Page 17 of Axe-Rated Lumberjack

“Tell me what you want, Isadora,” I read, letting my voice settle into its ordinary low pitch. “Use your words. I want to hear you ask for it.”

Peyton didn’t stop me. Her eyes lifted from the page to my face, and her lips parted slightly. The room was warm, but I felt a slow pull of heat through my belly that had nothing to do with the cider. I kept my place, although I suddenly understood why the author had given Drake so many difficult things to say.

The next one was the reason for my questions about the plant life.

Hold still, Isadora. My hands will grip your hips, my mouth will find your breasts, and my cock will fill you, and while it does, the glowing vine that grows from the crook of my left elbow, exactly as long as it needs to be, will slide between your thighs and stroke your clit until you come so hard the whole forest lights up.

I’d cut plenty of vines out of plenty of trees, and not one of them had ever been asked to do that much. I took a breath, found my place, and started in.

I got halfway through before I lost the battle with my own laughter.

Peyton hit Stop. She looked at me for a moment, then covered her face with the script and laughed so hard her shoulders shook.

“I’m sorry,” I said when I could breathe again. “I was doing fine until the vine. Does he have to prune that thing when he’s done?”

“That’s tomorrow’s problem,” she managed, lowering the pages. Her cheeks were pink, and her eyes were bright behind her glasses. “But the line before it was good. Really good.”

“You want to try it again?”

She glanced at the dark recording light. “Tomorrow. If you do it that way again, I think we’ll get the take we need.”

I handed her the marked script, and our fingers brushed at the edge of the paper. She didn’t pull away quickly, and for a moment neither of us looked at the page.

“Then tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll work on my delivery. You figure out what the hell that vine is supposed to be doing.”

Her laugh followed me down the hall. At the front door, she lingered while I pulled on my boots, one hand resting against the doorframe.

“Nine o’clock,” she reminded me. “And Hudson? Don’t change that ‘Tell me what you want’ line. The way you said it was exactly right.”

“I won’t.” I straightened and looked down at her. “Can I ask you something, though? Did it actually sound convincing?”

Peyton met my eyes. “Very.”

I’d expected another joke about the dragon. Instead, the way she looked at me made me wish I had another reason to stay.

I smiled. “Good night, Peyton. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Hudson.”

I stepped onto the porch, and she stayed in the doorway until I reached the steps.

Tomorrow, I was supposed to find out what Isadora said to Drake.

Right now, I was a hell of a lot more interested in what Peyton might say to me.

Chapter 3

I woke Friday morning with Hudson’s voice in my head and a rather embarrassing amount of enthusiasm for a man I’d known less than twenty-four hours.

I’d slept, technically, although my dreams had featured considerably more lumberjack than was reasonable. At some point during the night, I’d woken with my hand between my thighs, imagining Hudson leaning over me and murmuring that devastating line about telling him what I wanted.

I’d been sorely tempted to find out just how satisfying that particular fantasy might be.

Unfortunately, my alarm went off before I could do anything about it.

I lay in bed for another few minutes, remembering those broad shoulders, his green eyes, and the way he’d looked at me when I told him his delivery had been convincing.

Good heavens, it had been convincing.