Page 16 of Axe-ing for Trouble
We’d gone back to his house, this little place up on the side of the mountain, hidden by a dense canopy of trees, and we’d spent a magical night together.
There had been plenty of fucking, yes.
But that was only one facet of what made the encounter so incredible. We’d lain in his bed, naked, gazing out the picture window at the sea of stars above. Downeast, the stars didn’t shine this bright. The city lights drowned them all out.
Eventually, we’d bundled up and taken his dog for a late-night walk, listening to the hoots of the barn owls and the songs of the insects.
He’d made chocolate chip pancakes for me, then he’d eaten me for dessert.
When I snuck out, just as the sun was rising, it took all the strength I had not to lean down and kiss him again or wrap my arms around him and thank him for giving me such a precious memory. For providing such pure fun, a connection unlike anything I’d ever experienced, a desire I’d never known was possible.
But I couldn’t.
So I tiptoed out, hopped into my rental car, and took off.
I didn’t have time to get swept up by the sensitive lumberjack. Not then. And not now.
I’d thought of him so many times over the past year. Every time, I’d smile, wondering if he enjoyed the sexy memories as much as I did.
But then I had to go and show up here like a wounded animal and ruin it all. Now I was lingering. A helpless, unwanted guest.
Great job, Mila.
Every muscle ached, and my skin itched. What was worse, though, was the boredom. I was restless, desperate to search for my phone. To listen to recordings, do research, and feel useful. I’d been going so fast for so long, and now, the compulsion to be productive was overwhelming.
My all-day nap had shown me that I was in worse shape than I’d realized. If I left the house and was discovered, I had no hope of getting away. The exhaustion, and then the wild hunger, had kept me here. Warm and safe. I hated being weak like this, but even I knew my limits.
I was seconds away from entertaining myself by counting the fibers in the carpet when the low rumble of an engine caught my attention.
Ripley happily trotted over to the door, instantly assuaging the panic that had flared at the sound. If she was at ease, then it had to be Jude. As the sound grew louder, I considered lying down and pretending to be asleep to avoid him but dismissed the idea quickly. That would be weird.
I was in his house, alone, looking at his stuff and eating his food. I felt guilty and awkward for being here, for allowing him to take care of me.
What was wrong with me? I’d never experienced this kind of self-loathing.
I was Mila Barrett. I’d hidden in a foxhole while bombs went off. I’d trekked across deserts and negotiated border crossings with no passport.
And I was panicking because a nice guy was walking into his own house?
Ridiculous.
I pushed the instinct to hide from him down and sat on the couch, pretending to serenely read a book of Emily Dickinson poems. Balancing a hardcover book in my lap and turning the pages with one hand was a bit awkward, but at least I had something to look at. Otherwise, I’d probably appear as expectant as his dog, who was panting at the door.
When Jude stepped inside, he was loaded down with several large shopping bags. With a silent nod to me, he hung his coat and keys on the rack by the door, then toed off his work boots.
When his hands were free, he sank to his knees and scratched Ripley’s ears. She returned the affection by licking his face.
“Hey, girl,” he said in that deep, husky voice. “Did you do a good job today? Did you protect the house?”
Ripley’s large tail thumped against the floor loudly. She was totally in love with him.
I tried my best to stare blankly at the poetry in front of me rather than at the hot guy showing affection to an animal.
The effort was in vain.
He stood, pushing his glasses up his nose, and focused on me. “Hi. How are you feeling?”
I gave him a tense smile. “Okay. I slept a lot. Helped myself to some food. Is that okay?”
