CHAPTER THREE #2
He worked for another two hours, stopping occasionally to step back and assess his progress.
Finally, he set down the chainsaw and pulled off his gloves.
“I’m done for today,” he said.
“Already?”
“Bear’s taking shape. Don’t want to rush it.”
I walked closer to the sculpture. He was right—the grizzly was emerging from the wood, powerful and imposing even in its unfinished state.
“It’s incredible,” I said softly.
He came to stand beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him.
“Thanks.”
We stood there in silence, both looking at the bear.
“You hungry?” he asked.
“Starving, actually.”
“Diner’s down the street. Best burgers in Montana.”
“Bold claim.”
“True claim.”
It took a minute for Bridger to brush away all the sawdust. I wanted to reach out and help him. Run my fingers through his hair, over those broad shoulders. Brush them down those long legs. Across his backside.
All I allowed myself to do was watch.
Once he had made himself as presentable as he could, we walked to the diner. I tried not to notice how people watched us. But they were watching. Definitely watching.
A few people waved at Bridger. Quick, surprised waves—like they couldn’t quite believe what they were seeing. “Why is everyone looking at us like we’re a circus act?” I muttered.
“I don’t usually come into town.”
“And especially not with a woman.”
Okay, I was fishing for information yet again.
“Especially not with a woman.” He placed his hand on the small of my back and led me into the diner.
It was exactly what you’d expect in a small mountain town—red vinyl booths, checkered black and white floor, and a jukebox in the corner playing country music.
We slid into a booth, and a waitress appeared almost immediately.
“Bridger,” she said warmly. She was maybe forty, with kind eyes and a name tag that read Marie. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Been busy.”
“I can see that.” Her eyes flicked to me, curious but not unkind. “And who’s this?”
“Roxie,” I said before Bridger could answer. “My car broke down. Bridger’s uncle is fixing it.”
Marie nodded. “Lou’s an ace mechanic.” Her expression said she wanted to ask more questions, but she just smiled and asked for our orders. “Well, welcome to Lone Mountain. What can I get you?”
We ordered—burgers, fries, and shakes. Marie disappeared into the kitchen. “She seems nice.”
“She is.”
While we waited for the food, the door jingled and a group of guys walked in. Construction crew by the looks of it—work boots, dusty jeans, easy laughs. One of them clocked me immediately, did a slow double-take, and grinned. “Afternoon, ma’am.”
I gave him a polite smile.
Bridger reached across the table and tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear. The gesture was shockingly tender, but absolutely possessive. His heavy, calloused thumb lingered to skim the sensitive skin of my jawline. His eyes were on the construction guy as he practically marked his territory.
The sheer, unadulterated alphaness of it sent a violent shiver through my body.
The construction guy’s smile faltered. He nodded once, all friendly-like, and turned away.
I should have been annoyed. Possessive caveman behavior was supposed to be a red flag.
So why was my stomach doing those crazy flips again?
“Rule thirty-six,” I said into my water glass.
“What’s that?”
I shook my head. “My Momma has a lot of sayings. She wrote them down for me and gave them to me on my sixteenth birthday. I’d been expecting a chocolate cake but she gave me her Survival Guide for the Modern Woman. Forty-nine rules to live by.”
His eyebrow went up. “Forty-nine.”
“Well, numbered to forty-nine,” I said. “She left a few blanks for me to fill in with lessons of my own, but Momma was very thorough.”
He leaned back in the booth, his arm stretched across the back. “Color me intrigued. Give me an example.”
“Rule #1: Never get into a truck with a stranger.”
His mouth twitched. “How’s that one working out for you?”
“I’ll let you know.”
“What else?”
“Rule #22: Never drool over a man holding a chainsaw.”
His eyes narrowed. “Was that one of yours?”
I nodded slowly.
“Tell me more of them,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because I want to know what rules you’re breaking when you’re with me.”
I had the sudden urge to fan myself. “That’s a lot of rules to remember.”
“I’ve got a good memory.”
I bit my lip, and his eyes tracked the movement. “Maybe I’ll just tell you when I’m breaking one.”
“Maybe you do that.”
Marie appeared with our food, and we both stopped talking. The food was as good as he said it would be. Once we were done, he asked, “You ready to head home?”
That one little word shouldn’t have set me off. But it did. Home. Going home with Bridger. “Sure.”
The drive up the mountain was peaceful. I watched the trees blur past, watched the valley drop away below us.
When we pulled up to the house, neither of us moved to get out right away.
“Thanks for today,” I said.
“You sat on a bench for two hours.”
“I liked it. I liked watching you. You are good.”
He looked at me. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
We got out of the truck. I followed him to the front door. He was close. I wanted him closer. He unlocked the door but didn’t push it open. “Bridger—”
He turned. All I had to do was reach out. His gaze traced over me, taking in all the parts I’d spent years learning to love. He was looking at me like he loved them too.
Momma’s rules came flying at me.
Rule #11: A lady never makes the first move.
Rule #5: Never kiss a man on the first date.
But then another rule pushed its way to the front of my mind.
Rule #15: Pride will cost you more than honesty ever will.
And the honest truth? I wanted to kiss him. Had wanted to since the moment I saw him in that town square covered in sawdust.
He looked at me, unsmiling. “Are you about to break another rule, Roxie?”
“Yeah, I am.”
I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down to me.
His mouth met mine, and everything else disappeared.
The first taste of him was a shock. Dark and exciting. Just like a first kiss should be. His stubbled jaw rasped against my skin.
His lips moved against mine slowly at first, then all restraint seemed to leave him.
His tongue swept along the seam of my lips, not asking, demanding.
I opened for him without thinking. His hand came up to the back of my neck holding me there as his mouth tasted every inch of mine. This was no casual kiss.
I pressed closer, going up on my toes, wanting more. Needing more. My breasts flattened against the solid brick wall of his chest, the heavy friction making my nipples instantly harden. I felt a flood of wetness between my thighs.
Boy, was I in trouble.
But that thought didn’t stop me. I wound my arms around his neck and he answered by pulling me closer, his big hand spreading across my back, then moving lower to cup the wide, heavy curve of my backside.
His fingers dug deeply into my flesh, lifting me slightly off the ground to anchor me against him.
He growled into the kiss, a dark, primal sound that made it clear he didn’t want me smaller—he wanted every single ounce of my softness crushed tightly against his hardness.
The kiss ended, but only because both of us needed to breathe. His thumb stroked along my jaw, before moving across my bruised lower lip.
“That was—” I started.
“Don’t.” His voice was rough. “Don’t apologize. Don’t say it was a mistake.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
His eyes searched mine. “No?”
“No.”
He reached past me and pushed the door open.
“Get inside,” he said.
It wasn’t a suggestion.
And I didn’t argue.