3. Chloe
3
CHLOE
My legs feel like Jell-O as I follow Trace out of the living room. I can’t believe this is happening. When Dad told me I’d be staying with his old friend from the military, I never imagined he’d turn out to be the hottest man alive. Trace is a giant, towering head and shoulders above me. His plaid shirt barely contains his thick, bulging muscles, and raw masculinity emanates from every inch of him—from his broad chest to his heavy brow. I struggle to draw a breath as he leads me into a cozy bedroom. My eyes flicker toward the bed, and I instantly picture Trace pushing me down and dominating me with his powerful body, forcing me against the mattress.
Oh God, what the heck is wrong with me?
The last thing I should be thinking about right now is Trace and me in bed together. I got a death threat this morning, and my dad is currently driving back to Phoenix, putting himself in danger to catch the bad guy who wrote it. I shouldn’t be thinking about his buddy like this. It’s all wrong. But my body is betraying me. A warm tingle is blooming between my thighs, and when Trace turns to face me, I feel a spasm deep in my gut. He’s impossibly gorgeous. Ruggedly handsome with a thick beard, intense brown eyes, and a panty-melting scowl that makes my pulse race.
No! Stop!
Dad. Phoenix. Death threat. Will Mercer.
“Will this room be okay?” Trace asks, his voice a deep growl that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.
I nod. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
Rocky darts out from behind me and leaps onto the bed, curling up. He’s a big dog, his fur a beautiful mix of black, white, and brown.
“Come on, buddy,” Trace mutters. “You can’t stay in here tonight.”
Rocky’s puppy-dog eyes blink up at us pleadingly.
“I don’t mind,” I say. His coat is silky-soft beneath my hand, and he pants with delight as I scratch his ears. “If it’s okay with you, I’d love for him to stay.”
Trace shrugs. “Sure.”
At that moment, Rocky lets out a sigh, almost like he’s relieved. I can’t suppress my giggle.
“He likes you,” Trace says, watching as I rub Rocky’s belly.
“I like him too.”
There’s a twinkle in Trace’s eyes as I smile up at him. His irises are like molten chocolate flecked with gold, and after staring at him for a beat too long, I have to force myself to look away. The tension in my gut is unbearable. I’ve never felt this way before—it feels like a horny monster has taken control of my brain, driving away all the craziness from today and filling my head with nothing but Trace instead.
“Well, I’ll leave you to get some sleep,” he says eventually, his permanent scowl back in place. “You need anything?”
Yes. You.
“No,” I say, barely recognizing the breathless squeak of my voice. “I’m good, thanks.”
Trace nods and starts to leave. When he reaches the doorway, he turns back to look at me, his eyes burning with an intensity that makes my heart thump.
“Listen, Chloe,” he says, his voice deep and quiet, “I just want to say…I won’t let anybody hurt you. You must be scared as hell after what happened today, but I’m here to protect you.” His frown deepens. “Your dad brought you to me for a reason. He knows he can trust me to take care of you. Nobody will lay a finger on you while you’re under my roof. I’ll make sure of it.”
I gawk at him, nodding dumbly. “O-okay.”
His words have turned my insides to mush, and my throat is too dry to say anything else. I just stare at him, trying to ignore the burning heat between my legs.
Trace swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Just wanted you to know that. Don’t want you lying awake worrying.”
I nod again. “Thanks. I, um…I really appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it,” Trace mutters with a shrug. “It’s what I’m here for.”
We look at each other, and the room feels like it’s closing in on us, walls shrinking, everything darkening except Trace’s handsome face. Then he turns away.
“Goodnight, Chloe.”
I suck in a breath. “Goodnight.”
He closes the door behind him and I immediately flop onto the bed, my head spinning as I try to figure out what the heck is happening. The electricity, the sizzling connection between us—can Trace feel it too?
Of course not, I think to myself bitterly.
In Trace’s eyes, I’m just his buddy’s chubby, plain Jane kid. He’s probably mortified that I keep staring at him and praying I go back to Arizona as fast as possible.
With a sigh, I get onto my stomach and reach out for Rocky, smiling sadly when he looks at me.
“Don’t tell him I said this,” I whisper, “but your dad is one hell of a hottie.”
He blinks at me, then yawns in my face, hitting me with a blast of dog breath.
“Charming.” I shake my head and laugh, letting out a yawn of my own. I should change my clothes and get ready for bed, but sleep is already pulling me under, turning my limbs to lead. The exhaustion of my crazy day hits me all at once, and as I drift off, I hear Trace’s voice in my head.
I won’t let anybody hurt you.
The next morning, I wake up to something wet and warm lapping against my hand. Blinking groggily at the ceiling, I turn my head and see Rocky licking my fingers, panting impatiently.
“Okay, okay…I’m up,” I murmur, my voice thick from sleep.
