by L. B. Dunbar
“Right. Freezer fairies are so much better.”
“Exactly.” She chuckles, and I like the sound. Bubbly, popping, like pebbles in a rain puddle, it fits her personality, which reminds me, I think it’s going to rain later. It was in the forecast, and the haze to the sky concerns me. Not for me. I love the rain, but my city-slicker friend here might melt under a mountain downpour.
“So ax throwing? Practicing for murder or got a hot date?”
“Something like that,” she huffs. I stare at her, not liking the idea of her going on a date. “Actually, it’s my sister’s wedding.”
“Planning to kill people at the wedding?” My brows rise higher.
“If only I could,” she mumbles, and I continue to stare. Is she serious? “Actually, ax throwing is on the itinerary of events leading up to the big day.”
“Ax throwing?” I question again. City people are so strange. “Got a date for this ax-throwing wedding?” I don’t know why I ask. I shouldn’t care, and I don’t, but I’m curious. She told me about Marcus, her boyfriend-friend, but she hasn’t mentioned anyone else.
She huffs. “Nope. Single as a Pringle, remember, and going stag.” My lips twist, fighting the smile and the ripple of pleasure in my belly as I make a mental note of what she says. I don’t know why I make a note. I don’t care that she’s single. I don’t.
“I guess I could teach you how to throw an ax.”
“Really?” She sits up from the log she’s been perched against. “It’s all the rage lately, and there’s a bar dedicated to it. I’d love to kick some ass there one night. Show them all.”
Her enthusiasm grows, and I wonder who them all is, but I don’t ask, too surprised by her first comment. “All the rage?”
“Yep. It’s replacing darts as the new bar sport.”
I should tell Billy. He might want to consider it for Blue Ridge Microbrew and Pub. Letty sets down her coffee, which she hasn’t drunk, and lifts both arms over her head, cupping her fists together as if she’s going to toss something. She lets out a hefty grunt as she throws her imaginary ax. Then she sighs in relief as if the weight of the world went with the toss.
“I think you might need help with your technique.”
“There’s a technique?” Her eyes open wide, and I can’t help the rumble climbing up my throat. I laugh. Her eyes widen more. “Was that a laugh? Did Giant Harrington just chuckle?”
She’s teasing me, and I clamp my lips as if I’ve given her too much.
“I like it,” she says, her voice softening, and she brushes a wisp of hair behind her ear. Her soft brown tresses are piled on top of her head today, and she looks different again. Business suit to blue jeans—I like her in this attire better. My eyes flip down to her knees.
“How are the knees today?”
“Sore.” She glances at the cut in her pants. “But I’ll live.” Her exhale hints at worse things in life, and I know all too well what she means.
“So…ax throwing after breakfast?”
“Sure thing.” I sigh with relief as I’ve dodged the ax of discussing last night.
8
Ax throwing
[Letty]
A battle cry bellows from me along with the thrust of releasing the ax.
I miss the tree completely.
“That was…” Giant’s voice drifts.
“Not good,” I mutter. Giant chuckles, and the sound makes my belly flutter. I meant what I said earlier. I like his laugh—deep, rich, rumbly. We’ve been at this for a bit, and each time I toss, he steps away. Way away.
“At least you’re nearing the tree,” he states, coming up behind me.
“Hardy-har,” I tease, but he isn’t wrong. My throws have been wild. “I need to get this.”
From behind me, he steps to my side. “Lots of axes to grind in the city?”
“My sister’s wedding, remember? She’s getting married in two weeks.”
“Unusual for a bachelorette party,” he scoffs.
“Oh, no. The bachelorette party was back in March. Mardi Gras in New Orleans.” His brows pinch. “Destination bachelorette parties are all the rage,” I mock. “As if a few shots and dancing at the local pub isn’t enough.” I scoff, but there’s no humor to my voice. I bend for the next ax and stand, but Giant grips my wrist, a subtle warning of caution.
“She sounds like a pain in the ass.”
“You have no idea,” I mutter, trying to lift the instrument, but Giant holds me still, probably worried I’ll miss and nick him.
“Tell me.” His commanding request surprises me.
