Page 10 of Her Christmas Lumberjack

I smile at him as he pours me a glass, his piercing blue eyes meeting mine for a moment, lingering a second too long. My heart stutters, and I almost drop my wine as I take a deep sip, the spicy sweetness lingering on my tongue.

Nolan’s long legs take up a lot of space beneath the table, and they brush against mine, the contact making me shiver. I shouldn’t be feeling this way about him. Not when I’ve lied to his face since the moment we met. But I can’t stop the desire buzzing through my veins, mixing with the warmth of alcohol until I’m heady.

The meal is delicious: the pot roast tender, the potatoes buttery. The wine relaxes me, and for a little while, I let myself forget about Liz and my job. I stop thinking about how much Nolan would hate me if he knew the truth.

“You sure know how to cook,” I say, taking another appreciative bite.

He smiles at me, lips tugging slightly beneath his beard. “Mom taught me everything I know. Said it was the most important thing I’d ever learn.”

“Well, she did a good job.” I smile at him.

“Can you cook?”

“Me?” I snort. “I could burn ice cream.”

“I bet you’re not that bad.”

“Wanna bet? One time I tried to make an omelet and set the kitchen on fire. They had to evacuate the building.”

Nolan laughs, a deep throaty sound that makes my stomach do a backflip. “Damn. Well, hey, at least you tried.” He toasts me, raising his glass before taking a sip of wine. There’s a twinkle in his eye, and as we keep talking, a familiar heat pulses between my legs. He’s so unbearably handsome. Those burly shoulders seem to take up half the table, and when he smiles beneath that bushy beard, it goes straight to my heart.

I want him.

Badly.

Images flash through my mind of Nolan leaning in, kissing me hard, those powerful arms wrapping around me, pulling me close. I squeeze my thighs together, trying to ignore the growing ache, but it’s no good. When Nolan stands up to clear our plates, the sight of his flannel shirt straining against those thick muscles is enough to make me stifle a moan.

God, I’m really losing it.

I’d love to blame it on the wine, but my desires have been bubbling under the surface ever since I met Nolan yesterday. And with every second that passes, it’s getting harder to push them down.

“Hope you’re still hungry,” Nolan says as he brings out a large cherry pie for dessert. “Bought this from Buttercup Bakery yesterday morning. Best cherry pie you’ll ever eat.”

He cuts us each a generous slice, topping both with a scoop of ice cream. It’s the best dessert I’ve ever tasted—sweet, flaky, and so freakin’ good.

“You’re spoiling me,” I tell him. “If I were at home right now, I’d be eating frozen pizza.”

He looks at me. “Where is home, exactly?”

“Denver.” The word spills out before I can stop it.

“You live in the city? I thought you were writing for a local paper?” Nolan frowns. “Which paper did you say it was?”

I take my time swallowing another mouthful of pie, my cheeks heating beneath his gaze. “The Crave County Gazette. I live in Denver, but work takes me all over the place…interviewing people…”

Thank God I googled local papers last night.

My voice tapers off, but Nolan nods, satisfied with my explanation. “Hope your boss won’t be mad at you for notfinishing the article. It’s not your fault you got snowed in here with me.”

I don’t trust myself to speak. Instead, I take another bite of pie, but I’ve lost my appetite, and it tastes like glue in my mouth. It was crazy to think I could ignore my lies and enjoy an evening with Nolan. It’s too late for that. The hole I’ve dug for myself is way too deep, and all I can do is wait until the snow clears. Then I’ll head back to Denver with my tail between my legs. I’ll lie to Liz and tell her Nolan wouldn’t tell me anything. Her disappointment will be a small price to pay. It won’t save Nolan or his brother—Liz is a fantastic lawyer, and if Samuel really does own the land, she’ll make damn sure he gets it. I might not like it, but it’s out of my hands.

“Thank you for dinner,” I say, trying to keep the shakiness from my voice. “It was wonderful.”

I try to help Nolan clear up, but he insists I stay seated. He takes everything back to the kitchen, then brings out a plate of beef for Rudolph, who is awake and sniffing at the air expectantly. Nolan strokes him affectionately, telling him he’s a good boy, and I think my heart might break if I watch him a second longer.

“I’m really tired,” I say. “That wine went straight to my head.”

It’s barely eight, but Nolan doesn’t comment on the time. “No problem. Let me make up the guest room for you.”

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