That was oddly specific.
Viggo’s menacing glare indicated he’d make good on his threat if necessary, too.Christ.
It was hard to believe this was the same man who’d barely looked me in the eye at the mill earlier today. I’d thought he was either incredibly shy or antisocial. And maybe he was both ofthose things, but he apparently had a temper, too. And with it, I detected the slightest accent.
“Okay, stop,” I barked. “Enough! This isn’t how mature adults discuss issues. But also…fuck you. That’smybaby you’re talking about, and he or she is none of your business.”
Viggo’s brow furrowed angrily. It was kind of scary.
Funny enough, other than Mr. Fox’s initial warning, the word in town was the Big V was a sweetheart, a gentle giant, a kind man who went out of his way to help others. His elderly neighbor adored him. “Mr. Gustafsson might look like a berserker, but he’s an angel.”
His boss, Cooper, who happened to be Reg’s best friend, said Viggo was a talented logger and a veritable woodworking artist. “He’s quiet for sure, but I trust him. The guy knows lumber.”
Nice references overall. No one had mentioned that he was a hotheaded motorcycle-riding maniac.
Viggo heaved a sigh, uncrossing his arms as he paced toward the adjoining great room. I pushed by him, motioning for him to sit at the island.
Quick note: My house was a custom-built log cabin with state-of-the-art finishing touches: hardwood flooring, cathedral ceilings with exposed beams, enormous windows, an open concept contemporary kitchen, and funky chandeliers—like the starburst one in the entry and the modern globe pendants above the island. And the panoramic views of Lake Norman were absolutely breathtaking.
Moreover, this was a nice home to raise a family in.
I poured two glasses of water and slid one across the island to him. Viggo grunted, but he didn’t sit.
“Freyaismy business,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “She’s like family. And that makes the child my niece or nephew…or something like it.”
“Sorry, buddy,” I scoffed in my most derisive tone. “That’s not how surrogacy works.Youhave nothing to do with this. Nothing at all. And to be perfectly honest, I resent the hell out of youbarging into my house, threatening me like a thug, and insinuating that I’m some deadbeat dad in the making who’s fucked with your girlfriend.”
His blue eyes darkened as he reached for his glass. “You don’t know her.”
“Not well, no,” I admitted. “But I went through a respected family planning agency who vetted both of us. Unfortunately, her profile didn’t mention a connection with a psycho who lives in the same freaking town as me. That might have been a deal-breaker.”
“I’m not a psycho,” he replied in a clipped, serious tone. “I’m a concerned friend.”
I sipped my water and took the opportunity to study the angry lumberjack. Viggo was a very large dude with a ruddy complexion, a trimmed thick beard, and full lips. Oh, and he had massive biceps. The seams of his plaid shirt were in danger of popping loose…something I’d noticed at the mill, too. I’d also noticed that his jeans fit him like a fucking glove and that his ass was a thing of beauty.
Not that I’d ever admit it. No way.
“I appreciate the concern, but?—”
Viggo huffed irritably. “I’m not concerned about you, donut man. Only Freya…and the child.”
“Look, I’m going to spell this out for you one time only. She’s my surrogate, not my girlfriend, not my wife. We signed a contract. I’mpayingher to havemychild and?—”
“Who will help you raise the kid?” he interrupted.
“Excuse me?”
“Who will help you?” he repeated, annunciating each word. “Do you have a partner, family?”
“I have friends.”
He narrowed his eyes. “The policeman? He’s your boyfriend?”
“What? No! Who told you that?”
“No one. I saw you together.” Viggo sipped his water…aggressively.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was upset about that, too. Oh, great. The big guy was a homophobe. Just what I needed.
