CHAPTER THREE
Crew
I made it to my truck before I had to adjust myself.
Fuck.
I was hard as steel, my cock straining against my jeans, and all because Charlotte had stood close enough that I could smell her. All because she’d looked up at me with those green eyes and I’d seen something there. Want, maybe. Or maybe I was just projecting my own desperate need onto her.
Either way, I was screwed.
I climbed into the truck and sat there for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel, trying to get myself under control. Trying not to think about how badly I’d wanted to back her up against that workbench. To cage her in with my arms and find out if her mouth tasted as good as it looked.
She’s your boss. She’s too young. She’s too good. And you’re only here because you owe Race.
I repeated it like a mantra, but my body didn’t give a shit about logic.
My body only cared about the way her curves had looked in those jeans.
The way her shirt had pulled across her breasts when she’d leaned over to look at the notes.
The way she’d bitten her lower lip when she was concentrating, making me want to soothe the spot with my tongue.
The way she’d looked at me—like maybe she wanted me too. Could she feel the same raw need clawing through my gut.
Stop.
I couldn’t go down that road. I couldn’t let myself believe that the heat I felt was mutual.
Because even if it was, even if Charlotte looked at me and saw something worth wanting, I had nothing to offer her.
I was a forty-year-old ex-soldier with PTSD and nightmares and a body covered in scars.
I was broken in ways that couldn’t be fixed, and she was. ..
She was sunshine. Competence wrapped in curves, running a business with the kind of quiet strength that came from years of proving herself. She didn’t need someone like me bringing darkness into her life.
Even if every cell in my body was screaming that she was mine.
I started the truck and headed back to the cabin Race was loaning me for the duration of my stay. The roads were getting bad, snow having fallen all day.
Yeah, I was attracted to her. Above and beyond anything I’d ever felt before.
I forced myself to ignore the ache in my groin. I forced myself not to replay every moment of the day—the way she’d smiled when I’d caught the error in the notes and how her voice had gone slightly breathless when she’d asked if I was coming back tomorrow.
I told her I would because I owed Race.
I’d lied. I’d known the moment I caught her in my arms that I’d be there until she no longer needed me. My staying now had nothing to do with the debt I owed Race.
I wanted to see her again. Wanted to be near her, even if I couldn’t touch. Even if all I could do was watch her work and torture myself with thoughts of what could never be.
You’re fucked, solider. Completely fucked.
The cabin was cold when I got there, and the first thing I did was start a fire in the fireplace. I grabbed a beer from my supplies and walked back outside, letting the cabin heat up. The small porch looked out at the dark forest. It was quiet here. Isolated. Just the way I liked it.
Except now, all I could think about was Charlotte. About green eyes and soft curves and a smile that made something in my chest ache.
I couldn’t shake the memory of standing too close to her, of feeling the tension building between us. I drained the beer and crushed the can, giving in to some of the raw emotion running through me. I was hard again and frustrated as hell.
A cold shower. That’s what I needed.
I walked back inside and stripped off my clothes.
I didn’t even bother to see if there was hot water, just turned it full on full cold and stepped inside.
I stood under the icy spray, one hand braced against the tile, and tried not to think about the woman who had forced me to resort to the standing under a freezing spray.
I failed that assignment spectacularly. Because all I could see was Charlotte—the way her jeans had hugged her hips, the way her shirt had pulled across her breasts, the way she’d looked up at me with something that might have been want in her eyes.
And all I could think about was how her body would feel under my hands—all soft curves and responsive heat.
The sounds she’d make when I finally touched her the way I’d been dying to since the moment we met.
My cock was steel-hard, aching, and I knew from experience that ignoring it wouldn’t make it go away.
I wrapped my hand around my shaft and stroked, the cold water doing nothing to cool the heat burning through me. And immediately, images flooded my mind.
Charlotte bent over that workbench, jeans pulled down to reveal the perfect curve of her ass.
My hands gripping her hips, feeling how soft she was, how perfectly she’d fit in my palms. Spreading her, opening her, watching her body accept me inch by brutal inch.
