by Inez Kelley
The men looked at him with hidden amusement. Matt sighed. “Whatever. Lunch in ten. Get this area cleaned up.”
Men milled around, moving larger branches and scraps of wood, stowing saws and axes out of the way. Matt pocketed his gloves and hefted a second cooler out of the van.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping.” He sat it on the table. “I’m a dick, okay. But I’m a strong one. You get the smaller boxes.”
“I don’t want your help.”
“Adapt,” he echoed her, and pulled out the last, and largest, cooler. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“You had no intention of calling me, did you?” Her lower lip wobbled as she shifted her jaw. Shaking her head at his silence, she retrieved a large slow cooker from the van. “I don’t understand. So you’re cutting down trees I already agreed to let your company harvest. Why is this an ethics thing with you?”
Because that’s the only excuse I can think to give you.
The cardboard box was manufacturer sealed. Lips pinched tight, she struggled to rip the heavy tape across the top. Digging his pocketknife from his jeans, he flipped it open and offered it to her hilt-first.
“Thanks.” She cut the box open then closed the blade. She frowned at the initials on the hilt. “CS?”
“My dad. It was his.”
Searching amber eyes leaped to his. “Was?”
“He died when I was sixteen.” Looking at her, seeing her immediate compassion, piled more guilt on top of him. He opened the box and took out a bagged stack of paper plates. “He taught me to whittle with it.”
Sympathy softened her cheeks. The smile she gave him was gentle. “Are you any good at it?”
“Not really.” Memory teased his mind, rough hands holding his small ones, the hilt seeming so big, the short blade so sharp. Careful, Matty. Go slow, let the wood talk to you. He inhaled, half expecting to smell the scent of coal dust and Old Spice, a comforting fragrance he’d forgotten about until this minute.
Words fell from his lips without thought. “That and his wallet are all I really have left of him.”
“Your wallet.” She closed her eyes. “I thought it looked pretty—” she wrinkled her nose apologetically, “—shabby.”
“It kind of is.” Matt took the knife from her. Jesus, he must be more tired and rattled than he thought to spill out crap from his past like that. It might seem like nothing big to her but, for him, any mention of his father was like an avalanche of hurt.
Kayla was silent, removing lids and adding large serving utensils to dishes. They worked side by side, readying an amazing amount of food. When there was nothing more to set up, Matt yelled, calling the crew in. Nine men streamed toward the table.
“Help yourself and please, I’d like feedback on anything you care to give.” Kayla began listing each item and why it was an alternative recipe. Everything from gluten-free coated organic chicken fried in safflower oil to vegan soy macaroni and cheese to a nonGM carrot walnut salad with balsamic dressing.
Men more used to meatloaf sandwiches and butter-laden mashed potatoes stared dubiously. Matt grabbed a plate and was the first to walk the line, taking a sample of everything. He was throwing down the gauntlet and no one wanted to be shown up. They filed behind him. Stolinski praised the chicken, which eased some of the men’s trepidation.
They wandered off, mainly perching on the not-yet loaded logs, and began their lunch. Soon they started calling out praises. The chicken was a huge hit but the mayo-free potato salad earned many approvals.
Matt watched in fascination as Kayla’s face transformed from worry to hope to happiness. She listened, making the rounds and speaking to each man, asking his opinion. He sipped the tart lemonade from the spouted cooler. She looked ridiculous. Who ever heard of a pink hard hat? And pink steel-toes?
“You look like Cupid done nailed your ass.” Nichols carried a chicken breast and sat beside him in the open van.
“Just admiring the view.”
His assistant snickered. “Yeah, the view is nice. Be even better if she took off those stupid glasses. What’s the deal? You go out with her?”
“Something like that.”
“You must be love-struck, ’cause you ain’t eating.”
“I’m eating.” Matt took a huge bite of mac and cheese. His jaw froze. It tasted like burned rubber and snot.
