Page 21 of Wilde Secrets

Sometime during the night, the rain stopped, and the morning dawned clear and bright. Harper woke in Logan’s big bed and stretched, feeling more relaxed than she had in days. She had never been someone who slept easily in a bed other than her own, despite how often she traveled, so she was surprised to find that she had slept through the night.

She climbed out of bed and smoothed the covers back into place, fluffing the pillows. The window beckoned and she walked toward it, stifling a yawn. The bedroom was at one end of a gabled roof, and windows made up almost the entirety of one wall.

Last night, in the rainy darkness, she wasn’t able to take in the view, but now she could see the beauty of the bay where Logan lived.

There was a jetty where a small motorboat was moored, and a tiny private beach. Harper stared and stared at the expanse of water fringed by forests and granite boulders that emerged along the shore. There wasn’t a single other house to be seen.

It was the most beautiful view she could remember seeing.

And the loneliest.

Harper wondered about the man who lived here. What was it about this place and all this isolation that beckoned to him?

She reluctantly pulled herself away from the window to use the bathroom and dress. As she opened her suitcase, she saw the red evening dress and paused, her hand smoothing the fabric sadly.

“One day at a time.” She pulled on a pair of jeans and a plain white tee shirt. The jeans were the clothing equivalent of a unicorn; they actually fit her waist and hips at the same time—something of a miracle—and she owned the style in every color available. That day’s pair was a faded blue denim.

She pulled on a loose, cropped sweater and padded downstairs in her socks to find Logan.

“Hello?”

There was a faint thumping noise coming from outside, and she followed the sound.

“Logan?”

As Harper walked through the house to the mudroom the noise got louder, punctuated with the occasional grunt.

What on earth?

Her sneakers were still wet with mud, so she grabbed a pair of pull-on rubber boots and stepped outside. The boots were huge on her—obviously a pair of Logan’s—and she walked awkwardly past where his truck was parked and around the side of the garage.

The morning was cool, not at all like the summer mornings in California that she was used to, and Harper shivered as a breeze brushed over her skin. The water lapped at the shore, evidence of the previous night’s storm shown in the debris that had been deposited at the high tide mark.

The trees overhead swayed back and forth in the salty breeze, the rustle of their leaves the only sound until the noise that pulled her outside started up again.

As she stepped around the corner of the building, the source of the noise became clear. Logan was chopping wood.

Shirtless.

Dear Lord in heaven. That man is a snack.

She paused, one hand resting on the white-painted cladding of the garage wall, as she watched him work.

He faced away from her, a huge axe in one hand. Bending to grab a chunk of wood, he placed it on a block near his booted feet. His jeans rode low on his hips and, as he spread his legs ready to swing, he hitched them up slightly on his thick thighs.

Harper held her breath, eyes wide, as he swung the axe overhead in one fluid motion. The muscles in his back and shoulders tensed before he brought the axe down onto the wood with a grunt, splitting it clean in two. He bent again, picking up one of the split halves and repeated the motion, before tossing the pieces into a wood bin to one side.

He turned to grab another block of wood and spied Harper watching him. Harper froze. The sunlight that had broken through the trees lit his sweat-slicked skin in golden hues. She couldn’t look away.

His arm lazily swung the axe back and forth as he walked slowly toward her. The waistband of his slightly too-big jeans slipped down a little as he walked. A trail of brown hair led from his navel, over stomach muscles you could wash clothes on, to disappear between the deep vee she thought only underwear models had.

Apparently not.

Harper swallowed and, realizing she’d been staring at his crotch, coughed and dragged her eyes away.

“Morning princess,” he drawled, and she flushed, her face heating as he stopped next to her.

Why did he have to stand so close?

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