Chapter 1: Introduction
The creaky porch groaned under my feet, each step echoing through the quiet mountain air as if protesting my every movement. I eyed the rotting boards and sagging railings, the pieces of me that had been left broken and neglected long before this cabin inherited them. After years of city noise and chaos, I'd hoped for solace here in the mountains, but the porch was a reminder that even in isolation, some things couldn’t be outrun.
A crunch of gravel under heavy wheels pulled me from my contemplation. I turned to see a dust-covered truck lumbering up the drive.
The driver’s window rolled down, revealing a face that was all hard angles and weathered skin, like the mountain range behind him. A pair of piercing gray eyes met mine, and I felt an unexpected jolt, like a lightning strike on a clear day.
"You must be Logan Hayes," I said, keeping my voice steady despite the sudden flutter in my chest.
He gave a slight nod, his eyes scanning the porch before settling back on me. "Elena Ramirez, I presume?" His voice was a deep rasp, like the wind through the pines, and it sent another shiver down my spine.
I watched as he climbed out of his truck, moving with a slow, deliberate grace that belied his size. He wore a faded denim shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms tanned and corded with muscle, and I caught myself lingering on the sight a moment too long.
"So, this is the disaster I'm supposed to be fixing?" he asked, turning his attention back to the porch. He took a step forward, and the entire structure seemed to shudder under his weight.
I bristled at his bluntness, but there was something about the way he said it, a hint of challenge in his voice, that made me want to rise to the occasion.
"Yeah, well, it's been a while since anyone's paid much attention to it," I said, crossing my arms defensively.
Logan let out a low hum, stepping closer to inspect the damage. He ran his calloused hand along the rotting railing, making a soft tsking sound. "Looks like termites had a field day with this. It'll need a complete overhaul."
I swallowed hard, the reality of the extent of the work hitting me like a punch to the gut. "How long will it take?"
He turned to face me, his gray eyes piercing through me.
"A few weeks, maybe more. Depends on the weather and how much time I can spend here."
I raised an eyebrow. "You're not exactly inundated with clients, are you?"
A faint smile played at the corners of his mouth, the first hint of softness I'd seen in him. "No, not really. Just me, my tools, and whatever job I'm working on. Keeps me busy, keeps me sane."
His words hung heavy in the air between us, a reminder of the ghosts we both carried. I wanted to ask more, to delve into the shadows of his past, but something held me back. Instead, I settled for, "Well, I'm glad you're here. The porch has been driving me crazy."
Logan chuckled, a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in my chest. "It's a good thing I am, then." He turned to his truck, tossing me a grin over his shoulder. "I'll get started on an inventory of supplies.
You got any specific colors in mind for the paint?" Logan asked, grabbing a notebook and pencil from his truck.
"Not really," I said, watching as he flipped open the notebook and began jotting down notes. "Surprise me."
He glanced up, his eyes meeting mine. "I do like a good surprise."
The air between us seemed to charge, and I felt my breath hitch in my throat. He held my gaze for a moment longer before turning his attention back to his list.
"I'll get back to you with a timeline and a quote," he said, closing the notebook and sliding it into his back pocket.
"Don't worry about the porch for now. It's not going anywhere."
I nodded, watching as he turned and began unloading tools from the bed of his truck. His broad shoulders shifted under the denim shirt, and I found myself wondering what it would feel like to run my hands over those muscles, to trace the lines of his body with my fingertips.
I shook my head, trying to clear the thought, and turned to go back inside. But as I stepped onto the first porch step, my foot caught on a loose board, and I stumbled forward, my heart leaping into my throat.
Strong hands grabbed me around the waist, pulling me back and steadying me before I could fall.
"Whoa, easy there," Logan's voice rumbled in my ear, and I felt his breath, warm and sweet like whiskey, on my neck.
My heart was pounding in my chest, and I could feel the heat of his body against my back, the firm grip of his hands on my waist. I took a shaky breath, trying to steady myself, but his touch was doing things to me I hadn't felt in a long time—things I hadn't wanted to feel.