Forcing myself out of bed, I hop in the shower and change my clothes before padding into the living room with Rocky by my side. I was too distracted to take in Trace’s cabin last night, but now I’m blown away by how beautiful it is. Cozy and rustic, like a fairytale cottage, with wooden walls, overstuffed armchairs, and a stone fireplace big enough to stand up in. The windows overlook the surrounding forest, where the first whispers of fall are starting to appear. Patches of golden leaves mingle with the bright green remnants of summer, and I watch as they sway in the wind, like something out of a painting.
This place is a work of art.
The only thing missing is Trace. I can’t see him anywhere, and I’m just starting to wonder if he’s still in bed when I hear a muffled thwack from somewhere nearby. Tiptoeing closer to the window, I peer out into the trees. My heart stutters when I catch sight of Trace near the tree line, lifting an axe over his head before swinging it down against a tree with the confidence of a man who has done this many times before. His plaid sleeves are rolled up, revealing his thick forearms as he repeats the motion, slamming the axe against the trunk again and again. Even from here, I can see the way his muscles ripple with each cut, the furrow of his brow as he concentrates. He looks just as big and solid as the tree he’s chopping down, and I feel a rush of heat between my legs, just like last night.
Crap.
Part of me hoped yesterday was a one-off. That the weirdness of everything that happened was to blame for my crazy feelings about Trace. But no. In the cold light of day, my desire for him is stronger than ever.
The tree begins to topple, creaking loudly as it lands with a thud on the forest floor. Trace looks down at it, then turns his head, frowning. It’s like he can sense eyes on him, and before I have a chance to hide, he’s staring right at me, rooting me to the spot. His intense gaze sucks the breath from my lungs, and I feel my cheeks burning, a mixture of need and embarrassment.
Oh God, this is all wrong.
I force myself away from the window, sitting in one of the comfy armchairs by the fireplace. A pang of familiar guilt is clogging my throat, and I pull out my cell phone, writing my dad a quick text.
Let me know you got back safely. Love you.
I hit send and sigh deeply, resting my head in my hands. I need to keep my cool and wait out these crazy feelings. Soon enough, I can go back to my regular life, without sexy lumberjacks or guilty thoughts or death threats. I doubt the receptionist job will wait for me, but I can find another job somewhere close to home. Then everything will go back to normal—just me, Dad, and our house in the Phoenix suburbs. But until then, I need to get myself under control.
My pulse quickens when I hear Trace’s heavy footsteps approaching, and I take a deep breath, attempting a casual smile as he opens the door. His hair is tousled, his face shining with sweat. He looks more masculine than ever, hulking and wild, and I can smell the forest on his clothes.
“Morning,” he says, those sexy brown eyes lingering on me. “Want some breakfast?”
“Sounds good.”
He takes a step toward me. “Toast? Pancakes? Cherry pie?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Cherry pie?”
“Town specialty. Can’t come to Cherry Hollow without trying a slice of cherry pie.”
“For breakfast?”
Trace nods. “Breakfast, lunch, dinner, you name it. Cherry pie is its own food group out here.”
I smile despite myself. “Cherry pie would be great. Thanks.”
“I’ll go warm us up a slice.”
Trace’s broad back retreats into the kitchen, and he re-emerges a little while later holding two generous slices of cherry pie. It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted—sweet and flaky—and when Trace offers me a second helping, I don’t hesitate.
“This is incredible,” I say, devouring another forkful of warm, sugary goodness. “Wow, if I lived here, I’d eat this for breakfast every morning.”
Trace’s lips quirk into the hint of a smile, his eyes twinkling, and I hurriedly look down at my plate. I’m convinced that if I look at him too long, he’ll see my feelings written all over my face.
“Any idea what you want to do while you’re here?” he asks as I spoon the last of the cherry pie into my mouth. “Afraid it’s pretty quiet, not exactly Phoenix.”
“I didn’t have time to pack much,” I say, biting my lip. “Just some clothes.”
“Well, what do you like to do back at home?”
“Paint.” I think longingly of all the art supplies sitting in my bedroom back in Arizona. “Watercolors, mostly. Or acrylics. But I didn’t bring any?—”
“I’ll take you into town,” Trace says immediately. “Buy you some paints and anything else you need.”
I blink at him. “Oh, you don’t have to…”
“I want to. Let’s go.”
His words are so decisive that I feel a sudden urge to wrap my arms around him. I want to be closer, to lose myself in his powerful embrace. Being near this rugged giant makes me feel invincible, like nothing in the world can hurt me. He feels so safe. So strong.
“Thank you,” I say as he ushers me out of the cabin and into his truck. “This is so nice of you.”
“Don’t mention it, Chloe.”
My name on his lips is like heaven, and I shiver slightly as we drive through the woods, heading for Cherry Hollow. Trace makes driving look like the sexiest thing in the world, his broad shoulders filling the truck. I press my legs together, trying to quiet my racing thoughts, when I feel my cell phone buzz in my pocket. Immediately, I pull it out and click on the notification.
Back in Phoenix, working hard to make it safe for you to come home. Love you, Coco. Take care of yourself.
My heart sinks, and just like that, I’m back to feeling like the worst daughter in the world.