A rhythmic sound outside made me stop, and I went to the kitchen window that overlooked the backyard to see what it was.
Rafe was outside chopping wood. At first, I shook my head at the ridiculousness of it. He was actually chopping wood. Back in Monterra he probably had a servant just for wood chopping. And the wood-chopping servant would have some underling to do most of the work. I expected him to get the axe stuck or to aim for a knot that might glance his blade the wrong direction.
But he wasn’t doing it wrong. No, he was swinging that axe with strength, precision, and the perfect amount of momentum—and it was obvious he had done it before. I couldn’t even make fun of his outfit. He had on the right kind of boots and gloves, as well as dark jeans and a button-down shirt.
Even his stance was right. He stood square to the wood and had his legs spread a little wider than his shoulders. I had seen wood chopped before, but there was something different about watching him do it. The power he wielded, the satisfying thunk as his blade neatly split the pieces, the way he engaged his entire body on that one repetitive and intriguing task.
He must have been doing it awhile, because beads of sweat clung to the ends of his black hair. He stopped, leaving the axe in the stump. My stomach hollowed out and all my anger fled when he took his shirt off, laying it on the snowy ground. He had a white tank top on underneath, and he retrieved the axe to keep chopping. I didn’t know whether I should feel quite that much disappointment over a tank top.
I watched as he swung and hit, swung and hit. Over and over again. Like he was a machine with only one program to run. The wood was no match for his strength. The muscles in his arms flexed and rested with each swing. I liked the way they tightened and stretched his skin. I knew he was strong, but I was impressed by how strong he really was. It was so . . . masculine. And thrilling.
He would stop every once in a while to push over the wood that didn’t automatically fall into the large pile he had created.
My mouth went completely dry, like somebody had shoved it full of cotton balls, when he lifted up the end of his tank to dry the sweat on his face. I got a good peek at his abdomen, which looked like somebody had airbrushed it on. My skin went hot as I remembered the last time I’d seen him without his shirt on, how he had kissed me and held me, how I had touched him . . .
As if he sensed he was being watched and fantasized about, he chose that moment to look up.
I dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. I tried to hold my breath and not make any sound at all. Maybe he hadn’t seen me. Maybe I had gotten down fast enough.
There was a knock at the kitchen door. My heartbeat pounded in my ears. Go away! Please just go away and don’t make this worse!
But not being able to read my mind, and showing that he wasn’t averse to doing things that embarrassed me, he called out, “Genesis?”
I stayed put. The door wasn’t locked. If he walked in, the jig would definitely be up. Would he come inside? It didn’t seem like something he would do. Given my luck, though . . .
As I considered my options, I was starting to edge my way along the floor. Then there was a knock at the window. There stood Rafe, still in his tank top, looking down. He raised one eyebrow at me. I had a flush that I could feel all the way to my toes.
Getting up, I went over to the door to let him in. He came inside with an amused expression on his face, chilly air rushing in behind him. It did little to cool me off. My body swayed toward him, and I forced myself to take a step back. I knew my face had gone so red it probably matched my hair, but I remembered why I had gone searching for him in the first place. It wasn’t to admire his many assets. It was to confront him about the library books.
So before he could say or do something that might make me forget my intentions, I said, “No more gifts. Can I make myself any clearer than that?”
Even I flinched at the sound of my voice. There was a flash of hurt in his face that was so brief I nearly missed it. Then he asked, “Which gift are you talking about?”
“All of them. But especially the library books.”
It was then that I noticed he had brought his shirt in, because he chose that moment to put it back on. I was glad I didn’t have to worry about being distracted by more rippling muscles when I was trying to be mad.
“That wasn’t a gift for you. It was a gift for the library. And now you don’t have to worry about finishing up the book drive. It’s finished.” He said this like he couldn’t understand what my objection might possibly be.
“That’s so not the point!”
“What is the point?” His demeanor was calm, but I could tell I had provoked him. “For you to spend hours working on something you don’t need to work on? You have too many other things on your plate. I’ve taken this off.”