Page 17 of Liberated By the Logger

“No, darlin’,” I say, shaking my head. “A man who loves you will put you first above everything. If a man needs to use you to be a hero for some cause or his own selfish reasons, he’s not a good man.”

Aspen cocks her head at me. “Shouldn’t I want a hero?”

My mind drifts back to her earlier words while she rested on the couch. She called me her “hero.” I was—I am. But as her hero, she comes first. Poor woman doesn’t know she deserves more, even after I told her she does. How can I break this to her gently without scaring her?

The wheels in my head spin. But the only solution good enough for any woman, especially one who takes no shit like Aspen, is to be straight with her.

All humor gone from my face, I move closer to her. Aspen eyes go wide, but she doesn’t back away from me. I admire that—a woman who stands her ground is hot as sin and deserves respect.

As I loom over her, I brush a lock of her chestnut hair behind her delicate ear. Aspen’s eyes flutter a moment before springing open to stare at me as intently as I stare at her.

“By your definition, a hero will sacrifice you for the greater good. That’s not a man you want. A real man will sacrifice everything to keep you. A real man will be a hero to you alone, as he should be. It’s what I would do if you were mine.”

Aspen’s mouth falls open in stunned silence, unconsciously tempting me. The things I would love to do with her mouth.

I hold my hand out to her, willing her to take it.

“Fuck the hero. Pick a real man, darlin’.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

ASPEN

It’s rare for me to be rendered speechless, but oh my. Ambrose saying he would go full scorched earth to keep me safe by his side has my lady bits screaming for attention.

Before I can melt into a puddle of goo at his feet, I place my hand in Ambrose’s.

With a cocky smile on his lips, he escorts me from the bedroom. Normally, a strange man holding my hand would have me yanking it back. Not true with Ambrose. My skin has decided it likes to be touched by this rugged man, and how I wouldn’t mind him touching more of me.

Wow, Aspen. Get a grip on your ovaries before you do or say something stupid to scare this man off.

“You must be starving after the shit day you’ve dealt with,” Ambrose says with an apologetic tone. “Let me feed you.”

My stomach rumbles in approval. If food were a love language, it would be mine. A man cooking a meal for me is a total green flag.

“Hope you like chili. I made a ton.”

“I love chili,” I admit, my mouth already salivating in expectation.

He nods before he abruptly stops short to face me, worry creasing his brow. “Crap. I didn’t consider it while making the meal. You’re not a vegetarian, are you? There’s venison in the chili.”

Concerned about my dietary needs? Oh, he’s considerate. Another green flag.

“I’m not,” I say quickly to put his anxiety to rest. “And I’m not sure it would matter at the moment, since I’m famished.”

“Good.” He guides me toward the kitchen island, pulling out a barstool for me. For being rough around the edges, Ambrose certainly knows how to treat a lady. Green flag, again.

As Ambrose busies himself grabbing bowls and spoons out of the cupboards and drawers, I study him. He’s definitely not the chainsaw murderer I feared when I first woke in his house—just a smoking hot lumberjack-looking dude playing host to my sorry butt.

My face heats with shame as I consider how invasive I’ve been toward Ambrose in my brief stay under his roof. Sneaking around his house after I woke, letting myself into his private bathroom while he was using it, and then not retreating when I saw him working the steel pipe between his legs. I shouldn’t have watched him, or at least made my presence known way sooner.

There’s only one walking red flag in this cabin, and it’s me.

Current events paint me in a horrid light. I’ve been a rude, perverted brat.

Embarrassed, I rub at my brow. I want to hide my face with what I’m about to say to Ambrose. But I can’t avoid this. He deserves a proper apology.

“I’m sorry I threw your carved decoy at your head.”