Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
He nods, his eyes still penetrating mine in a way that feels deliciously intimate as he murmurs, “All right. I’ll do my best not to let you down.”
He shifts his stance, his focus, and then, in one fluid motion, he swings. The axe comes down with a satisfying crack, splitting the log perfectly in two. The force of it sends a shiver up the kindling into my arms, but I am otherwise unscathed.
As I knew I would be.
“See?” I say, a little breathless. “So far, we’re a pretty good team.”
“So, it would seem. But if I never have to squeeze another squeaky toy, it’ll be too soon.”
I grin. “Understood. No more squeaky toys, I promise.” I nod toward the woodpile. “Come on. I’ll help you do the tricky pieces before I have to go.”
For the next few minutes, we fall into an easy rhythm. I select the knotty logs, and he chops, looking sexy as heck swinging that axe every single time. The pile of split wood grows steadily.
Nearly as steadily as my attraction…
Would it be scandalous to ask my blackmail victim if he wants to grab a drink tonight? And if not, how to transition from “I’m here to help with the wood” to “we should hit the village local tonight” without being too painfully obvious?
I’m so focused on the electricity pulsing between us, I don’t see the jagged edge of the next log until it’s too late.
“Ow! Shoot!” I yelp, dropping the log and snatching my hand to my chest.
“What is it?” Luke’s voice is sharp with concern, the teasing tone gone.
“Nothing, it’s just a splinter.” I bite my bottom lip. “But it’s a big one. Ouch. Right in the middle of my thumb.”
He’s at my side a second later, shucking his gloves as he draws my palm into his hands. “Let me see.” His touch is gentle, but assured, as if he’s tended to dozens of splinters before. “I’m sorry. I should have given you my gloves. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“No, it’s okay,” I say, the world narrowing to his warm, wood-and-smoky-cologne scent.
“It’s not okay.” His dark hair falls over his forehead as he inspects my palm with an intensity that makes me very aware of how warm his skin feels against mine. “That’s a serious splinter.”
“It is,” I murmur, shivers of awareness working their way up my arm as he strokes his thumb back and forth over my wrist. My breath catches, and then he looks up, and I forget how to breathe entirely.
“But there’s enough on the surface, I think I can get it out,” he says in a husky voice I instantly long to hear saying spicier things to me in the dark. “Permission to attempt a removal?”
I nod, biting my bottom lip before I whisper, “Yes, please.”
Cradling my open palm in one hand, he slowly, carefully captures the end of the splinter between his thumbs. “Okay, deep breath,” he says. “One, two…”
By the time I’ve convinced my ribs to expand, the splinter is out, and Luke is pressing the sleeve of his flannel to the small dot of blood on my skin.
“Oh, no,” I say, trying to pull away. “Don’t ruin your shirt.”
“Fuck the shirt,” he says gently, continuing to dab at my thumb. “You’re more important than a shirt.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“More important than many shirts.”
He lifts his gaze from my hand to my face, his eyes filled with something that looks a lot like longing.
God, I hope it’s longing.
I’m certainly feeling the longing.
The air is positively crackling with it…
And then, he leans closer, and I tilt my chin up.
Suddenly, I realize, this is it! This is the moment! He’s going to kiss me. The certainty thrums through every nerve in my body, making my thighs start to tingle all over again as—
“Holly Jo!” A voice shouts from the road, making Luke and me startle apart. “You ready to go, honey? I gotta get these deliveries over the mountain.”
I turn to see my father waving cheerfully from his truck window, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he just kiss-blocked his daughter.
But then, Dad always has been a tad bit oblivious, the kind of guy who’s more at home in the lab with his cheese than the social events my mother loves.
“Yeah, Dad, just a second!” I call, before turning back to Luke. “Sorry, I um… I have to go.”
He nods, but he’s still looking at me like he wants me to stay. “Of course.”
“I um… Yeah. So…” I back away, willing my stupid lips to ask him to the pub. “So, I was thinking—”
“Who’s that, Holly Jo?” my dad cuts in. “Aren’t you going to introduce us? You know I love to meet your friends.”
Fighting a teenage-angst-level eye roll with everything in me, I turn back to my father. “Of course! Dad, this is Luke Ratcliffe, a savvy businessman from New York. Luke, this is my Dad, George, a hardworking farmer who needs to deliver the cheese.”