Page 37 of All Hale the Queen

She turns and throws her arms around my waist, resting her cheek on my chest. “Thank you for bringing me here. It’s so peaceful and beautiful.”

“Wait till you see the balcony.”

Ophelia oohs and ahhs at everything when I show her around, especially when we step through the sliding glass door of themaster bedroom upstairs. My chest swells with pride when she covers her mouth with her hand.

“Antonio,” she breathes, shaking her head from side to side as she looks around the upper balcony.

I shove my fingertips into the pockets of my jeans. “You like it?”

She merely nods, taking in the honey-colored wood. It’s both rustic and refined with overhead beams crisscrossing the ceiling of the space and warm lights emanating from the iron light fixtures on the wall. A curved bench sits to the right of the door, and a wooden chest is to the left. Three lava-rock heaters provide warmth during chilly weather.

“May I?” she asks, tapping the hinged lid of the chest.

“Of course.”

Ophelia opens it and squeals. “Blankets and pillows? Does that mean we can cuddle out here later?” Her excitement is evident in the sparkle of her brown eyes.

“Absolutely. I like to drink my coffee up here in the mornings, but it’s nice at night too.”

She turns to face the view, and I walk up behind her, wrapping my arms around her soft body. She leans into me, and I rest my lips against the top of her head. The smell of jasmine and oranges mixes with the pine scent from the surrounding trees, and I’ve never felt more content.

As long as I don’t think too hard about what I want to tell Ophelia tonight.

***

“Stop looking at me like that,” I warn, heaving the ax over my head and bringing it down right in the center of the log, splitting it cleanly in two. I’d noticed a fallen mesquite tree while we were up on the balcony earlier. I’ve already cut it into logs, and now I’m splitting them.

“I can’t help it.” Ophelia says, and I turn my gaze to her. She’s seated on the seat of the four-wheeler because she insisted on coming out and watching me. I made sure she was properly bundled in her coat and knitted hat. She winks at me and waggles a finger up and down my form. “I’m loving that look on you. Very lumberjack chic.”

I snort out a laugh and return to my task as the snow begins to fall a little harder. “I don’t think anyone has ever called me chic before.”

When I noticed the downed tree on the edge of the treeline, I kept my jeans on but changed into a worn red flannel shirt and work boots. Ophelia is drinking hot chocolate and ogling me—not that I mind—while I work. I can read the desire in her eyes, which makes it damn difficult to keep my hands off her long enough to get this tree taken care of before the snow starts sticking.

Once I’m done, she climbs off the four-wheeler and starts helping me load the split wood into the small wagon attached to the back of the vehicle, despite my vehement protests.

“Don’t treat me like a princess, Antonio,” she scolds. “I can carry a few pieces of wood.”

Pulling off my work gloves, I hold each of her hands and stuff them into the comically oversized gloves. “You’ll at least wear these so you don’t get a splinter. You should have been wearing gloves out here anyway.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ve had splinters before and didn’t tragically perish.”

I swat her bum. “Don’t sass me, woman, or I won’t let you put your cold feet on me in bed tonight.”

“Brute,” she mumbles.

We finish up, and I settle Ophelia between my thighs as I drive us to the woodshed. I love having her close like this, riding with my woman as the wind blows her hair in all directions.

After unloading the wood and storing the four-wheeler, we hustle inside. Ophelia’s face is flushed from the cold, her cheeks and nose a lovely shade of pink. Snow has melted into her hair, causing it to hang limply around her face. “You are so beautiful,” I say, pulling her to me by the waist.

“And you’re incredibly hot,” she says with a flirty smile. “I think I now have a lumbersnack kink.”

I burst into laughter. “Lumbersnack?”

“I learned it from Urban Dictionary.” Her hands run up my forearms, which are bare since I rolled up my shirtsleeves while working. “I think the name is self-explanatory.”

“Yes, I think I’ve got it,” I say with a chuckle. “We need to shower before dinner. Would you like to go first? Or…” I bob my eyebrows at her, and she smiles that playful, wicked smile of hers.

“Or we could shower together and check each other for splinters.”