Page 6 of Her Christmas Lumberjack

I don’t hang around. I head straight for the door and hurry to my car, breathing hard. Only when I’m driving away from the farm do I feel my muscles unclench. Now I need to find the CraveCounty Clerk’s office and dig into some records about the land. Musty old papers, digital archives, those I can handle. Solid, predictable work. No lies necessary.

As I pull over to program the destination into my phone, the screen lights up with a call. It’s a Denver number I don’t recognize, and I answer hesitantly.

“Hello?”

“Is this Aurora?”

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“It’s Samuel Thorne. Liz gave me your number. How is the case coming along?”

I roll my eyes, silently cursing my boss for giving him a way to contact me. I’ve barely been in Cherry Hollow five minutes and he’s already on my back.

“There are no updates just yet,” I tell him. “But I’ll keep you informed, Mr. Thorne.”

“Make sure you do. With the amount I’m paying, I expect regular updates. Got it?”

I force out a breath. “Understood, Mr. Thorne, but if I’m busy on the phone with you, then it means I’m not doing my job. Please let us handle it.”

He makes a noise of impatience. “Don’t give me your patronizing lawyer talk. Just give me regular updates. I’m sure as hell paying you enough for them.”

He ends the call before I can remind him that I’m a paralegal, not a lawyer, and that it’s Liz he’s paying, not me. I glare at my phone, picturing Samuel Thorne’s stubborn face. It’s hard to believe he’s related to Nolan, and for the first time in my career so far, I find myself praying that our client doesn’t get a damn thing.

With a sigh of frustration, I begin the drive to the Crave County Clerk’s office—but my mind is still on Mistletoe Christmas Tree Farm, swimming with images of a ruggedlyhandsome lumberjack with eyes like mountain lakes and a voice like thunder.

4

NOLAN

Snowflakes are plummetingto the ground in thick sheets as I pace around my living room, waiting for Aurora to arrive. It feels like forever since she left the farm yesterday, and I haven’t been able to get her off my mind since. I was tossing and turning all night, trying to ignore the bulge in my pants, my blood pumping at the memory of Aurora’s thick curves. In the end I gave up on sleep and took a shower, fisting my cock to relieve the ache. But now that three o’clock is approaching, I’m more fired up than ever.

I force myself to sit down, letting the crackling fire warm my hands. But it’s no good.

“Goddammit,” I mutter, standing up and pacing again. There’s too much energy pulsing through me to stay still for long, and a moment later, I hear tires crunching through the snow as a car travels through the trees, approaching my cabin. Barely breathing, I listen as a door slams and footsteps approach, before a fist wraps against my front door.

“Hi,” Aurora says as I pull it open, my heart in my throat.

She looks even more beautiful than yesterday, wearing an emerald sweater that matches her eyes, and jeans that hug her thick thighs. Her hair is tied back in a messy bun, and her prettyface seems to glow as she smiles at me with those plump red lips. Part of me was praying that yesterday was a fluke. I hoped that the next time I saw her, my body wouldn’t go haywire. But fuck, now that she’s standing outside my cabin, it’s even worse. I’m all alone with this angel, and it takes me a second to make myself speak.

“Hi,” I say eventually, my voice hoarse like it hasn’t been used for a while. “Come on in.”

She’s covered in snowflakes, but they instantly melt as she enters the warmth of my living room. Her eyes widen as she takes in my cabin, looking from the overstuffed furniture to the giant windows with views over the forest. My home sits in a large clearing ringed with trees, and right now it looks like the damn North Pole outside.

“This place is beautiful,” Aurora says, spinning slowly to take it all in. “What a view!”

“Glad you like it.”

“I love it.” She smiles at the big stone fireplace, and I beckon her to sit in one of the armchairs in front of it so she can warm her cold hands. “My parents are staying somewhere like this for the holidays,” she adds wistfully. “Somewhere near Aspen.”

“You didn’t want to go with them?” I ask, taking a seat opposite her.

“Oh, I definitely wanted to go.” She pulls a face and shrugs. “Had to work, though. My boss can be kind of demanding sometimes.”

“That sucks.” I frown. “Would have been nice to spend Christmas with your folks.”

“Yeah, it really would. But you have to make sacrifices to get ahead sometimes.” She laughs hollowly. “That’s what I keep telling myself, anyway.”

“Journalism must be pretty cut-throat.”

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