But I couldn’t. Because all I could think about was him. Crew. Standing in my sawmill like he’d always belonged there, all six-foot-four of solid muscle and quiet intensity.
I’d left him with Dale an hour ago—my most experienced foreman and someone who could show Crew the ropes without me hovering. It was the professional thing to do. The smart thing.
So why did I feel like I was hiding in my office like a coward?
I rubbed my temples, trying to focus on the numbers in front of me. Purchase order for pine lumber. Standard stuff. Routine.
Except my brain kept circling back to this morning. To him. Crew Crawford. He’d appeared like a shadow and now he was here to stay?
I got up to reheat my coffee for the third time. He had to be ex-military if he was a friend of Race’s. The mountain was filled with men Race had helped over the years. Was still helping, apparently.
They usually came here to stay. But Crew was only temporary.
Which made this maddening crush-like emotion I was feeling even more pathetic.
I had never, ever been attracted to a man so fast. Or so damn hard.
Retrieving my coffee, I walked to the window where I could watch the hustle and bustle of the yard. Three trucks were being loaded, the buzz of the saws filled the air. I’d been officially in charge of the mill for five years, ever since my parents had semi-retired. Dad still came around to check up on me, but with the best of intentions.
My brother, bless his blackened heart, had finally pulled his head out of his ass and married my best friend. They’d fallen in love last Christmas when I’d tricked her into decorating his house for Christmas.
A holiday he did not like.
I saw a lone figure walk across the yard. It was Crew. I had a feeling he wasn’t much into Christmas either.
I played back the scene from this morning. He had moved with absolute certainty, catching me like I weighed nothing. He’d held me against him like...
Like what? Like he was attracted to me too?
Yes, he was.
I could answer that question honestly because there had been no doubt about his body’s reaction to having me in his arms. I knew when a man was, um, turned on.
And apparently that knowledge makes you a giddy idiot,I thought, taking a sip of lukewarm coffee.
I’d dated. Not extensively—running a sawmill didn’t leave much time for romance, and the dating pool in Lone Mountain was more like a dating puddle. But I’d had boyfriends. I’d had sex. I was a normal, functioning adult woman with normal, functioning adult hormones.
Maybe it was the timing. Christmas made people weird. Last year at this exact time, I’d watched my big brother fall stupid-in-love with my best friend, and something about witnessing that had made me... aware. Of my own life. Of what I was missing.
Or maybe you’re just really, really attracted to him,my brain supplied helpfully.
“Oh, shut up,” I muttered.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d filled the doorway of the mill—broad shoulders, muscled frame. His dark eyes had assessed everything with military precision before landing on me with an intensity that had made my knees weak.
I remembered how big he was—and how small I’d felt in his arms.
I’d dated tall guys before. My ex had been six-one. But Crew was different. He didn’t just have height—he had mass. Presence. Solid muscle that looked like it could pin me down and hold me exactly where he wanted me. Arms thick enough to lift me without effort. Hands that could span my waist, cup my breasts, grip my hips hard enough to leave marks.
And that beard. Thick and dark with silver threading through it, making him look dangerous and experienced. I wondered what it would feel like against my skin. Would it be soft or scratchy? Would it scrape deliciously against my inner thighs when he—
Heat flooded through me at the thought, and I shifted in my chair, trying to ease the building tension.
Jesus, Charlotte. You’re at work. At your sawmill. Maybe try to maintain some dignity?
But my body wasn’t listening to reason. My nipples were hard against my bra, aching. Between my legs, I was wet—so wet I could feel it. My body was screaming for release, for his hands, for his mouth.
Professional,I reminded myself firmly.You have a rule. No dating employees. And he’s temporary anyway. Here for a few weeks, then gone.
