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My small body bounces off his and I squeeze my eyes tight and brace to hit the floor. But to my shock, strong arms wrap around me to keep me from going over. My face presses against his solid chest and I kind of wish he hadn't put his shirt on. Embarrassment at my dirty fantasies heats my cheeks and I tuck my chin so he can’t see. His chest is so broad and thick he won’t be able to tell. He really does live up to his name.
“You should watch where you’re going,” he tells me, but he doesn't release me from his hold.
When I finally summon the courage to look up at him, I have to crane my neck all the way back. He’s got the most beautiful green eyes I’ve ever seen and they’re framed with dark long lashes I would pay good money for.
“Thanks,” I manage to get past my lips. My backside would have hurt for a few days if I fell on the beautiful marble flooring.
When I take a deep breath, his scent invades me. He smells like hard work and a man, not a boy with body spray on. It is outdoors and oak, and I had no idea it could be so hot. Watching him do manual labor has my body in overdrive.
I didn’t know what to expect when I came to talk to Timber Grayson, but this is far from what I was thinking. I thought for sure it was going to be some old curmudgeon that didn't much care for people. While Timber might be less than inviting, he’s far from old. He’s in his prime and looked like a freaking lumberjack out there chopping wood. I bet he doesn't even need that axe. He could rip the logs in half with his bare hands like Captain America. Those strong hands are holding me in place ever so gently at the moment, but I can feel the power radiating in them.
“I have short legs.” I smile up at his grumpy expression. “It’s hard to keep up.”
He lets go of me and practically jumps back to keep from touching me. I think my sister is wrong about my dimples having special powers. The more I smile at Timber, the grumpier he seems to get. At least I’m getting somewhere. Myra couldn't even get on the property so I guess this is progress.
He turns and stomps off again and I notice this time it’s at a slower pace.
We enter what looks like a sitting area near the patio. I’ve never been in a house big enough to have all these different fancy rooms. This place really would make a wonderful venue for a party, so it’s a shame he wants to hide the home away. Maybe it shouldn’t be filled with parties but a family of some kind. This place is so remote that I wonder why Timber chose to isolate himself from the rest of the world. It really is a castle out of a fairytale, but it could be so much more if it was filled with life.
“This place is really something.” I turn in a circle, taking all the history in.
An old painting of a woman in a beautiful ball gown hangs over the fireplace. I’d guess the picture to be over two hundred years old and likely Timber’s great-great-something because they have the same green eyes. A man stands behind her and he has his hand on her shoulders and she’s reaching up to hold it. The beautiful ring on her finger makes it clear they are husband and wife.
Timber doesn’t say anything at my comment and I turn to see he’s taken a seat. He picks up the teapot and I watch as his giant hand engulfs it. I have no idea how he’s going to hold one of the little cups. I don’t wait for an invitation because I don’t think I’m going to get one, so I walk over and sit down in the chair next to his.
“For me?” I ask, motioning to the cup. It looks so delicate and I’d bet that’s real gold that lines the top.
“I guess. Simon’s never done this tea shit before.”
I bite my bottom lip to keep from smiling. Ah, Simon. I don’t know how I talked him into letting me in but it might have had something to do with me standing in front of the gate until someone tried to pull in. I’d stolen the moment to corner Simon, though I don’t think it counts as cornering him. He’d looked me over and told me to come back in two hours. It was as easy as that.
“Sugar please.” I point to the little cubes stacked in a neat pile. He doesn’t use the tongs to place one of them into my teacup. Instead he picks it up with his fingers and tosses it into my cup. This time I can’t fight the laugh that bubbles up from me and I don’t miss how his jaw tightens. “Why are you so angry?” I think it’s endearing he isn’t being proper and it puts me more at ease.
