Page 67 of Jealous Lumberjack

An addiction.

I shoved it down, the way I always did.

She’d come back out a few minutes later, cheeks pink, smelling like roses. I didn’t ask what they’d talked about. I didn’t trust myself not to growl at the answer.

Mine.

The word slammed through me like a hammer then.

My blood heated, vision narrowed until all I could see was her. Her soft mouth, hair catching the light, the tilt of her head when she smiled at a stranger.

I’d wanted to rip her away. Haul her back to the truck, lock her in the cabin where no one else could lay eyes on her.

But I didn’t.

Because she was smiling. Because she was happy. And I’d promised myself, whatever hell it cost me, I’d give her that.

So I’d walked her into the drugstore, my body crowding hers, my eyes cutting like blades at anyone who looked too long.

The stares came anyway.

Some wide-eyed. Some brazen. Some mocking, like they rememberedThe Grizzlyand couldn’t believe he was lumbering down the hygiene aisle with a woman a quarter his size picking out tampons.

I’d caught one man’s smirk, and my fists had clenched so hard my knuckles popped. My brain flashed to how easily I could put him through a wall. How fast he’d beg for mercy if I bent him in half over my knee the way I used to fold men in the ring.

Then Lily’s hand found mine.

Soft. Warm. Squeezing once.

It stopped me cold.

Her little hand in my giant, callused fist. Like she belonged there. Like I belonged there, with her.

My throat closed and I couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.

At the register, the clerk had barely glanced at me, fumbling the bag into Lily’s hands like she was afraid to meet my eyes. Good. She should be.

But Lily had thanked her in that sweet voice, and the woman had softened. Smiled even.

And yeah, even that pissed me off—because her eyes said she wanted to know my petal. Maybe even wanted to be friends.

And they’d thought she needed anyone but me?

It made me want to fucking kill someone.

Back in the truck,she puts her hand on my thigh.

Confident. Possessive, almost.

I glance down. Her small palm, her slender fingers splayed against my jeans. A brand hotter than any iron.

I slam the gearshift into drive and gun us out of town before I do something stupid—like pull over and fuck her in broad daylight just to prove to every bastard watching that she’s mine.

But even as the road slides under the tires, I can’t lelt it go.

The way they looked at her. The way she smiled back. The way she belongs everywhere, while I belong nowhere.

My chest heaves as sweat slides down my back.