Page 21 of Wolf It Down, Knot Me Up

“Oh?” His amusement deepens. “Funny, because you’ve spent considerably more time looking at Roman than at me.”

“I admit I have functioning eyesight.”

“Hmm.”

I roll my eyes, grateful he can’t properly see it from where he’s standing. “He’s the one currently chopping wood without a shirt on. It’s hardly my fault,” I say with hushed words just as Roman lifts the water bottle again. The water gets away from him, spilling from his chin down his throat and lower, tracing every ridge of him. He doesn’t wipe it away, simply tips his face into the sun before reaching for another log.

“Seriously,” I breathe, keeping my voice low. “Is he doing that on purpose?”

“No.” Wolf sounds perfectly matter-of-fact, which somehow makes it worse. “That’s just him. Wait until he realizes he’s got an audience,” Wolf murmurs. “Then you’ll really stop breathing.”

We both watch, because it’s genuinely hard not to. Roman drags a palm down his chest as though that will dry him, then gives the axe a couple of lazy rolling flourishes, spinning it through a figure eight as if it’s weightless, before splitting the next round, and a giggle escapes into my own hand.

“He’s showing off,” I whisper.

Wolf suddenly whistles behind me, the sharp sound slicing through the quiet just inches from my ear. Birds explode out of the canopy, and I nearly go face-first into the ferns.

“Oh my God.” I twist and smack his arm, which is like hitting a load-bearing beam. “Warn a girl before you deafen her.”

His chuckle is short and completely unrepentant as he pulls the branches aside for me to step back onto the track, which is when I learn that being wedged against Wolf was the only thing keeping me upright. I untangle myself, still gripping my basket, smooth a hand through my hair, and step out of the tree line with my chin high, as though I haven’t just made a complete fool of myself.

Roman turns toward us, axe loose in one hand. His gaze falls on me and widens, his mouth parting, the axe head sinking slowly until it points at the dirt. He stands there, shirtless and dripping, staring like I’m someone he’s only ever seen in a dream.

“Guess who I found in the woods,” Wolf says, ambling past me, the dry satisfaction in his voice impossible to miss.

And then I’m in front of both of them, realizing just how much bigger they are than me, seeing as I come up to their shoulders, barely. Two large men throwing off heat, and every instinct I have starts lighting fires. I panic. So I hold up baked goods.

“I brought biscuits from Ethan. Freshly baked this morning.”

Roman still hasn’t said a word. He’s just staring at me the way you’d study something you’re afraid will vanish if you blink, and Wolf reaches over and knocks the back of his hand against his bare chest. “Breathe,” Wolf tells him. “You’ll scare her off.”

The laugh jumps out of me, and it seems to shake Roman loose, because he ducks his head, ears going red, and snatches the shirt off the porch rail, dragging it back on with haste.

“Come inside.” Wolf takes the basket from me. “I was about to make coffee, and it’s time we met Eve’s granddaughter properly. We’re sharing this mountain for the next six months. Might as well do it over a hot cup.”

I follow him up the steps. Roman falls in behind me, close enough that I sense the warmth pouring off him at my back the whole way through the door.

The inside undoes me a little, because the cabin is beautiful, even if it’s a man’s space through and through. Log walls, a stone hearth, a workbench—strewn with half-carved wood and a whittling knife—under the window, a bookshelf that’s more field guides than novels. The back half opens into a kitchen with timber counters, cast iron on hooks, and one huge window over the sink pouring sunlight across it.

“This place is gorgeous,” I say, meaning it. “I remember when this cabin was one room and a stove.”

“Eve rebuilt it before we got here.” Wolf sets the basket down and pulls three cups from a shelf one-handed. “We keep it how she gave it to us.”

I turn, and Roman’s watching me from the end of the counter, head tipped slightly to one side. Up close, lit by that big window, his eyes are better than my memory made them. Brown gone amber at the rims, warm enough to bring back those hungry butterflies in my stomach.

He’s just as unfairly handsome as he was from behind the ferns, but it’s the smile tugging at one corner of his mouth that catches me off guard. Messy dark hair pushed off his face, a few strands over his eyes, rugged jawline, intense eyes, thick eyebrows… I could spend hours just studying this man.

“I’m Roman,” he says suddenly, his voice deep and husky. He wipes a hand on his jeans before offering it to me. “Guess we should probably do this properly, seeing as the first time we met…” His words trail off.

My gaze drops to the hand he’s offering, then to the fading bite mark on my own.

“Yeah,” I say dryly and shake his hand. “You bit me.”

For one horrified second, he simply stares. Then he drags a hand through his hair and lets out a groan. “Fuck… I’m sorry.” He winces immediately. “Sorry. I shouldn’t swear in front of you either. I just… I really didn’t mean to.”

Despite everything, I laugh.

“I know.”