“Dayna is my older sister. She’s the princess. Everything was perfect. Perfect life. Perfect wife. Until her husband left her. She calls him the practice husband, and now she’s getting married again.” My chest heaves as I relay my sister’s history.
“So she’s on marriage number two, and you haven’t had marriage number one?” He questions as if he’s all-knowing, but he’s so wrong. Well, I haven’t been married yet, but that’s beside the point.
“Hardly. I’m definitely not jealous of her. She can have him.”
Giant’s dark eyes narrow. “Who?”
“Hudson.”
“And Hudson is…?” Hudson Rockford. My ex-boyfriend, former fiancé, and the scumbag of the Earth.
“Not important. Not one bit unless you consider we were living together, and he slept with my sister. The one who is going to marry him.”
Giant flinches. “Jesus.”
“Nope, not Him. Hudson likes to think he’s God’s gift, but he’s anything but. Small-minded, micro-penis, no-emotion Hudson. She can have him.”
Giant laughs, another full-on burst of sound, and the thunderous noise ripples over me, comforting me. “Micro-penis? Poor guy.”
“Wrong again. Poor me.” I break free of Giant’s grasp and lift my ax arm. Giant catches it above my head, and those dark eyes narrow again.
“Okay, let’s not chop my head off for his faulty pipeline.” His tone sobers, and he lowers my arm. “Be safe here. Smart.”
He releases my arm and steps behind me. His chest brushes my back. “Drop the ax for a second but watch your toes.”
I toss the blade forward, and it lands on its side. Giant covers my shoulders with thick palms and then smooths them down my arms. I’m wearing a tank top as my flannel is tied around my waist. I’d grown warm from the exercise, but I shiver under his touch. The pads of his hands are callused but comforting, and he circles my wrists. He places his scruffy cheek next to mine. His lips graze my ear.
“Concentrate,” he whispers, but with his chest at my back and his breath in my ear, the only focus I have is on him and his closeness. He places my hands together and holds them collectively out in front of me. My fingers entwine as if wrapped around the shaft of the ax.
“Aim.” Warm air brushes the skin of my exposed neck, and I try to keep still, but my body quivers. He turns his head, skimming the slope of my neck with his nose. “No matter what’s going on around you, you must focus.”
I force my eyes to remain on the tree trunk before me, my arms aligned with the thickness, but as his nose reverses the path up my neck, I can’t think straight. I want his mouth to suck on my skin. I want his teeth to nip me. Then again, if he does, my ax-throwing lessons are over, and a new lesson will begin—the art of kissing.
His palms slip up my extended arms to my elbows. Those thick palms curl, and he simultaneously taps each elbow with a finger.
“Bend.” Oh Lord, why does the word sound sexy? Heed to his will. Kneel before him. My core clenches. My legs spread apart from the slip of his knee between my thighs. I have a new target in mind, and I want to drop the figurative ax throwing to rub against the tree trunk-sized thigh between mine.
“Cricket,” he quietly commands, and I bend my elbows to a ninety-degree angle. He presses on my underarms, guiding me to lift and hold the position. His chin rests in the crook between my shoulder and neck, and his mouth hovers near my
ear. His beard was trim when we left, but it’s quickly growing thicker. The scratchy sensation on my neck makes my mouth water.
Kiss me.
“Stay,” he murmurs to my shoulder and then slides his hands down the underside of mine. I want to turn my head. I want to take his mouth, but my eyes remain forward while my body trembles under his tender touch. His fingers spread once he clears my pits, and he swipes the sides of my breasts, outlining my body. Whether intentional or not, my breasts tingle and my nipples pop. The nubs harden and strain against my bra, exposing what he’s doing to me. Finally, his hands settle on my hips, and he squeezes.
“Don’t lose this stance.” His front taps my backside for emphasis, and I lose control. My ass presses back at him as my arms drop. I can’t take the tension rippling up my inner thighs or the beating of my sex. My hands come to my knees, forcing my ass against him.
Take me, I scream inside my head. Bend me over your knee.
But instead, he instantly releases me, taking a step back.
“I think you’re ready.” He walks around me, ignoring how I’ve pressed into him. No reaction. Last night must have meant nothing to him because he hasn’t mentioned it, and he doesn’t appear even remotely affected by me today. I don’t know what I expected, though. I don’t know what I want from him.
