He growls then swings the axe against the tree. “Too bad. He would have given you everything.”
After that, he chops at the tree like he has a personal vendetta against it. Blow by unflinching blow, he slowly weakens the trunk. He pauses only once and that’s to peel off layers of his clothing so he can move freely.
I watch his tanned muscles tense and strain as he heaves the axe. Sweat rolls down his furry chest, and I have an overwhelming urge to lick it away, to be his and only his. He said he would always belong to me. Would he whisper that as he panted above me, taking my body hard and fast?
When he finishes his work, he reaches for the pack he set on the ground and pulls out a long cord. It’s then I realize we didn’t bring a way to carry back the tree.
“Should I go get your truck?” I ask, even though I have no experience driving in the snow other than yesterday’s brief experience. Still, if I can get the truck safely here, we can load it in the bed together.
He frowns, his skin glistening in the early afternoon sun. “Why would we need that?”
“It just seems like a lot for the two of us to manage,” I mumble, already not looking forward to the trek back to his cabin while carrying half a freakin’ tree. This man is nuts.
He gets to his feet and reaches for the ropes he’s bound on the branches with ease. He hefts the broad tree over his shoulder without looking the least bit winded. So unfair.
In this moment, I’m envious of a tree because I want to be slung over his shoulder. I want to be carried around like that. Would he rest his hand on my bottom, cupping me there and telling me to stay still while he carried me?
I’ll never know the answer because he just…starts walking. Like he isn’t carrying a tree on his back.
I follow behind him not to admire the way his blue jeans mold so perfectly to his ass. No, I’m here for safety reasons. It’s very important that there’s a scout to protect his back from raccoons and other small-but-not-too-scary creatures that might attack him.
When we get back to his cabin, he sets it in place. He fusses over getting it in front of the windows, like he wants to make sure it can still see the beautiful forest we’ve taken it from. He’s so rugged, so strong.
“What made you decide to live out here?” I finally ask.
“I enjoy the peace and quiet. During the summer months, I hike in the forest. I take a recorder with me, and I dictate chapters of my books. I can stay out there for hours, just talking to the clouds while my boys roam around.”
I think of his bookshelves, of the many books with his name on them. “You’ve written a lot of stories.”
“It’s easy when you believe in what you’re writing,” he answers. He’s measuring out water and some type of nutrient package that claims to keep Christmas trees fresh longer.
“And what is it you believe?”
“In true love, in finding someone that’s worth fighting for and protecting. Don’t you believe the same?” He gets the tree settled and steps back to admire his work.
I shake my head. “We’re not in totally different industries.”
I blush when he looks at me. “I don’t mean that I’m a writer, just that I sell stories, too. Love stories, but...I don’t believe in what I’m selling.”
He stares at me for a long time. “Then maybe, stop doing that.”
Hunter
“I have a confession to make,” Holly says as she digs around in a Christmas box. She’s bent over at the waist, giving me a great view of her ass. After we got the tree set up, she changed into another of my flannel shirts.
It’s long on her, more like a dress, but a mini dress because it keeps flipping up at the end. It’s doing something for me every time I catch a peek at those black cheeky panties. I can’t wait until the day she lets me put my hands all over her.
She got really quiet earlier when I told her to stop doing what makes her unhappy. It almost seemed like she didn’t even realize that was an option.
“What’s your confession?” I finally manage to ask, pulling my attention back to our conversation. I like talking with her. For all of the money she comes from, she isn’t stuck up like I expected. If anything, she just seems…lonely. Maybe that’s why I keep feeling drawn to her.
“I’m not much of a Christmas fan,” she admits, and she straightens up, catching my eye.
I let my gaze travel over her body. “Your previous outfit would suggest otherwise.”
She puts a hand on her hip, giving me a half amused smile. Fuck, what’s it going to be like when I can earn those half amused smiles from her every day for the rest of my life?
She says, “I was on my way to some big charity event. My mom is, well, she’s kind of obsessed with Christmas.”
