Page 108 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bride

Her bottom lip trembles as she stares at me with so much trust and affection that I almost have to look away. “You’re too good to me, Silas.”

She leans in and kisses me deeply, pouring all the emotion we’ve both felt over the last few hours into the gesture. Her hands clutch the lapels of my shirt, almost frantically tugging me against her.

For the first time in my life, I need someone as badly as they need me, maybe more, and that makes what we’re about to do even more terrifying.

ChapterSeventeen

SILAS

For the second night in a row, I lie awake. Staring at the unfamiliar ceiling of the penthouse suite I never wanted, in the city I tried so damn hard to stay away from, wishing it were the rough-hewn logs of the cabin that have stood tall over my bed for so many years.

Sleep eludes me, or maybe I’m actively fighting it because I know what closing my eyes will surely bring.

Being back in Pittsburgh, inthatbuilding, confronting Uncle Marty, and seeing he’s as smug and volatile as ever, has released my demons from the place Lyla managed to corral them for a short while.

They’ve broken free to run amok inside my head, threatening to overwhelm me and force me to shut down completely to ensure they don’t hurt me even more.

Every scar on my body aches and burns, constant reminders that the man we’re up against is capable of the worst and more than willing to do it for his own pleasure.

That arrogant sneer that twisted his lips flashes before my eyes.

The feel of his hands on me makes my skin crawl.

And then the pain comes again.

I rub at the scar on my chest left by the hot fireplace poker he pressed to it while he wore that sinister grin of his, getting off on hurting someone smaller and weaker than him. A pirate galleon now covers it, the thick central mast aligned to the marred skin in an attempt to conceal the red, tight, shiny souvenir he gave me from any prying eyes.

A vain attempt to hide what was done to me—just another way to run from it instead of doing something about it.

Lyla rolls closer to me, pressing her hand over mine, stopping me from obsessively brushing my fingers along the raised ridges of one of the worst scars. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

Whiskey’s snores fill the room from where he crashed in the chair earlier tonight—finally relaxing once he was assured Lyla and I were both all right. At least, for the moment.

I wish it were that easy for me.

To let go.

To believe that things will be okay.

To relax.

But I can’t do either.

“I’m too amped up to sleep…”

Lyla rests her chin on my chest next to our hands and looks up at me with concern darkening her gaze. “Amped up, worried, or nervous?”

Leave it to her to call me out.

“All the above.” I huff out a sigh. “I don’t even want to think about going back to that house, about stepping foot in there, but I’ve had to all night. I’ve been trying to think of every room, each potential hiding spot. Anywhere Ronald could have left something for us before he met his untimely demise. It’s definitely not doing anything to help me sleep.”

She plays with my beard gently. “Stop thinking about it.”

I snort a laugh, and my chest bounces under her.

A grin plays on her lips. “I knew it sounded stupid as soon as I said it.”

Rubbing my palms into my eyes, I release a groan, feeling every bit as exhausted now as I usually do after working all day on the homestead—a job I left in Travis’ capable hands while we are gone so I won’t worry about the animals. “I feel like I haven’t slept in days…”

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