“Eh, I was gonna warn ya.” Nichols watched Kayla. “That shit’s nasty but I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”
“Oh mu gud,” Matt mumbled around the growing mass in his mouth. He looked around for a place to spit it out and spied Kayla approaching. Her eyes were locked on him.
“Don’t do it, man,” Nichols warned. “If you like her, you’d swallow. Ain’t that what we tell the ladies?”
Matt spit the mess into the dirt and wiped his mouth on his wrist. “Don’t be an ass, Nichols.”
“Something wrong?”
Matt chugged his drink, trying to rid his tongue of the scummy coating.
Nichols hefted his full fork. “Not a thing in the world. My mom used to make a carrot salad but this is better.”
“Thank you.” Her brows angled low. “Matt?”
“The mac and cheese is...bad. Really, really bad.”
Nichols winced as she yanked the plastic fork out of Matt’s hand and took a bite of his macaroni. She gagged then spit the bite out. “Oh yuck. What happened? It was fine when I put it in the oven.”
“I don’t know but that’s just gross.” Something sparkled in her eye, something that made him suspicious. “Hey, Nichols, take a walk. I need to talk to Ms. Edwards.”
When he left, Matt narrowed his gaze. “You knew that was disgusting, didn’t you?”
A guilty exhale lowered her shoulders. She took off the glasses and tossed them in the van. “Yeah. You said you loved homemade mac and cheese and I was being a bitter bitch. I wondered if you’d actually tell me it was disgusting or lie about it.”
“Why?”
She sat beside him, running her hands up her thighs. “I don’t know. I guess in a way I was hoping you’d say it was good.”
“You wanted me to lie to you?”
“Yeah, because if you lied then I’d know you weren’t the man I thought you were. And I wouldn’t have to feel bad about you bailing out on me.”
Remorse stole his appetite. Squinting into the autumn sun, he let his eyes roam across the clearing where men were spitting out macaroni and shoveling in other stuff. He wanted to be the man she’d thought he was. One brow dipped as he realized his mental equilibrium had been shaky since he’d set foot back on this land. But at dinner with Kayla, he hadn’t felt like an anchorless ship at sea. He didn’t feel like that now.
The mountain breeze blew in with a gentle breath. It stirred the edges of her hair, lifting them out and settling them along her shoulder. She rubbed her nose and that simple move solidified his nerves. She was sexy and quirky and he wanted to find out what else.
The defining moments of his life had begun here on this land. He’d refused to let it dictate the rest of his life.
“Go out with me.”
“What about that ethical issue?”
“You were right. The contract’s a done deal. There’s no conflict.”
She titled her head. “So where should we go?”
“How about my place? I grill a mean steak. I can even do a decent salmon if you’d prefer.”
“Oh, grilled salmon sounds wonderful. Would you like me to bring anything?”
“Not mac and cheese.”
Her laugh was like pure spring water. It rolled over him, whisked away the pounding in his head and rejuvenated the connection they’d barely forged. She lowered her voice. “When?”
“Friday night?”
“It’s a date, lumberjack.” Pink lips brushed his in the softest of kisses.
He slid his hand around her neck, buried his fingers under her hard hat and tugged her closer. Her lips parted easily under his. Tongue gliding to every corner of her mouth, he kissed her deep and long. The ridiculous pink hat crashed to the ground.
“Wait, is he getting paid for this? Damn, I want a raise then.”
“Who you gonna kiss, Roberts?” Nichols laughed. “‘Cause it sure as hell ain’t gonna be me.”
Matt broke the kiss. “I can’t believe I just did that in front of my crew.”
“Do it again and I won’t tell your boss.” Kayla scrunched her nose.
Blackmail had never tasted so sweet.
* * *
Matt owned four acres edging along Monongahela National Forest. His house resembled a resort cabin, albeit an incomplete one. During the brief tour he’d given her, she’d caught glimpses of the man who’d built it. The kitchen and bathroom were finished, all upscale and rustic-modern, but the hallway and living room still boasted a subfloor and bare drywall. A spare bedroom didn’t even have drywall, the studs and wiring visible to all. His deck was a suggestion with only the framework laid. A huge pallet of treated boards stood ready to be assembled.
