Page 43 of Axe-ing for Trouble
Desperate for her to understand how I felt, despite how terrible I was at putting the emotions into words, I said, “I care about you.” I brushed my thumb over the light bruise that lingered on her cheek. “I respect you. And I want to help. But you can’t lie to me. You have to let me in, and you can’t be wandering off and putting yourself at risk.”
She bit her bottom lip, her teeth sinking into the plump flesh there in a way that had electricity coursing up my spine. What was it about this woman that made me lose all control?
“I want to protect you.”
She placed her hand on my chest and held it there, her breath hitching. Then, her expression going hard, she pushed. “Too bad. Because I’m trying to protect you.”
Frustration and a little fury swirled in my gut as I stepped in again, closing the distance she had created between us. “Then it looks like we’ll have to protect each other.”
She tipped her head back, glowering. “You are so damn stubborn.”
“And you are so damn beautiful.”
The moment I said the words, my body went rigid. Shit. Those words were not meant to come out.
Gasping, she clutched a fistful of my shirt.
“Fuck, I want to kiss you right now,” I gritted out. “But I won’t. I respect you too much to cross that line when you’re healing.”
Chopping wood would help. Or maybe I’d punch a wall. The fire that was rising up inside me had nowhere to go. A cold shower might help while I reined myself in. I wasn’t the kind of guy who shouted or argued, but Mila had a way of pushing me out of my comfort zone.
She let go of my shirt and took a careful step back. “Calm down, caveman. I’m not exactly kissable right now. I’m bruised and in a sling, and I’m wearing your sweats.”
My instincts urged me to reach out and pull her close. Wrap my arms around her and beg her to let me in, to let me help her, to insist she never lie to me again.
Instead, I choked them back and took a step back, smirking. “You underestimate yourself, Trouble. You are very kissable.”
Chapter13
Mila
“What is that?”
Jude, who’d just walked into the house wearing a huge grin, carried a cardboard box toward the kitchen island. After our argument last night, I’d agreed to stay near the house today. I had, but now I was itching to get back out there and find the phone.
Though I wanted to argue when he’d made me promise not to leave—I was not in the habit of obeying orders—I was wiped out after yesterday. So I settled in with one of the books Willa had lent me.
The story distracted me for a bit, but a few hours later, I was pulled back to the real world when Ripley got up and padded toward the front door. I straightened on the couch, listening for sounds outside the house, but heard none. A minute later, Jude’s truck pulled in, his tires crunching on gravel, and my heart leaped. My body wanted to jump up and greet him like an excited dog, but I forced myself to sit back, despite how thrilled I was that he was back so early.
The excitement was centered around getting out there and finding my phone. It had nothing to do with being excited to see him. Nope, not at all.
In journalism school, the instructors had driven objectivity into us. The ability to see all sides, to distance oneself, and to reject potential bias before it had a chance to form were some of the most important traits a journalist could possess. I was used to creating distance, to examining situations carefully.
But maintaining objectivity and appropriate emotional distance while trapped in a house with a sweet lumberjack twenty-four seven was virtually impossible.
Especially a sweet lumberjack wearing thick glasses and holding a large bakery box.
“Got you something.” He broke into a smile that would have made my knees weak if I were standing. “These scones are famous.”
At the wordscones, I was on my feet, grabbing at the green box.
“The blueberry is a big deal. But I’m partial to the maple bacon.”
The pastries smelled like heaven. The anticipation of carbs and sugar hitting my bloodstream sent a zing of excitement through me.
Or maybe it was Jude’s proximity. Or the dimple barely visible beneath his beard.
He skirted around me and set the box down. Only then did I notice the cardboard tube he had tucked under one arm.
