Page 22 of Grump Hard
“You know what I meant,” I say, the urge to jump into his sexy, flannel-covered arms more intense than ever.
I’m pretty sure Luke wouldn’t be disappointed in my “wood handling” skills. And I know I wouldn’t be disappointed with anything he has to offer. Beneath his uptight exterior lurks a man just waiting for an excuse to go absolutely feral on a woman. I can feel it, sense it in the way every nerve in my body goes on high alert as he extends an arm, welcoming me into his space.
“I do know what you meant,” he says. “Come on then, expert, show a city slicker how it’s done.”
Collecting the knotty piece from the ground, I step up to the block. “It’s not rocket science. It’s just that this piece is uneven. You need someone to brace it for you with the kindling stick.” I crouch down, positioning the log. “Try it now.’
“Are you sure you trust me that much?” he asks.
I look up, holding his gaze as I assure him, “I know you won’t hurt me. If you have faith in your abilities, so do I.”
He nods, his eyes still penetrating mine in a way that feels deliciously intimate as he murmurs, “All right. I’ll do my best not to let you down.”
He shifts his stance, his focus, and then, in one fluid motion, he swings. The axe comes down with a satisfying crack, splitting the log perfectly in two. The force of it sends a shiver up the kindling into my arms, but I am otherwise unscathed.
As I knew I would be.
“See?” I say, a little breathless. “So far, we’re a pretty good team.”
“So, it would seem. But if I never have to squeeze another squeaky toy, it’ll be too soon.”
I grin. “Understood. No more squeaky toys, I promise.” I nod toward the woodpile. “Come on. I’ll help you do the tricky pieces before I have to go.”
For the next few minutes, we fall into an easy rhythm. I select the knotty logs, and he chops, looking sexy as heck swinging that axe every single time. The pile of split wood grows steadily.
Nearly as steadily as my attraction…
Would it be scandalous to ask my blackmail victim if he wants to grab a drink tonight? And if not, how to transition from “I’m here to help with the wood” to “we should hit the village local tonight” without being too painfully obvious?
I’m so focused on the electricity pulsing between us, I don’t see the jagged edge of the next log until it’s too late.
“Ow! Shoot!” I yelp, dropping the log and snatching my hand to my chest.
“What is it?” Luke’s voice is sharp with concern, the teasing tone gone.
“Nothing, it’s just a splinter.” I bite my bottom lip. “But it’s a big one. Ouch. Right in the middle of my thumb.”
He’s at my side a second later, shucking his gloves as he draws my palm into his hands. “Let me see.” His touch is gentle, but assured, as if he’s tended to dozens of splinters before. “I’m sorry. I should have given you my gloves. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“No, it’s okay,” I say, the world narrowing to his warm, wood-and-smoky-cologne scent.
“It’s not okay.” His dark hair falls over his forehead as he inspects my palm with an intensity that makes me very aware of how warm his skin feels against mine. “That’s a serious splinter.”
“It is,” I murmur, shivers of awareness working their way up my arm as he strokes his thumb back and forth over my wrist. My breath catches, and then he looks up, and I forget how to breathe entirely.
“But there’s enough on the surface, I think I can get it out,” he says in a husky voice I instantly long to hear saying spicier things to me in the dark. “Permission to attempt a removal?”
I nod, biting my bottom lip before I whisper, “Yes, please.”
Cradling my open palm in one hand, he slowly, carefully captures the end of the splinter between his thumbs. “Okay, deep breath,” he says. “One, two…”
By the time I’ve convinced my ribs to expand, the splinter is out, and Luke is pressing the sleeve of his flannel to the small dot of blood on my skin.
“Oh, no,” I say, trying to pull away. “Don’t ruin your shirt.”
“Fuck the shirt,” he says gently, continuing to dab at my thumb. “You’re more important than a shirt.”
“Thank you,” I say.