Kayla finished stacking their dishes on the counter then strolled into the living room. She angled her neck, looking through huge picture windows the height of the wall. They offered little view at night but she could imagine his daytime vista was spectacular. The north and south peaks of Seneca Rocks, divided by Gunsight Notch, were mere hulking shadows in the night sky. Miles away from even the smallest town, the stars glistened like Broadway and the moon hung like a spotlight. The unspoiled wild seemed to cocoon his property and stop time from intruding.
There wasn’t any furniture in the room yet. A gabled ceiling stretched above her to nearly twenty feet but lacked any finishing. The bare joists and stapled insulation shone in bright pink and tan. The center attraction of the living room would be the massive river rock fireplace, but for now it stood silent and dark. Kayla closed her eyes and could see the room completed, all rustic charm and homey warmth. The walls should be a deep gold to pick up the natural striations in the river rock. The couch should be leather, rich coffee brown. Maybe a knitted blanket thrown over the back.
She shook her imagination away as Matt came up the hall. “I like your house.”
“It’s coming along, slow and steady. The first year was rough, breaking ground and getting the framework up. This year’s been better. It’s a lot more livable now.” Strong heat pressed against her back as he stood behind her, wrapped one arm around her waist and brushed his jaw along her hair.
They hadn’t spoken about it, made no plans, but both knew she was staying the night. Matt hadn’t even blinked when she’d slung her overnight bag to the floor of his SUV. The attraction between them was too hot, too tempting not to explore. Anticipation sensitized her skin and propelled her pulse to a faster clip.
“I can’t believe you built this yourself.”
His chuckle was like warmed brandy. “Most of it, so far. I contracted out the electrical work. I know my limitations.”
Letting the tiny dark hairs tickle her fingertips, she dragged her short nails down his forearms. At his wrists, she tugged his hands from her waist and cupped them around her breasts. A noncommittal sound rumbled from him. That low growl sent a shiver coursing through her stomach. Matt ratcheted up the heat when his mouth fell to her neck, licking a slow line to her jaw as he rolled her nipples through her clothes. The simmer of desire was a seductive promise that she was eager to grab.
Her eyes closed as his lips grazed the shell of her ear. “What’s on your mind, lumberjack?”
“You.” He nipped her jaw. “Me.” Nipped her earlobe. “Getting naked.”
“I like that idea.”
Kayla twisted until she pressed against him, her mouth fused with his. Hunger fueled her and she feasted on him, his mouth, his taste. Rough hands stroked up her spine. His hair slid through her fingers as she opened to his kiss. Slick and warm, his tongue danced with hers until her heart raced. He cupped her breast, his thumb skating over the hard nipple. It beaded tighter, aching for more than a casual touch.
The buttons on his shirt slipped loose beneath her fingers. She slid her hands inside his shirt, letting her palms mold to the rock-hard ridges underneath. His skin was warm and smooth, like supple suede over iron. “You feel good.”
A naughty light sparked in his hazel eyes, gold and green and brown sizzling with want. “Let me make you feel better.”
He led her down a short hall and into his bedroom. The drapes were open, letting the silvery moon illuminate the unmade bed, an armchair piled with clothes, and a pair of rumpled jeans balled on the floor. She liked that he hadn’t cleaned the room in anticipation. It was simply as he’d left it, and he was comfortable with it and who he was.
Beneath her ribs, her heart pounded. Heat flushed his cheeks, dark spots of color enlivening his skin in the icy-lit room. Matt cradled her face in his hand. His thumb traced over her lips. She fingered the last buttons on his shirt, slipping them loose.
The buttons opened the gates and the next moments were silently filled with kisses, licks and the shedding of clothes. His sheets were cool and his body hot as he lowered himself atop her. Kayla got lost, drowning in the power of his kiss, the silken slide of his tongue against hers.
