Chapter 26
J.T
My fingers itch.
Bad.
Every instinct in my body says grab her, haul her against me, and finish what we started the second she bit that lip and asked for this little fantasy of hers.
But I’ve got a job to do.
And if Kelly McCrae wants a show, then by God she’s getting one.
My cock is already hard as steel as I force myself to step back from her.
It’s damn near painful.
And no—I absolutely do not miss the way her gaze drops to the bulge straining against my jeans.
Christ.
The way her baby blues linger there almost makes me abandon the whole plan.
I adjust myself slowly, dragging my palm over the front of my jeans while she watches.
Her breath catches.
Mine does too.
That little moment right there?
Yeah.
That makes the situation a hell of a lot worse.
But I said I was gonna do this for her, and I mean to.
So I drag in a breath, turn toward the sliding glass door, and start walking.
Halfway there, I glance back over my shoulder.
She’s still standing exactly where I left her, watching me like I’m something dangerous and delicious.
“Don’t forget your part, Honey,” I growl.
Then I step outside.
The evening air is cool against my skin, the kind of mountain breeze that carries pine and damp earth and the faint sound of the creek somewhere down the slope.
Normally, it clears my head.
Tonight it doesn’t do a damn thing.
Because the second I reach the chopping block, I glance back through the glass—and holy hell.
I nearly forget how to breathe.
My woman is standing there.
The woman of my dreams.
The one I’ve been fantasizing about for longer than I care to admit.
She is right in front of that big window.
Her eyes locked on me like I’m the only man on earth.
And she’s taking off her clothes.
Slow.
Unhurried.
Like she knows exactly what it’s doing to me.
A rough laugh leaves my throat.
Who the hell knew Kelly McCrae had this kind of fire in her?
I didn’t.
But I sure as fuck like it.
She wants wood chopped?
Alrighty, then.
Let’s chop some damn wood.
I grab the axe from where it’s leaning against the railing, the familiar weight settling into my palm.
Then I haul an uncut log onto the old tree stump that serves as the chopping block.
The whole time, I keep glancing back toward the glass door.
Because I can’t not look.
Inside, Kelly’s peeling that paint-splattered shirt off her shoulders.
My jaw tightens.
I look down at my own shirt and decide two can play that game.
One quick motion.
The snaps pop open all the way down my chest.
I shrug the flannel back, letting it hang loose so she can see exactly what she asked for.
I’m not on job sites all day anymore, but I still work. Around the house. With the animals. In the gym downstairs when the weather turns ugly.
Point is—I’ve got a body that’s been earned.
Broad chest.
Arms built from lifting lumber and steel.
A little gray at the temples, maybe, but the rest of me still runs like a damn machine.
And the best part?
She likes it.
I can see it written all over her face through that glass.
The way her breath slows.
The way her hands hesitate halfway down her body like she’s deciding whether to keep going or just stare.
My grip tightens on the axe handle.
And I grin slow and dangerous.
“Alright, Honey,” I murmur under my breath.
Then I lift the axe high over my head and bring it down.
The crack of splitting wood echoes across the yard.
And through the glass—my woman watches every second of it.