"Thanks," I murmured, turning slightly to face him, still pressed against his chest.
His hands stayed firmly on my waist, and I could feel the heat of his body, radiating through the thin fabric of my shirt. I looked up into his eyes, and I saw it—that same spark I'd felt earlier, now burning hotter, brighter.
Logan's gaze dropped to my lips, and I felt a surge of need, a hunger that was both primal and electric. He leaned in, slowly, giving me time to pull away if I wanted to—but I didn't. I wanted this. I wanted him.
His mouth met mine, and it was like a dam bursting. But then he pushed me hard against the wall.
"Something about me, Elena, is I don't do romance.
I fuck. Hard and fast. If that's not what you want, you should tell me now." Logan's voice was a low growl, his gray eyes boring into mine, daring me to back out.
I swallowed hard, the heat between us turning into a blaze. "I want it," I whispered, my voice thick with need. "I want it hard and fast."
I needed to think, but it was like my pussy wanted to think for me.
It was throbbing, aching for him, and despite all my fears, I knew I'd never wanted someone more.
Logan stepped back, his eyes never leaving mine as he pulled off his shirt. The muscles of his chest and arms shifted with the movement, and I could see the scars etched into his skin, reminders of a life lived hard and fast. I traced one with my fingertip, feeling the roughness beneath my touch.
"What happened?" I asked softly.
He covered my hand with his, stilling my touch. "Another time," he said, his voice gruff.
"if I'm going to give myself to you, I want to know," I said, pulling his hand and leading him inside the cabin against myself. Logan's brows furrowed, his grip on my hand tightening. "We don't have to do this. Not if it's too much too soon."
I looked into his eyes, seeing the concern and the struggle behind them. "I want to know because I want to understand you. All of you."
Out here in the mountains, having neighbors wasn't a real thing. Each of our houses stretched a wide plot of land. I ahrdly saw him unless I ventured near his house, which was often. Logan started seculding himself the past few months, and I knew something had changed. His eyes were always distant, his hands always fidgeting with something. I missed our late-night talks, the warmth of his voice cutting through the cold mountain nights.
But now, as he looked at me, there was something different. A softness, a vulnerability that made my heart ache.
"Alright," he said, releasing my hand and running it through his hair instead. "But it's not a pretty story, Elena."
I stepped closer, placing a hand on his chest. "I'm not asking for pretty, Logan. I'm asking for real."
He nodded, his eyes searching mine for a moment before he began.
"Ten years ago, I was a family man. A wife, a son... a life I loved." His voice was raw, each word weighted with pain. "One day, we were driving home from the park. A truck pulled out in front of us. I swerved, tried to avoid it, but..." He paused, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I didn't make it."
I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I knew the story, had heard it from Grace once, but hearing it from him was a different kind of heartbreak. I reached out, gently touching his arm.
"I'm so sorry, Logan," I whispered, feeling the weight of his loss like a physical force between us.
He looked at me, his eyes haunted. "I should've died too. I wanted to. But I didn't. And I've been living with that ever since."
I couldn't imagine the depth of his pain, the guilt and the emptiness that must have consumed him. But I wanted to understand, to be there for him in a way no one else had been.
"And now?" I asked softly, encouraging him to go on.
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.
"And now, I've been existing. Not living. Just...existing. Until you showed up."
I could feel the weight of his words, the truth behind them. I knew he wasn't just talking about the porch; he was talking about something much deeper, much more profound. And I realized that I wanted to be a part of that, to help him find his way back to living.
"I'm here now," I said, my voice steady and sure. "And I'm not going anywhere."
He looked at me then, his eyes searching mine, as if trying to decipher whether I meant what I said. And I did.
I meant every word.
Logan’s eyes bore into mine, the pain and longing in them palpable. He reached out, cupping my face in his calloused hands, his thumbs tracing the line of my jaw. My heart pounded in my chest as his gaze dipped to my lips, and I knew the moment he leaned in, his mouth would be on mine.
But instead, he whispered, “Fuck, Elena. You’re making this so fucking hard.”