CHAPTER THREE
Sally
I was supposed to be getting out of here. That was the plan. But Mother Nature apparently had other ideas.
I’d spent the night curled up in a bed that smelled like him. Pine, fresh air, and that undefinable scent that was purely Landry. Hours had passed with me breathing him in, my body aware of his presence just a few feet away on that too-small couch. Listening to the wind roar through the trees.
And him.
I’d listened to him breathing, low and steady. The rhythm occasionally broken by a sigh or a shift of his large frame against the creaking leather. Wondering if he was sleeping. Or if, like me, he was lying awake, acutely conscious of the small distance between us. Wondering if he was dreaming of me, or fighting against thoughts of me the way I was surrendering to thoughts of him.
I’d done my best bad girl imitation and failed miserably. I’d basically undressed before him and he didn’t take the bait. Just that damn clenching of his jaw, which he did when he was annoyed at me.
Not attracted.
Even now, standing in the cool morning air, watching him assess the damage from last night’s storm, I couldn’t help the sting of rejection. The humiliation of throwing myself at him only to be rejected burned almost as hot as my need for him.
He stood next to me, arms crossed, scowling at the downed tree blocking my way out. Downed trees. Now, there were three trees blocking the driveway. Because maybe Mother Nature was on my side after all. “So this is a logging camp, but you don’t have a chainsaw that can cut through that?”
He turned his attention away from the tree and directly on me. Those dark eyes bore into mine, intense and unreadable. I tried not to back away. This morning his countenance was darker than usual. I wanted to think it was because I’d gotten under his skin last night. But I knew that hadn’t been the case. If it had, I would have woken up with an ache between my legs and a growly bear at my back, not this hollow emptiness and lingering frustration.
“No, I don’t.” His voice was clipped, as tightly controlled as the rest of him.
“And your brothers aren’t coming?”
“Not yet. Trees are down all over the mountain.” He gestured vaguely toward the forest beyond us. “Roads are blocked everywhere. They can’t get through any more than you can get out.”
I bit back a smile. Mother Nature, you crafty bitch.
This almost made up for the fact that she’d given me a curvy body that no one seemed to appreciate, and a mouth that held more vinegar than honey—a combination that had scared off more than a few potential suitors back home.
And the fact that she’d thrown down three massive trees, to give me exactly what I needed. More time with the mountain man who thought he could resist me.
I stood there, with the early morning sun warming me. Just like the thought of spending more time with Landry. The tension from last night still crackled in the air between us like static electricity, making the hairs on my arms stand on end. Had my attempt at flirting, heck, throwing myself at him figuratively if not literally, made a dent in his control?
I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t experienced enough to be sure. The few men I’d dated in the past had been so transparent with their desires, so easy to read. Landry was a locked vault in comparison, his expressions guarded, his wants hidden behind that perpetual scowl.
The question now was—was I strong enough to continue the push?
Determined enough to see if I could break him.
And, if I did, would it break me?
I think I was because I could still feel his hands on me, the grip of his rough fingers against my waist, the press of his chest against my back. The whisper of his breath over my ear as he’d leaned in close. My body still ached from the near miss of whatever the hell that moment had been—like a wound that almost happened, a hunger that almost got fed.
And now, here we were. Just us, some giant trees, and the unspoken thing that hung in the air between us, growing heavier with each passing moment.
“This is a mess,” I said, kicking at a branch, pretending to be upset.
Landry let out a grunt. “No shit.”
His jaw clenched again—that tell-tale sign—and I felt a flicker of satisfaction. Good. Let him worry. Because while he might have won the first battle, I was planning to win the war. And now I had time, proximity, and apparently, Mother Nature herself as my allies.
He grunted and walked off. When I caught up, he was already assessing the broken-down piece of machinery which had needed the part I’d delivered yesterday. “Well,” I said, setting my hands on my hips. “We better get to work.”
Landry shot me a look. “We?”
“Yes, we. Unless you want to stand there and look pretty while I fix this thing myself.”
His jaw tightened, that telltale sign of irritation that I was beginning to find perversely satisfying. “This isn’t a job for you, Carter.”
“Like hell it isn’t.” I crossed my arms, pushing my breasts up slightly, watching his eyes carefully for any sign that he noticed. “I grew up fixing things with my dad. Just because I don’t swing an axe all day doesn’t mean I don’t know how to handle a wrench.”
His eyes flicked over me, slow and deliberate. Like he was weighing my words. Or maybe picturing me handling something else entirely. I could give him a few suggestions, none of them appropriate for daylight hours.
“Fine,” he said finally. “Don’t cry to me when you break a nail.”
I rolled my eyes, but he was already kneeling next to the machine, grabbing the part. For the next thirty minutes, we worked in silence, our hands brushing every so often as we tightened bolts, checked hoses, and fought the broken piece into place. His hands moved with confidence, familiar with every inch of the complex equipment. Watching him work, seeing the competence in every movement, sent an unexpected thrill through me.
I tried to ignore the way my stomach flipped every time his fingers lingered just a little too long. The way heat pooled low in my belly when he muttered a low good girl after I adjusted something correctly.
