Page 18 of Liberated By the Logger

His soft chuckle warms my chest. He walks to the oven, pulling out a loaf of bread before removing it from the pan to cool on the cutting board on the kitchen island. My mouth waters with the scent of fresh sourdough pluming the air.

Giving me a quick glance as he works, Ambrose smiles. “You got one hell of a fast pitch, I’ll give you that.”

Sheepishly, I shrug my shoulders. “High school varsity softball pitcher.”

“Not surprised at all,” he says with an amused laugh.

“Seriously though, Ambrose,” I say, stressing my apology. “I’m sorry.”

He sets the bread-knife down on the cutting board, bowing his head. A deep growl rumbles in his chest.

What’s happening? Did I say something wrong?

A moment later, he lifts his head to me, his gray eyes smoldering.

“I like the way my name sounds coming from your tongue.”

I gulp, feeling my entire body breakout into a hot flush. “Ex-Excuse me?”

Nonchalant, Ambrose picks his knife up and cuts the bread into thick slices.

“Call me Brose—we’re close now,” he says clearly before whispering what I believe is, “Hopefully, a lot closer soon.”

There’s no way I heard him correctly. Perhaps the storm got rainwater in my ears. I’m about to ask him to repeat himself when he continues.

“And there’s no need to say sorry. It’s okay.”

He’s being too kind, and I don’t deserve an easy out. “Hardly.”

“The situation had us both overreacting. It’s not like you took off my head—close call. But, hey, I’m good and so are you. And I can always carve another decoy.”

I sigh, imagining all the hours Brose spent whittling away at a log to make that duck sculpture.

“You see,” he leans toward me with a teasing smile, “I got unlimited access to wood.”

I beg your finest pardon?! Is he referring to what I think he’s referring to? And is he flirting with me?

As if Brose can see the confusion on my face, he clears the air. “I’m a logger by trade.”

Oooh, that explains it. My imagination needs to get out of the gutter. I keep picturing Brose working the giant log between his legs from earlier in the shower. The image is forever burned in my head, playing on a loop. I squeeze my thighs together to stifle the growing ache between my legs.

Brose definitely fits the logger profile—big, muscled, and gruff. Yet, he’s surprisingly hospitable, considering I nearly crushed in his skull. At least he is kind to me. It’s more than I deserve after the way I unloaded on him.

Still embarrassed by my actions, I bury my hands in my lap and take a deep breath. “I’m sorry I walked in on you.”

The corners of Brose’s eyes crinkle as his smile grows wider. “Are you now?”

“Yes,” I say, shame coating my voice. “I should’ve left as soon as I saw you. I guess I was…”

“Pleasantly surprised?” Brose offers with a flirty wink.

“Shocked,” I clarify, my cheeks warming with my discomfort.

His hearty belly laugh fills the room. “Yeah, I bet. I was, too.”

Gosh, this is beyond awkward. It’s not every day you have to apologize for being a peeping Tom.

“It was wrong of me not to leave or alert you I was present,” I say hastily, wanting to get the embarrassment over with. “I’m sorry.”