I was not a gentle lover, and I knew I’d have no control the first time I took her.
And I would take her. I knew that was inevitable too.
I stroked faster, imagining peeling off that flannel shirt to discover what she wore underneath. Lace? Cotton? Nothing at all? My mouth watered at the thought of her breasts filling my hands, her nipples hardening under my tongue.
Would she be vocal? Would she tell me what she wanted, boss me around the way she did at the mill? Or would she go soft and pliant, trusting me to take care of her?
Both. I wanted both. Wanted to see her strong and demanding, and wanted to watch her come apart under my hands. I wanted, no, needed, to hear her beg.
In my mind, I had her on her back, those thick thighs spread for me.
I’d take my time, kissing my way up from her ankles, savoring every inch of soft skin.
Make her beg before I put my mouth on her pussy, before I tasted her and made her come on my tongue.
Before I licked through her folds, found every sensitive spot that made her shake, sucked her clit until she sobbed my name.
And then I’d fill her. Slow and deep, watching her face as she took every inch of me.
Watching those green eyes go dark with pleasure.
Feeling her tight heat clench around me.
Feeling her stretch to accommodate my size, watching her eyes go wide with the shock of fullness, the delicious ache of being taken completely.
My hand moved faster, my grip tightening, my hips rocking into my fist. My breath was harsh in the small shower. I imagined her nails digging into my back, her inner walls clenching, milking me, her body convulsing with release as I drove into her again and again, chasing my own—
I came hard, Charlotte’s name a harsh groan as my cock pulsed, spilling over my fist, the release so intense my knees nearly buckled. I braced myself against the wall, riding out every aftershock, my body shuddering with the force of it.
For a moment, I just stood there, chest heaving, water pounding down on me.
“Fuck.”
I knew it couldn’t happen. Shouldn’t happen. She was too young. She deserved better than a broken-down ex-soldier. But as I finished my shower, I couldn’t shake the memory of how she’d looked at me. I certainly couldn’t stop the anticipation building in my chest at the thought of seeing her again.
And that was dangerous. Because the more I wanted her, the harder it would be to keep my distance. To remember all the reasons this could never work.
I pulled into the sawmill early the next morning, and Charlotte’s truck was already there.
Of course it was. The woman probably lived at this place.
I sat in my truck for a moment, trying to get my head on straight.
Trying to remember all the reasons this was a bad idea.
Trying to ignore the anticipation building in my chest at the thought of seeing her again.
Trying to ignore how my pulse had kicked up the moment I saw her vehicle, how my body was already responding to just the promise of her presence.
The sawmill was quiet this early, just the soft hum of the building and the distant sound of... was that music? I followed the sound to the main floor and stopped dead.
Charlotte was there, dancing.
Actually dancing, moving to whatever was playing through her phone’s speaker, her hips swaying as she did a final check of the equipment.
Her hair was down today instead of pulled back, dark curls bouncing with each movement.
She wore jeans that should be illegal and another tight shirt that showed off her curves.
And she was singing along, her voice soft and slightly off-key, completely unselfconscious.
It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
My chest tightened with something that felt dangerously close to longing.
Not just physical want—though God knew I had plenty of that—but something deeper.
Something that made me want to cross the space between us and pull her close just to feel her warmth.
To be part of that unselfconscious joy instead of always standing on the outside looking in.
I must have made a noise—a breath, a rustle of movement—because she spun around, her eyes going wide when she saw me.
“Crew!” Her hand flew to her chest. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Sorry.” My voice came out rougher than intended, still thick with the images from the shower. Still raw with need. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“No, it’s... I just...” She fumbled for her phone, stopping the music, her cheeks flushing pink. That blush spread down her neck, disappearing beneath her collar, and I wanted to follow it with my tongue. “I didn’t think anyone would be here this early.”
“I could leave. Come back later,” I said instead.
“No!” The word came out too quick, too emphatic, and her blush deepened. “I mean... you’re fine. I was just... finishing up the morning check.”