In clothing, he was gorgeous. Without them, he was a god. The muscles in his back rippled under her searching hands. She trailed her fingers down his spine, delving into the dip and scoring out toward his ribs. The breadth of his back astounded her. She marveled at his biceps, his forearms. It should be humanly impossible for them to be that hard. It was like he was carved from the very wood he mastered every day, had conquered it and absorbed its traits.
She couldn’t stop touching him. With her mouth locked with his, she caressed his chest, gliding over the chiseled features she’d seen on museum statues. But he wasn’t cold marble, he was a living, breathing man and he was in her arms. Heat wafted from his skin, sizzling along hers, and the sensual pricks of his sparse chest hair sensitized her breasts.
The planes of his abdomen were rigidly defined, and a thin line of dark hair began below his navel, leading her downward. His hip fit the curve of her palm. Everything about him was a display of strength, of angles and definition. Not even his ass was soft, just firmly rounded. More hardness ground into her belly, growing harder with every stroke.
His knee slid between hers and his corded thigh pressed against her wet center. The pressure, that delicious teasing pressure, rubbed against her clit in a slow taunt. Rough hands trailed up her legs, stroked up her stomach, cupped her breasts. His mouth skimmed down her neck and licked at her pulse point.
He jerked her hands above her head, pinning her wrists. Kayla sucked in a fast breath and her eyes snapped wide. Desire-heavy hazel eyes locked with hers and a wicked curl lifted his lip. “Don’t move your hands.”
“A little bit kinky, are you?”
“Not really. Just determined.”
She swallowed. “Determined?”
Excitement jumped six notches higher when he loomed over her, all hard angles and simmering savagery. “Yeah, so stop talking and just enjoy.”
This semi-dominance, the ruthless taking of control, jacked her pulse to an unsteady rhythm. Anticipation tingled on her skin. She twined her fingers together and dug her nails into her own palms to prevent herself from touching him.
Matt dipped his head, returning to her neck exactly where he’d stopped. A stinging nip was soothed under his velvet tongue. Nimble fingers gently skimmed down her arms to cover her breasts. He plucked at her nipples, rolling them until the ache turned sweet.
He nuzzled at her breast then
took the peak between his lips, flicking his tongue over and over, dampening the pebbled tip. He sucked it into his mouth, and her back bowed in sweet torture. The flesh on her palms stung where her nails gouged but she didn’t lower her arms. Her legs shifted, the emptiness between them growing, but he never increased the pressure of his thigh.
Whimpers poured from her but he wouldn’t be hurried, lazily exploring her breast by taste alone. Three seconds before her control snapped, he moved to the other breast and started over again.
His fingers skated down her sides and she jumped, squirming away from the too-sensitive touch. She caught his hands and held them still.
Matt chuckled. “Somebody’s ticklish.”
“Yes.”
Repositioning her arms above her head, he dropped a soft kiss on her lips. “I said don’t move.”
“You’re going to kill me.”
“No. I’m going to lick you until you come.”
His boast made her suck in a fast breath. The touch on her sides was now broad-fingered and slow. He kissed over her stomach in a measured and determined path, circling her navel with all the patience in the world. Kayla bit her lip, missing his mouth on hers but wanting, needing it so much lower.
Matt shifted, sliding down her body but never lifting his lips from her tummy. His hands framed her hips and he pushed with his elbows, opening her thighs. Hot breath blew across her bikini line and she shivered.
“Cold?” he asked against her hip.
“God, no.”
“Good.”
The first lick narrowed her limited vision to a pin dot. Straight up the fold of her pussy, his pointed tongue aimed directly at her clit. Her inner lips quivered, parting and welcoming his mouth. He showed her no mercy, flicking his tongue, sucking, circling, nipping and kissing. She tried to keep her hands away but one particularly masterful loop around her throbbing knot sent them to his head. She gripped his hair, thrusting her hips up, driving herself further on his tongue.
He pulled away. “No hands.”
“Matt—”
“If you want my mouth, put your hands back where they were.”