Page 18 of Song Bird Hearts (Green River Hearts #4)

Valerie

T he thunk of the axe splits the silence as cleanly as it splits the log beneath it. Gilden doesn’t rush, not with his swings, not with his breath, not with anything. Each motion is slow and measured, like he has all the time in the world and not a single ounce of shame in how he fills it.

I lean against the doorframe, my shoulder propped and arms crossed, my coffee mug tucked in close for warmth.

Thank god someone had the foresight to put a bag of Georgia’s coffee beans in the pantry.

I don’t know what I’d do if I still had to drink cheap, terrible coffee up here.

When she’d started roasting and packing her own coffee, I’d never gone back, even having it shipped out to me while I was on the road. Ugly Mugz coffee is the only way to go.

It's still early, and spring in the basin hasn’t decided if it wants to play nice or bite yet. The air has that sharp edge to it, cold enough to sting my cheeks, but not cold enough to keep me from stepping outside when I heard that axe.

I hadn’t meant to stare. Not at first.

But Gilden looks like he’s made for mornings like this.

Today, he’s not dressed in his signature Miami Vice button down and loafers.

Today, it’s worn jeans slung low on his hips, boots planted firmly in the soft dirt, and a dark t-shirt clinging to him like a second skin as he works up a sweat.

It’s only when he pauses—glancing toward me with that wicked little curve to his mouth—that I realize I’ve been caught.

“Get somethin’ in your eye, mon rossignol ?” he asks without turning, voice thick and warm like syrup poured slow over pancakes. I bet he eats pancakes slutty. He has to.

“Thought I saw an opossum pretendin’ it was a beaver,” I say dryly before sipping my coffee. “Didn’t realize it was just you.”

He laughs, low and rich, and swings again.

The log he places on the stump cracks in two with ease.

He’d come out to chop wood for the cabin the moment he’d realized I was cold, no judgement or snide remarks like Knox would’ve had.

The fireplace is already cleaned courtesy of Gilden. He’s nothing if not considerate.

“Hey now,” he says, standing straight and tugging the hem of his shirt over his head in one long pull. It’s that swift movement that only men seem to be capable of, the shirt gone before I even know it’s happening. “If you gon’ insult me, least you can do is look while you do it.”

He tosses the shirt over a nearby stump and lets the morning air bite at his sweat-slick skin. Steam rises faintly from his shoulders, from the dip of his spine, curling into the air like smoke from a just-lit fire.

My mouth doesn’t drop open like those old cartoons, but my eyes sure as hell take him all in.

Gilden is built for worship, that much is obvious.

Though he’s shorter than me, it does nothing to take away from his attractiveness.

It helps that he has the confidence to back it up.

Ain’t no one gonna argue if Gilden Boone is attractive or not.

“You always strip when someone talks shit to you?” I ask, my voice a little rougher than before. “Or am I just special?”

“Oh, you’re special all right,” he answers, running a hand through his hair, the muscles in his back flexing as he reaches for another log. “Special enough I don’t mind lettin’ you look while I work. Hell, I want you to.”

The axe comes down again. Crack. Then another. Crack.

There’s a nice pile of wood beside the stump, plenty big enough for the fireplace for a few days.

There’s really no need for more, but he swings the axe again and again.

I start to think it’s mostly for my benefit when he seems to slow putting the logs on the stump.

Clearly, he wanted to give me ample time to look.

I’m starting to think he was already practically done when I came out here, but kept going to give me a show.

I don’t even care if my legs are freezing in the dress I’m wearing.

He’s keeping me hot enough all by himself.

Gilden slows and stops. He sets the head of the axe on the stump and leans on the handle, casual and cocky, before looking at me dead-on. “You keep starin’ like that, cher , I’m gon’ start thinkin’ you want more than just firewood.”

I set my coffee mug down and take a step off the porch. My thick calf-high socks threaten to soak up the moisture left behind from the mountain fog, but I don’t care. I can address that later. I just need to get a little closer.

“What makes you think I want anything from you?” I ask him.

He tilts his head, that half-smile growing. “Mmm. That mouth says no, but your eyes? They beg real pretty, mon rossignol .”

He tosses the axe down beside the pile of wood and starts taking steps toward me, slow and steady. The air curls around him, cold against the heat rolling off his bare skin. He’s sweating and steaming and smiling like a man who’s already won whatever game I thought we were playing.

