Chapter 7 The Strange And Sexy Alaskan Lumberjack

• "What the hell are you doing?" exclaims the angry male voice.
• "I dropped my glasses!" I cry.
• "Forget about them. They're gone."
• "I can't!"
• They're my only pair and I can barely see three feet in front of me without them. Sure, I brought contact lenses because I wear them while working outdoors, but I need my glasses.
• "They're gone," he reiterates, "What the hell are you doing here, anyway?"
• His hands are still gripping my waist as if he's afraid I'll fall again. I try to push them away, but they're like screw clamps.
• "I should warn you, it's very cold. Although you almost took a dive and found out for yourself."
• I furrow my brow, "You're exaggerating."
• "I've been watching you the whole time. I'm surprised you made it this far on two feet."
• I squint in the light to see exactly who's scolding me, but he's backlit by the lamppost and his face is in shadows. All I can see is a mass of dark hair and a beard.
• "Why are you lurking here in the middle of the night, anyway?"
• "I wasn't lurking," he mutters, "I was enjoying a quiet night on my boat and I heard you stumbling on the dock."
• I frown, looking at the boat in question, now even blurrier than before.
• "I didn't notice anyone there."
• "Doesn't surprise me. Come on. You need to go to bed."
• His hand slides around my lower back and pushes me towards the shore. A rare streak of defiance surges. I didn't fly thousands of miles away from my bossy mom just to be scolded and ordered around by a stranger.
• I poke his chest with my finger. He can't tell me what to do.
• "You can't boss me around, you're not the boss of me. The boss is the boss of me. And he can boss me around "I'm not sure that made much sense.
• "And who is he?" Amusement laces his tone.
• "I don't know. Rumor has it he's an arrogant billionaire playboy who sleeps with Victoria's Secret models and changes women like underwear. Sounds like a complete idiot, right? But you're not him. You're..."
• Now I lean against his chest. A broad, solid chest, his muscles hard against me. I raise the hand I pushed him with to touch the stubble covering his face, my fingertips scratching the rough hair.
• "A lumberjack."
• "A lumberjack?"
• "Yes. With this beard and this," I rub my hand over his open plaid flannel jacket, and then over the shirt underneath, relishing the bumps of his stomach, "Definitely a lumberjack. Did they hire lumberjacks to chop wood for that giant fireplace over there? They've hired people for everything else. I mean, seriously, who comes to Alaska to wax their pubic area and dye their hair? And yet, there's a full-service salon! Can you believe that?"
• His hands have found my waist again. He takes several steps back, dragging me with him. But I dig my heels in.
• "I'm not going anywhere until I check the water for my glasses! I have a flashlight! " I shout, earning his silence.
• He lets out a sigh, "Will you let me take you back to your cabin immediately after?"
• "Once I do that, I will happily go to bed with you. Not with you. I will go to bed. I'm not going to sleep with a lumberjack."
• My tongue feels thick and slow as it stumbles over my incoherent words, "But I will be holding on to you all the time. The Boss doesn't want any of his employees to drown."
• "Agreed." He takes me back to the edge and drops to his knees with me, "Sit on the ground or you'll end up pulling us both in."
• "That's no way to speak to a lady."
• He snorts, "It is when she's as stubborn as a mule and as drunk as an Irishman."
• The cold dampness of the dock seeps through my jeans as I follow his command. He has large, strong hands that grip my slender waist tightly as I lean over, shining the small beam of light from my pocket flashlight against the murky waters below. His hand that is closer to the water slides down to rest beneath my chest. I briefly considered telling this burly lumberjack that he's touching me inappropriately, but a part of me doesn't care at this moment.
• "I can't see them."
• The water level is much lower than I expected. I can't even brush the top with my fingertips. I would have fallen in if he hadn't been there to catch me. He lifts me seemingly effortlessly, the quick movement making the world spin a bit.
• "Where are you staying?"
• "Cabin... " My words fade as I finally see his face for the first time, bathed in a stream of light. Steel-blue eyes stare back at me. Even with the thick neck covering his face, I can tell his jaw is strong and angular. And that mouth... I am completely fascinated with those full lips.
• I can't help it. I reach out and brush them with my fingertips, strands of hair around the outer edges tickling my skin. They are as full and soft as they look and part slightly for me, enough for my fingers to get wet and a warm breath to slide across my skin. My stomach erupts in butterflies as my own lips part.
• I've heard people say that alcohol can change your perception, can make you believe someone is more handsome than they are in the light of day. I think they call it beer goggles. But I haven't been drinking beer and, besides, for my eyes to deceive me like this would be a cruel trick from Satan himself. I have never seen a man so handsome in real life.
• “You’re beautiful.”
• I whisper, my face flushing as I realize I’ve said it aloud. Embarrassment floods me, but I quickly tell myself it’s fine—he should know. It’s the truth.
• Summoning my courage, I glance from his mouth to his eyes, only to find his intense gaze already tracing my features before settling on my lips. He leans in slowly, his lips hovering inches from mine. My heart races in anticipation, wondering if them will be firm or soft, demanding or yielding.
• How does a man like him kiss?