The sight before me is nothing short of glorious.
Dax stands atop the thick fallen tree trunk, chainsaw in hand, buzzing through limbs. He’s shirtless. He’s sweaty. Sawdust sticks to every ridge of manly landscape above the waist.
And I thought he was hot minus the manual labor.
Mercy.
Movement to the left catches my eye and I look over to see our maintenance guy, Ray, give me a wave. He isn’t shirtless, and let’s all take a moment to be grateful for that.
I wave back, slip into my tennis shoes to the right of the doorway, and on second thought... I dart back to the bedroom to put on a bra beneath the leaves-nothing-to-the-imagination tank I’m wearing. Once I’m decent, I walk up the short driveway, skirting several big puddles that haven’t dried up yet.
The sawing stops and Dax turns, the blubbering machine vibrating beneath his gloved hands, his muscles flexing as he holds on tight. He pegs me with a smile that makes me wish we were both still in bed.
“She rises!” he shouts over the noise.
“Beauty sleep!” I call out.
He kills the motor. “It worked.”
I try not to visibly bask, but with my hands clutched in front of me and my smile prominent, anyone looking can tell I’m basking.
“Who knew she could get more beautiful?” he asks Ray.
Aw. That’s sweet.
“Can I help?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Ray answers. “Have any coffee?”
“I was about to make some. How about an egg sandwich to go with it?”
“Yes,” Ray and Dax answer at the same time.
“Bacon?”
“Yes,” they again answer in unison.
I make quick work of their breakfast, using Dax’s laptop to jot down the recipe for the spicy mayo I slathered onto the buns. I deliver theirs and return to the stove to make myself the same sandwich, this time adding sun-dried tomato hummus and determining it’s not as yummy as the mayo.
A little later a few more guys arrive to help saw and remove the rest of the tree. I walk up the driveway to check on everyone’s process as a truck loaded with wood is puttering down the mountain.
“There are lots of trees down. We’ll be at this all day,” Ray says with a head shake. “Your brother wanted us to free you up first.”
He gestures at my Toyota. Other than a few smaller branches sitting on the hood and nature’s debris covering the white paint like confetti, my car is virtually unharmed.
“I appreciate it. I can work from anywhere on my laptop, but Tad insisted on stepping in to help.”
I cut my gaze to Dax. He’s sitting on a fat limb. He’s still sweating. Still covered in sawdust. Still sexy as sin and I don’t care how stinky he might be. Right now he’s the manliest man to ever man, and I intend to be the woman who claims him at least one more time before I leave.
I thank Ray again as he climbs in his truck. He nods and heads up the mountain in search of the next downed tree.
I return my gaze to Dax. “You look like you need a shower.”
“You offering to join me?”
He’s so disarming slouching on that log, a playful tilt to his lips, squinting in the bright sunshine.
“I sure am.”
“In that case.” He hops off the log, sets aside the chainsaw and, in a move he hasn’t attempted since our first night together, hauls me over his shoulder. He marches me toward the house and I’m laughing the entire way, mostly because his shoulder is nestled squarely in my diaphragm.
He sets me on my feet in the shower of the master bathroom and spins on the shower knob.
Mind you, I’m still dressed in my jammies and the water isn’t hot yet. He climbs in behind me and kisses the frigid laughter from my lips.
Before too long we’re stripping each other out of wet clothes yet again.
“Damn. Wet denim is not cooperative.” Dax’s gorgeous chest lifts and drops from the effort of wrestling his jeans off and tossing them outside the shower door. I divested myself of my own wet clothes much more easily, since my pants had a drawstring.
I palm the bar of soap and swirl suds over his pecs while he watches, amused.
“This could be my other part-time job,” I murmur, swirling down, down until I reach the army of ripped abs lining his belly.
“Again, Princess, you’re hired.” He sticks his face in the spray and swipes away the sawdust sticking to his cheeks.
I watch, mesmerized by every part of him.
“Gimme.” He extends a palm.
I slap the bar of soap into it and he goes right for my breasts. I stop him but maintain my playful side. “I could’ve guessed that’s what you were going to do.”
He shrugs just as playfully.
“Try here instead.” I turn and point to my back.
His soapy palms start on my butt and, really, who didn’t see that coming? I lose the urge to complain when he pulls my back flush against his front and nibbles on my earlobe. His hands return to my breasts, his thumbs and forefingers kneading my nipples.
Mmm.
I can’t resist encouraging him, so I back my ass into his crotch and wiggle.
“Don’t suppose you have a condom stashed in the shower somewhere?” Lifting my arm, I palm the back of his head and pull his mouth close to my ear.
“Nope.” His breath is warm, his tongue teasing my earlobe. Between my legs, his firm fingers slip between my folds. “Guess we’ll have to improvise.”
My “I guess so” comes out as a weak breath of air. I don’t know that I’ve ever been touched with this much accuracy. No matter what we’re doing, Dax knows exactly where my hot buttons are.
In a matter of a few steamy minutes, I’m lost, coming and grinding against his hand. He cups my sex and kisses me hard as I reach for his erection.
Plenty of long, hard inches rest in my hand. I stroke him, accepting more of his ravaging kisses. I return them as eagerly, until his mouth drops open and he comes. His lips peel over his teeth and his forehead drops to mine. A shake works down his mighty form and all of a sudden I understand how a springtime storm can fell a tree.
It’s not the power. It’s the precision.
“Damn, Princess.” Dax opens his eyes, then sets his lips on mine for a soft but firm kiss. The kiss feels final.
So does the moment he shuts off the shower and helps me step out. Our private bubble has been popped by the arrival of sunshine, of all things.
We’re no longer trapped.
I’m free to go.
Bummer.
Chapter 11
Dax
Becca’s on the phone in the other room talking to her brother. She’s saying something about heading back to the office, followed by a lot of gaps of silence interspersed with the occasional “okay.” I heard her call him “Chosen One” at least once, so I know her fire hasn’t been completely snuffed.
She emerges from her bedroom wearing jeans and a T-shirt, her packed bag slung over her shoulder.
Déjà vu.
The End is written on her face. I knew it’d come to this. Hell, we both knew it’d come to this. When we were in the shower, I made sure to touch her everywhere in case I never got to do it again.
I’ve never been the sentimental type, and I’m not going to start now. I’m on vacation—a temporary visitor in Tennessee. I’ll be heading home around the time Becca would have grown bored with me anyway.