Page 117 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

Tonight is about her fingers in my hair.

Her breath against my throat.

The way she looks at me like I’m not a ghost or a headline or a legend.

Just a man.

And when I lay her down and lean over her, brushing my mouth slowly along her collarbone, her shoulder, the swell of her—I let myself feel it.

All of it.

Desire.

Hope.

Terror.

Possibility.

Second chances.

First touches.

And for the first time in a long time—I don’t pull away.

I don’t retreat into my head. Don’t armor up. Don’t turn the moment into something casual so I don’t have to feel the weight of it.

I give.

I don’t just take.

I let her in.

And I know—deep in my bones—that this woman could break me.

But I let her in anyway.

Because the alternative?

Moving away from her.

Pretending I don’t ache for her.

Not touching her?

That’s worse.

Chapter 24

Greyson

She’s stretched out on my bed in sheer yellow lace, firelight brushing over her skin, turning her into something almost unreal.

The color makes her glow—warm and golden and alive against the dark wood of the cabin.

My chest rises and falls hard.

I’ve faced down storms. I’ve stared down wild animals.