally obey, crunching forward through needles and stone. Slow. Deliberate. The way a predator circles prey.

Her breath hitches when she twists around and sees me. I know what she sees: a giant, shirtless, scarred and sweating, axe slung casual but no less lethal.

My shadow swallows hers three times over.

She goes still, fear pouring off her in waves.

And my head is a cesspool of madness.

Don’t scare her. Fuck, she’s already scared. Don’t speak yet. Wait. Just look. Look at the way her lips part, the way her chest rises, that tiny sound in her throat. The way her tits—perky andround and fuck, so mouthwatering—rise and fall. God, she’ll smell like flowers, won’t she?

No. She smells like trouble.

You can’t.

You shouldn’t.

You will.

You already have.

I step closer, boots deliberate, and her eyes go wide. She struggles harder, twisting against the rope.

“Stay back!” she cries, voice cracking like a frightened bird.

I don’t stop.

I fucking can’t.

She’s on my land, caught in my snare.

When I’m close enough to see the freckles across her nose, I finally let my voice loose.

Deep. Rough. A growl dragged straight from the gut. “You’re trespassing.”

She screams.