Page 8 of Property of the Woodsman

“Cause you’re stealing all my shit.”

Her eyes roll to the side, and she bites back a grin. “You’re stupid.”

“I’m funny.”

“You’re something,” she says, setting the pie in the east windowsill overlooking the berry patch. “What are these about?” She nods toward the initials carved into the corner of the window frame. “I saw them last night when I was cooling the first pie.”

I laugh under my breath as I glance toward the marks my father and I made years ago. “Surprised you haven’t torn the frame off the wall and burned it yet.”

“That’s my plan tonight. Figured I’d give you the chance to tell a sob story first.”

“In that case,” I grin and shake my head, “that window frame was the first thing I ever built with my dad. He handed me the hammer, told me to go to town, and then let me carve my name into the wood so we’d always remember who’d done it.”

She shakes her head and stalks back into the kitchen with purpose. “At least your dad paid attention to you. I don’t know what I’m going to do with my ex. He seems burdened by the weekends with Jackson.” As she’s talking her foot tangles with the chicken shaped rug in front of the sink and she begins to topple forward.

Long silky hair, all those curves, tumbling over toward me.

On instinct, I reach forward and grab hold of her wherever I can. At least that’s what I tell myself as I hold her breast in my hand.

“Oh my God!” She shakes her head and stands herself back up using the edge of the countertop as leverage. “Really? You grab my tit? You couldn’t have grabbed me anywhere else?”

I shrug and bite back a smile. “That’s where my hand landed. Plus, this is what you wanted. Manhandling.”

“Dear Lord.” She rolls her eyes as her cheeks turn a dark shade of red. “At the wedding, not here. You know that too. Just like that kiss yesterday.”

“This is what you’re paying me for. I’m acting accordingly.”

She doesn’t respond. Instead, she busies herself with the coffee as I try to think of anything but the kiss we shared yesterday and what she’d feel like in my arms.

“So what’s our story? How did we meet? I’m thinking we keep things simple and tell the truth. It’s cute and believable.”

“Okay,” she says, her eyes flashing me daggers, “and what do I say when people start Googling you and find out you’ve been in prison for an attempted bank heist?”

“You tell them I don’t take kindly to snoops, and I’ll flash them the pistol on my hip.”

“Wow.” She bites back a grin. “So, we’re intimidating people? That’s fun.”

“I’m offering it free with the manhandling package,” I groan, leaning forward slowly, and I swear I hear her moan back. It’s slight and soft, but I’d bet money I heard it.

A moment later, she whispers, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think I’m losing my mind.”

“How so?” I stare toward her, watching as her full, pink lips open and close.

“I’ve only had two men kiss me in my life. My ex-husband and you. And that kiss yesterday was—” She blows out a breath and twists away from me. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because I don’t know what I’m doing,” she chides, her tone rising as she spins back. “I’m essentially paying you to go to this wedding with me, I’m horny as hell, and even though I know all of this is fake, I can’t stop thinking about that kiss.”

“So, I should do it again.” My cock grows hard against the inside leg of my jeans as I stare toward her.

She nods slightly, her lips dropped open. “What would that prove? No one is watching. We don’t have to pretend.”

I shrug and land my hand on the side of her soft face. “Maybe we just do it because it feels good.”