Page 20 of Liberated By the Logger

“Brose?”

He cocks his head, his face full of amusement. “More questions?”

“Thank you for saving me.” My voice comes out way more breathy than I expected, but I can barely talk with him close. It’s like my body refuses to behave around him, begging for things I shouldn’t want from a total stranger.

“Darlin’,” Brose croons. He leans forward, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead before pulling back to look deep into my eyes. “I’d scale any mountain to save you again.”

Each word he says is like a direct call to my clit, demanding it to come out of its hood. If I was wearing panties, they’d be soaked with how aroused I am. I pray I don’t leave a wet mark on the stool when I stand.

How is this man real? Scale any mountain to save you. Who talks like that?

Apparently, this ridiculously handsome logger does. No wonder I could never find a decent guy—they’re all hiding in the mountains. It’s like trying to find Sasquatch, only this breed of man is rarer.

“I’m happy I got to you when I did.” Brose shakes his head as if the memory of how he first found me haunts him. “I don’t think you’d have survived had I not shown up.”

“How did you find me? Did Gary tell you where I was?”

At the mention of Gary’s name, Brose sneers. “Gary? Is that your ex?”

I nod my confirmation.

“Fuck that dude. My crew found the little dickwad further down the mountain chained to a diseased tree, spouting Dr. Seuss and ranting about how he wouldn’t let us cut them down.”

Sounds like Gary.

“Your crew?” I question. “Are you a supervisor for a logging company? Explains the chainsaws I heard in the distance when I was on the mountain. It must have been you.”

“Yup. Mine and my brother’s company—O’Mara Timber. Built it from the ground up. And, yes. I’m our first-line logging superintendent on-site.”

“Oh wow,” I say, awed. “You own a logging business and you’re only, what? Thirty…?”

Hopefully, he can’t tell I’m fishing for details and giving away my interest in him.

“Thirty-six,” he answers, watching me closely.

Not too old. I want to slap myself for going there. He will not be interested in someone eight years younger, still in college, and sleeps on a mattress on the floor of a studio apartment.

This man is ahead of the game in his industry for his age.

“To win the bid for felling rights in the Rocky Mountain National Park is impressive.”

Brose’s mouth drops open in mock shock. “Was that a compliment?”

I shove him playfully in the chest, noting how hard and thick his pectorals are. My shove doesn’t move him, not even an inch. He’s all tall, broad, and heavily muscled—absolutely drool worthy.

“What about you?” He nods at me. “You said you were in your last year of your doctoral program at CSU for forest science. You’re in your upper twenties?”

He remembers me saying that when we were, for lack of better words, sparring?

Wow! He’s scoring points all across the board.

“I’m twenty-eight.”

A pleased smirk forms on Brose’s handsome face. Does his smile mean our age-gap is not an issue for him, either? Could he be interested in someone like me?

“Anyway,” Brose says, bringing me back to the moment. “Your ex made a comment about stopping my crew from cutting down the tree he chained himself to and the one further up the mountain. I made the assumption someone else was at the other marked tree. I cut him loose. He got himself knocked out⁠—”

“Whoa! What? Gary got knocked out? Did you hit him?” I don’t say it, but I secretly hope he did—Gary deserves his ass being handed to him after what he did to me.