He nods fast. “Got it.”
I turn back toward the tree, and motion for the boy to follow. Racer falls in between us like he’s his personal escort—or maybe his jailer. I haven’t decided which yet.
I pick up the saw again, start it, feel the familiar roar settle into my bones.
He’s quiet behind me. I can feel his eyes on my back, on the way the saw bites into the next branch, on the way wood chips fly and the limb crashes down.
I don’t look at him.
But I know he’s there.
Taron might not realize it, but he’s lucky he’s not over the nearest tree trunk right now with his jeans and briefs around his ankles and his butt feeling the wrath of my palm.
But if he crosses my path the wrong way again, all bets are off.
Chapter 5
Taron
“Wow,” I say, my eyes fixed on the sight ahead of me.
I can’t believe I’m actually here, watching this.
Kaleb moves like he owns the forest… like every tree, every branch, every speck of sawdust is under his command.
The chainsaw roars back to life in his hands, and he attacks the next limb with precision, muscles flexing under his thermal t-shirt. Sweat glistens on his neck, and the way his broad shoulders roll with each cut… it’smesmerizing.
The fact that last night I indulged in not one but two very naughty orgasms with Kaleb at front and center of my mind only adds to the thrill of seeing him like this now. It’s hot as hell, there’s no denying that.
I’m perched on a fallen log he pointed me to, well outside what he called the “crush zone” or something like that. The dog is sitting next to me now, his big black head tilted as he watches his owner work. Racer Kaleb said is name was. I like him. Racer gave me a suspicious sniff at first, but now he’s just chilling, like we’re old pals. And I can’t deny it, he’s kinda cute.
My notebook’s open on my lap, pen flying across the page.
This whole scene sparked something—a story idea bubbling up from nowhere. A rugged hero in the woods, battling nature, but with a soft spot for…someone. A boy who stumbles into his world, maybe.
It’s vague, but exciting.
After all, this is how all the best ideas come to me.
I jot down details: the sharp scent of pine sap, the vibration of the saw through the air, the way wood chips arc like golden rain.
But honestly? Half my notes are abouthim.
The way his biceps strain against the fabric. The focused furrow between his brows. That low grunt he makes when a branch drops just right. Kaleb is all power and control, handling this massive tree like it’s a misbehaving puppy.
I sigh, leaning back against a tree trunk. There’sno waya man like that would ever look twice at me. Not really. He’s carved from stone—hard lines, rippling strength.
And me? Soft. Curvy. The kind of body that jiggles when I walk too fast or laugh too hard.
I’ve heard it all before…
“You’d be Grade A if you just dropped a few pounds.”
“Curves are cute, but Alpha men like me prefer something… firmer.”
Even Pace, that sleazeball, was always on about it.“Dude, lose ten… hell, fifteen… and you’ll book those photoshoots no problem. Image is everything in this biz.”
Like my writing wasn’t enough. Apparently I had to starve myself to “improve” too.