I’d never thought of myself as someone who needed approval or praise, but coming from him, it did something to me. Made me want to earn more of those rare, gruff compliments. Made me wonder what other sounds I could draw from that stern mouth if given the chance.
The air between us grew thick, charged with something neither of us wanted to name. The silence wasn’t comfortable. It was heavy. Weighted with the undeniable truth that last night had changed something. Shifted the ground beneath our feet. Made the possibilities that much more real.
I reached for a wrench at the same time he did, and our fingers collided. A sharp jolt shot through me, electric and startling, my breath catching as I glanced up—and found his eyes already locked on mine. Everything inside me tightened. My stomach, my chest, my thighs. Like my body was preparing for something it had been waiting for without my conscious knowledge.
His breathing was slow, controlled, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw ticked like he was holding something back. Restraining something wild and hungry. My fingers flexed against his, testing, teasing. Pushing, always pushing, because I couldn’t seem to help myself around him.
He didn’t move away. Didn’t pull back.
Instead, his fingers curled around mine, his grip rough, calloused, firm. Possessive. The simple touch more intimate than it had any right to be.
“Sally,” he said, voice low, warning. A growl more than a word.
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “What?”
He exhaled sharply through his nose, nostrils flaring. And then he was moving. Fast. One second I was crouched beside him, the next, I was pinned against the nearest wall, my back pressing into rough wood, Landry’s body crowding into mine.
I gasped, my hands flying up to his chest on instinct. Solid, unyielding heat met my palms. His heart thundered beneath my touch, surprisingly fast for a man who always seemed so controlled.
“Landry—”
His mouth crashed down on mine before I could finish.
It wasn’t a kiss. It was a claiming. Rough, desperate, searing. His hands were everywhere at once—gripping my hips, sliding up my back, threading through my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss. My world tilted, the force of him stealing my breath, leaving me lightheaded, dizzy with want and need and a hunger I hadn’t known I was capable of feeling.
I arched into him, pressing closer, chasing the heat of his body, the hardness of him against the softness of me. His growl vibrated against my lips, animalistic and raw, his hands tightening like he was barely hanging on to his control.
I wanted him to lose it. Wanted to feel what Landry McAllister was like when he wasn’t holding back. When he wasn’t fighting himself at every turn.
He shoved a knee between my thighs, spreading me wide, pressing into the ache that had been building since the second I met him. I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders, leaving half-moon indentations I hoped would linger. Marks that would remind him of this moment, of me.
His mouth broke from mine, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. I whimpered, tilting my head back, giving him more access. The rough scratch of his stubble against my throat was the perfect counterpoint to the softness of his lips, the wet heat of his tongue.
“Fuck,” he muttered against my throat. His breath was ragged, his control fraying like a rope under too much strain. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“No,” I gasped as his teeth nipped at my collarbone, sending shivers down my spine. “Just break your damn control.”
Something snapped. I felt it—the exact moment his restraint gave way. His hands slid to my ass, gripping, lifting me onto the worktable by our side. His hips pinned me there, the hard length of him pressing against my core, and—heaven help me—I wrapped my legs around his waist, locking him in place.
The friction was maddening. The heat unbearable. My body ached for more, needed more. His hands were rough against my skin, sliding under my shirt, calloused palms skimming my ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts. I moaned, arching into his touch, silently begging for more.
And then—he stopped.
One second, he was all over me. The next, he was pulling back, ripping himself away like he’d been burned. His breathing was harsh, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as if he didn’t trust himself to touch me again.
I stared at him, dazed, frustrated, aching. My lips felt swollen, my body thrumming with unfulfilled need. “What’s wrong?”
His gaze was dark, wild. His eyes half-lidded and that muscle jumping in his jaw. “If I take you, I take everything.” His voice was thick, rough, like gravel wrapped in velvet. “You ready for that?”
“I—” I didn’t know how to respond. But it didn’t matter. He didn’t let me.
With a muttered curse, he spun on his heel and stalked away, leaving me breathless, trembling. I slid off the worktable on shaky legs, my body still humming with need, the ghost of his touch lingering on my skin. I watched him disappear into the cabin, the door slamming behind him like a period at the end of a sentence I didn’t understand.
I didn’t know what had just happened.
Or maybe I did, and I just didn’t want to admit it. He kissed me like he wanted me— really wanted me—but then pulled away like it had been a mistake. Like I was a mistake.
I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the heat still burning low in my belly.
Maybe I’d read it wrong. Maybe I always read it wrong.
But no—no, I’d felt it. That kiss wasn’t one-sided. That wasn’t the kind of kiss you give someone if you’re indifferent. That was the kind of kiss that tears something loose.
So why did it feel like I was the one coming undone?
I leaned back against the table, pressing my fingers to my lips. They still tingled. My whole body did. Everything in me buzzed with unspoken questions and shaky hope.
What had he meant— If I take you, I take everything ?
Was that a warning?
Or a promise?
I didn’t know. And worse—I didn’t know if I was ready for the answer.
But something had shifted between us, and whether it broke me or not, I knew one thing for certain.
Just like the storm that had picked up again, this wasn’t over.
Not even close.