“Yeah. This is mine.”
“This is...” I turned to look at him. “This isn’t a cabin.”
“Never said it was.”
He got out of the truck, and I sat there for another second. I looked at the house. At Bridger pulling my bag from the truck bed. At the forest surrounding us, quiet and endless. It wasn’t even noon, and I’d broken some of the most important rules Momma ever gave me, and a few I’d had to make up of my own.
Drooled over a man with a chainsaw. Check.
Got into a truck with a stranger. Check.
And the last one?Rule #47: Above all else, Roxie, don’t be stupid.
That one was the umbrella rule. The catch-all. The if-you-only-remember-one-thing rule.
Turns out there were a lot of ways to break it.
I’d driven up a mountain with a man I didn’t know. Felt his hands on my waist when he’d lifted me into the cab, treating my curves like something that didn’t bother him, and watched him pull my bag from his truck.
As his dark eyes locked onto mine across the sleek roof of the vehicle, the heat in his gaze made one thing perfectly clear.
I just might be in over my head.
CHAPTER TWO
Bridger
She didn’t get out of the truck right away.
I killed the engine and waited, watching her stare at my house through the windshield. Her mouth was slightly open, eyes wide, taking in the glass and steel and wood.
I’d seen that look before. People expected rustic. Expected logs and a tin roof.
They didn’t expect this.
I climbed out, grabbed her bag from the bed, and headed for the front door. Behind me, I heard her door open. Heard her feet hit the gravel.
Good. For a second, I’d thought she might bolt.
Not that she had anywhere to run.
I punched the code into the keypad and pushed the door open, stepping inside. The house was exactly as I’d left it this morning. Clean. Quiet. Empty.
Except now it wasn’t empty.
Now there was a woman walking through my front door.
Mine.
The thought came out of nowhere, slamming into me.
I shoved it down. That was insane. I didn’t even know her.
But I’d known the second I saw her standing in that town square. The way her shorts hugged her hips. The curve of herwaist. Those gorgeous fucking thighs I wanted wrapped around me. The way her t-shirt pulled across her chest when she breathed.
Every curve on her was designed to test a man’s self-control.
Mine was already shot.