You shouldn’t want anything from him. You need his land.
My heart clenches as I watch him reach for the ax on the dirt. When he holds it shaft out, I tug it from him with more force than I intend and narrowly miss nicking the pad of his hand. My eyes lift to his, and he raises one eyebrow. He must know what he’s done to me, though. I’m a hot mess.
“Take all the negative energy you hold for micro-penis and sister bitch and toss that ax.”
He rushes back a step or two as I aim with extended arms and lift to the angle he suggested. I reach behind my head and then pitch forward, tossing the ax with all the strength and anger and regret.
I hit the tree, but the ax doesn’t stick.
“Goddammit.”
Giant retrieves the two axes we’ve been using and comes back to me. “Each try is one step closer to the goal. Don’t give up.”
Without meeting his eyes, I focus on the trunk once again.
Giving up isn’t in my nature.
+ + +
My arms ache from my many attempts. I lost count somewhere after the thirty-seventh throw. Giant has the patience of a saint and the willpower of one as well. His near kisses and brisk touches are my driving force to continue throwing the ax long after the burn begins in my shoulders. He thinks Hudson and Dayna spur me onward, but I’ve long since let go of them. Bitterness weighed me down at first. Overhearing Hudson telling someone—my sister—he couldn’t wait to see her soon, and then discovering they’d rented a room at a hotel to meet up was a sour pill to swallow.
I was so lonely, my sister told me. Was I supposed to sympathize with her? Was her after-divorce loneliness heavier than the weight I bore in a relationship with an unemotional man? The very man she decided would end her bout of being alone.
Four years I wasted on Hudson. Four years thinking we would get better. Moving in. Getting engaged. Making plans. Discussing marriage. I missed all the signs in my quest for happily ever after in a relationship that left me complacent and not content. Hudson is in finance, a business closely linked to real estate acquisitions and mergers. He also is a Rockford, and his family owns one of the largest privately held financial institutions in Chicago. He is Midwest royalty, and I was a blind fool.
Marrying me would have secured his family to Mullen, which would have pleased my uncle. When I broke everything off, Hudson wasted no time moving on to my sister. Or perhaps he’d already moved on to her after he broke all emotions within me? They’ll be a match made in hell and definitely deserve one another. Both perfectionists. Both filled with pettiness. They are better suited than Hudson and I ever would have been. Still. It hurt to find him cheating on me, dissolving all his promises for a roll in the sheets with my sister.
Dayna and I had never been close. As the middle child, I was closer to my brother, Owen, even though he was years younger than me. I wipe away thoughts of him and focus my energy on Dayna. In two weeks, she’ll be getting married, and I’m the maid of honor. What a fucking farce.
Put on your brave face and show them what you’re made of, Marcus told me when my sister asked me. Awkwardly, the invitation came during a family dinner. Not only do I lack negotiation skills, but my ability to think on the spot struggles, and so I said yes. A whirlwind of dress shopping, engagement parties, and wedding plans followed, and my dislike of Dayna has grown deeper with each step of the process. As for Hudson, I’ve long since surpassed feeling hatred for him. I just want the wedding over with so I don’t have to speak to either of them again.
Of course, that will be impossible as Dayna works for Mullen Realty with me, and she’s probably figuring out what else she can steal out from under me while I’m here throwing axes.
I hit my mark. The ax sticks for eight out of ten consecutive throws.
“You did it,” Giant says encouragingly from my side, and his voice draws me back to my surroundings.
I turn to him with a huge smile on my face.
“I did it.”
I survived almost a year of in-my-face Dayna and Hudson, and it’s almost over.
Giant grips my bare shoulders and rubs. “You’re so tense, but it’s the muscle strain. You worked hard. Just relax.” His thumbs dig into the nape of my neck.
Relax.
If only he knew how hard I want to relax with him.
9
Lightning does strike twice
[Giant]
Bad weather was coming. The ache near my bullet wound told me as such, and I didn’t trust how Letty would fare. After our day of ax throwing and a night of burgers, we chatted more about her upbringing in Chicago. Her eyes drooped in the heat of the fire as she sat wrapped in a camp blanket. She was so pretty sitting there under the stars with the flames casting a glow on her cheeks.