We stood there, the silence stretching between us, and I couldn’t help but notice how the early morning light caught in her hair.
How her lips were slightly parted, still catching her breath from dancing.
I wanted them wrapped around my cock. Her eyes kept darting to me and then away, like she wasn’t sure where to look.
Had she thought about me last night? Had she touched herself, imagining my hands on her body.
“You’re early,” she finally said.
“So are you.”
A small smile tugged at her lips. “I’m always early. Habit.”
“Me too.” Military training. And insomnia. And dreams about you that I can’t shake.
Another beat of silence, charged with everything neither of us was saying. I knew I should move. Should walk away, find something to do, maintain some distance.
Instead, I found myself asking, “What were you listening to?”
Her blush deepened. “Just... some Christmas music. It’s that time of year, you know. Dad would start playing it right after Thanksgiving. Drove the crew crazy, but he knew I loved Christmas.”
“You grew up here. In the sawmill.”
It wasn’t a question, but she nodded anyway. “Every day after school. Weekends. Summers. I learned to run every piece of equipment in this place before I graduated high school.” Pride crept into her voice. “Dad used to say I had sawdust in my veins.”
“And now you run it.”
Something flickered in her expression—old hurt, maybe, or disappointment. “He wanted Stone to take over. My older brother. But Stone...” She shrugged. “Stone had other plans. Football. The NFL. And I just... stepped up.”
She said it matter-of-factly, but I heard the weight behind the words. The years of proving herself.
I knew that feeling. Knew what it was like to carry weight that wasn’t supposed to be yours. To step up when others stepped away.
“That’s a lot for a kid to take on,” I said quietly.
Her eyes met mine, and I saw surprise there, as if she hadn’t expected understanding. Most people praised her competence without acknowledging what it had cost. “I managed.”
“More than managed. You built something. The specialty division, the expansion—that was you.”
“How did you—”
“Dale talks. And I pay attention.” I took a step closer, drawn by something I couldn’t name. Drawn by her. “You’re good at this, Charlotte. Really good.”
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. That pink tongue. Damn, I wanted it on me. Wanted to feel it tracing the scars on my chest, wanted to watch her taste me, wanted—
I wanted to back her against the wall and kiss her until we both forgot every reason becoming involved was a bad idea.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “That... means a lot.”
We were close now. I could see the freckles scattered across her nose, the darker ring around her irises.
If I leaned down just a little, I could find out if her lips were as soft as they looked.
My hands fisted at my sides as I fought every instinct screaming at me to close the distance and slide one hand into her hair and angle her head back and cover her mouth with mine.
To press my body against hers and let her feel exactly what she did to me, how hard I was just from standing this close.
Her gaze flickered to my mouth, and I watched confusion and want war in her expression.
She felt it too. This pull between us. This need. This raw, aching hunger.
The main door opened with a bang, and Dale’s voice rang out. “Morning, boss! Ready for another day of—oh. Hey, Crew. Didn’t know you’d be here this early.”
Charlotte stepped back quickly, and I forced myself to do the same. To put distance between us. To remember all the reasons I couldn’t cross that line.
“Morning, Dale,” Charlotte said, her voice slightly breathless.
Dale’s knowing grin said he knew exactly what he’d interrupted. “Well, don’t let me stop you. I’ll just... get my station set up.”
He walked away whistling, and I caught Charlotte’s eye. She looked flustered, frustrated, and something else. Something that looked a lot like want.
And for the first time in a very long time, I asked—what if?
What if I admitted that I wanted her—not just physically, though God knew I wanted that too—but wanted to know her? To make her smile? To be the reason she looked at someone with heat in her eyes?
What if, for once in my life, I let myself have something good instead of pushing it away before it could be taken from me?
It was a dangerous thought. The kind that could get me hurt. Get us both hurt.
But as Charlotte turned back to her equipment check, shooting me one more heated glance over her shoulder, I realized something.
It might already be too late to walk away.