“Axe ain’t the only thing I know how to swing slow and hard,” he teases.

“Oh, I know you think that’s smooth,” I say, laughing and shaking my head.

He just grins wider. “It ain’t polite to watch a man like you plannin’ to eat him alive. . . ‘less that’s exactly what you plannin’, cher.”

He stops right in front of me and I look at his body without shame. It may be foolish of me, but there’s been this tension between the two of us since he showed up to sweep me away to safety. Call it boredom or cabin fever, but if he’s offering, who am I to deny it?

Despite the height difference, Gilden and I seem to fit together just fine. He may have to look up at me, but it doesn’t make his confidence waver one bit.

My coffee mug is abandoned on the porch rail as my hands slide to my hips.

I look him up and down boldly. “I don’t need to eat you alive, Gilden,” I say, my voice low.

I’m not sure how far away the others are, if they’ll hear, but I’m not too worried about it.

Last I saw Knox, he was in his room. Wolf, it’s hard to tell where he’s at if he’s not close by. “I just need you to shut up.”

He steps around me, up onto the porch so he’s more at eye level. He leans in, just enough that his breath dances across my lips when he speaks. “Mmm, girl, you got a mouth on you,” he purrs. “Bet I can shut it real sweet-like.”

My lips quirk up. “You can’t even reach my mouth without needing to step onto the porch,” I tease, confident that our dynamic can handle the teasing. It’s clear that I don’t think less of him because of his height. If anything, I don’t mind a man who’s down with being the little spoon sometimes.

“You might be taller, but I fight dirty, mon rossignol . Don’t think I won’t pull you down to my level,” he grins.

He looks down our bodies, openly ogling my legs beneath my dress.

I wonder what he’d think if he knew I wasn’t wearing any underwear.

Someone didn’t pack any for me. “You got legs as long as a bayou summer, cher ,” he groans.

“I’d climb ‘em like a cypress if you’d let me. ”

I snort, laughing. “Yeah?”

The lazy grin that pulls at his lips does me in. “Yeah,” he agrees, his eyes glittering dangerously.

There’s a beat. One hot, humming beat of silence.

I could walk away, enjoy this tension between us, or I could live like the Valerie I used to be, the one who didn’t worry about what anyone thought, the one that didn’t let anyone tell her what to do.

I make the decision so fast, there’s hardly time to second guess it.

I grab the front of his jeans, pull him close, and say, “prove it.”

Gilden follows my pulling with that damn lazy grin, hands sliding up my waist like he has every right in the world to touch me. I like that. I like that a lot.

“You sure about this, mon rossignol ?” he murmurs, voice low and teasing, but his eyes are sharp, reminding me he’s not as safe as he feels. “Ain’t gon’ be no goin’ back once I get a taste.”

I don’t answer. Instead, I grin and release him.

I step back, my socks crunching across the fresh pine needles and leaves splattered across the ground.

I turn, looking over my shoulder at him as I walk over to the large flat stump he’d been splitting wood on.

It’s the ghost of what was once a great tree, but now it’ll serve as a table.

I make eye contact as I take a seat, and then deliberately, I slowly spread my knees, not enough for him to see, just enough to tease.

He exhales like a man starved.

“Well now,” he drawls, coming over and stepping between my thighs. He leans down and slides his palms along my cold thighs, rough hands stroking goosebumps in their wake. “Ain’t never seen a woman sit so pretty on a throne I built.”

I huff a laugh. “Was that axe of yours compensating for somethin’?” I tease.

He drops to his knees so fast, it knocks the breath right out of me.

“Nah, cher ,” he murmurs, voice thick with heat, his eyes dipping down to my core as he pushes my knees firmly apart.

His eyes glitter dangerously when he sees I’m not wearing any underwear, his body shuddering with heat.

When he looks at me next, I know I’m in trouble as his hands slide up and grip my hips. “I compensate with my tongue.”

He tugs me forward. My dress bunches up around my hips as he presses his shoulders in between my knees and leans in.

He’s not rushed, not greedy. He nuzzles the inside of my thigh first, breathing me in like I’m the only fresh air he’s ever gotten. His slight stubble rasps along my skin as he presses open-mouthed kisses higher and higher, dragging out every second of anticipation like he wants me to ache.

“ T’es dounce, ma belle ,” he whispers, voice barely a growl. “Gimme that honey, cher . Let me ruin my mouth on you.”