“I think I’ll retire early,” she says, pressing off the ground, and my breath hitches. I want her to ask me to join her, but she doesn’t. I’ve dodged a bullet, or rather an ax, all day as we never discussed last night. In some ways, I’m bothered by this as Clara and I never talked about awkward situations in our relationship. It was one of the strains on our marriage. In an effort not to argue, we didn’t confront one another.
I’m not a talker, so it isn’t as though I want an emotional chat, but I would like to know what she thought of last night. Did she enjoy herself? Did I make her happy? Last night wasn’t like anything I’d ever done before, and selfishly, I want a repeat with more experimenting.
I wait out the flames a bit by stringing up our food, and then the first raindrop plops. Before entering the tent, I dump dirt on the dying embers. Once undercover, I strip down to my boxer briefs and a T-shirt like I did last night. I run hot, and the thermal sleeping bag makes me too warm. Slipping onto my back, I stare at the tent’s ceiling, taking in deep breaths to calm my memories of yesterday evening. Letty’s steady breathing next to me tells me she’s fast asleep. She worked hard today, tossing axes and helping me build a fire for tonight’s feast, so I imagine she’s exhausted.
I don’t like what I’ve learned about her former fiancé. What an asshole. And her sister, well, there aren’t enough words to string together for her. I’d kill one of my brothers if they ever went after a woman I’d been interested in. Then again, I’ve only ever had Clara until ten years ago, and after her, it’s been rather sporadic. I don’t fault Clara. I loved her, but without communication, we didn’t understand what the other needed when it came to sex. And while I wanted more, Clara wasn’t curious or adventurous.
With that thought, I exhale and roll to my side, my back to Letty.
A rustling occurs behind me, and I hear her shifting in her sleeping bag, its nylon covering rutting against the tent can
vas. Unconsciously, Letty scoots into me. She doesn’t wrap around me but burrows into my spine, and I stiffen for a second before giving in to the sensation. I don’t question the movement, liking the way she feels behind me. It’s comforting until the first crack of weather hits.
Letty shoots upright.
“What was that?” Her voice is filled with fear.
“Thunder,” I mumble, rolling onto my back. I can’t see her in the darkness, and then the lightning strikes. Her wide blue eyes meet mine for only a second, and the look on her face is pure terror before we are submerged in darkness again.
“Hey,” I say, sitting up and reaching for her cheek. Her skin is soft but clammy. “It will pass.”
She’s nodding continuously as I guide her to lie back down. It’s awkward in two sleeping bags, but I wrap an arm over her, attempting to hold her. There’s nothing romantic or cuddle-worthy in the position. Letty trembles under my arm. Both her hands cover her face buried into my chest.
Thunder rumbles again. Lightning filters into the tent. And Letty shudders.
The rain hasn’t started in earnest, but the wind picks up. The tent rattles, and Letty’s coming unhinged, trembling under my arm.
“You’re really scared, aren’t you?”
She shakes her head against my chest, but it’s the opposite of her body language.
“Is it the lightning?”
“It’s the thunder.” She pauses a beat. “If it’s okay with you, I don’t want to talk about it.” Her voice quivers, and whatever she isn’t telling me is bad, and the thunder is a trigger. I know all about triggers, and this tent isn’t going to be enough to settle her.
“Get dressed.”
She pulls back from me, and I hastily sit up.
“There’s bad weather coming, and we need to get you out of here. We can’t make it back to my cabin, but there’s an old ranger station about a hundred yards from here. If we hurry, we might miss the rain.”
I switch on the camp light and watch as her hands shake. She slips off her pajama bottoms under the sleeping bag and then crawls forward for something in her bag. Her smooth backside faces me as she’s wearing a thong, and I try not to lose focus as I scramble for my pants. It’s tight quarters in the two-person tent, but we somehow work in sync like a well-timed machine. She slips black yoga pants out of her bag and tugs them up her long legs. I notice her toes. Blisters swell on her pinkies as well as on each heel. My eyes leap to her face, but she isn’t looking at me as she struggles to tug on her socks. I toss her my thin rain slicker.
