Page 19 of Silver Brewer

From behind me, he steps to my side. “Lots of axes to grind in the city?”

“My sister’s wedding, remember? She’s getting married in two weeks.”

“Unusual for a bachelorette party,” he scoffs.

“Oh, no. The bachelorette party was back in March. Mardi Gras in New Orleans.” His brows pinch. “Destination bachelorette partiesare all the rage,” I mock. “As if a few shots and dancing at the local pub isn’t enough.” I scoff, but there’s no humor to my voice. I bend for the next ax and stand, but Giant grips my wrist, a subtle warning of caution.

“She sounds like a pain in the ass.”

“You have no idea,” I mutter, trying to lift the instrument, but Giant holds me still, probably worried I’ll miss and nick him.

“Tell me.” His commanding request surprises me.

“Dayna is my older sister. She’s the princess. Everything was perfect. Perfect life. Perfect wife. Until her husband left her. She calls him the practice husband, and now she’s getting married again.” My chest heaves as I relay my sister’s history.

“So she’s on marriage number two, and you haven’t had marriage number one?” He questions as if he’s all-knowing, but he’s so wrong. Well, I haven’t been married yet, but that’s beside the point.

“Hardly. I’m definitely not jealous of her. She can have him.”

Giant’s dark eyes narrow. “Who?”

“Hudson.”

“And Hudson is…?” Hudson Rockford. My ex-boyfriend, former fiancé, and the scumbag of the Earth.

“Not important. Not one bit unless you consider we were living together, and he slept with my sister. The one who is going to marry him.”

Giant flinches. “Jesus.”

“Nope, not Him. Hudson likes to think he’s God’s gift, but he’s anything but. Small-minded, micro-penis, no-emotion Hudson. She can have him.”

Giant laughs, another full-on burst of sound, and the thunderous noise ripples over me, comforting me. “Micro-penis? Poor guy.”

“Wrong again. Poor me.” I break free of Giant’s grasp and lift my ax arm. Giant catches it above my head, and those dark eyes narrow again.

“Okay, let’s not chop my head off for his faulty pipeline.” His tone sobers, and he lowers my arm. “Be safe here. Smart.”

He releases my arm and steps behind me. His chest brushes my back. “Drop the ax for a second but watch your toes.”

I toss the blade forward, and it lands on its side. Giant covers my shoulders with thick palms and then smooths them down my arms. I’m wearing a tank top as my flannel is tied around my waist. I’d grown warm from the exercise, but I shiver under his touch. The pads of his hands are callused but comforting, and he circles my wrists. He places his scruffy cheek next to mine. His lips graze my ear.

“Concentrate,” he whispers, but with his chest at my back and his breath in my ear, the only focus I have is on him and his closeness. He places my hands together and holds them collectively out in front of me. My fingers entwine as if wrapped around the shaft of the ax.

“Aim.” Warm air brushes the skin of my exposed neck, and I try to keep still, but my body quivers. He turns his head, skimming the slope of my neck with his nose. “No matter what’s going on around you, you must focus.”

I force my eyes to remain on the tree trunk before me, my arms aligned with the thickness, but as his nose reverses the path up my neck, I can’t think straight. I want his mouth to suck on my skin. I want his teeth to nip me. Then again, if he does, my ax-throwing lessons are over, and a new lesson will begin—the art of kissing.

His palms slip up my extended arms to my elbows. Those thick palms curl, and he simultaneously taps each elbow with a finger.

“Bend.” Oh Lord, why does the word sound sexy? Heed to his will. Kneel before him. My core clenches. My legs spread apart from the slip of his knee between my thighs. I have a new target in mind, and I want to drop the figurative ax throwing to rub against the tree trunk-sized thigh between mine.

“Cricket,” he quietly commands, and I bend my elbows to a ninety-degree angle. He presses on my underarms, guiding me to lift and hold the position. His chin rests in the crook between my shoulder and neck, and his mouth hovers near my ear. His beard was trim when we left, but it’s quickly growing thicker. The scratchy sensation on my neck makes my mouth water.

Kiss me.

“Stay,” he murmurs to my shoulder and then slides his hands down the underside of mine. I want to turn my head. I want to take his mouth, but my eyes remain forward while my body trembles under his tender touch. His fingers spread once he clears my pits, and he swipes the sides of my breasts, outlining my body. Whether intentional or not, my breasts tingle and my nipples pop. The nubs harden and strain against my bra, exposing what he’s doing to me. Finally, his hands settle on my hips, and he squeezes.

“Don’t lose this stance.” His front taps my backside for emphasis, and I lose control. My ass presses back at him as my arms drop. I can’t take the tension rippling up my inner thighs or the beating of my sex. My hands come to my knees, forcing my ass against him.