Page 93 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bride

Shit.

I stop my advance, with the door only cracked. “Sorry. You didn’t respond. I was worried…”

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

He can’t hide the slight panic and hesitation in his voice.

I may not have known Silas for very long, but in the few weeks we’ve spent together, I’ve learned to read him better. And right now, he’s teetering on a very narrow ledge. It would only take a slight push for him to fall onto the wrong side and send him running home instead of toward what we both know he needs to do.

Sinking down into the chair in the corner of the room, I stare out the window at Pittsburgh laid out before me. I knew how hard this was going to be, coming back to the city where so many horrible things happened to him, but it’s only the tip of the iceberg. Tomorrow, he’s going to have to set foot in Bolton Steel for the first time since he fled his family.

It’s no wonder he needs some space and time alone.

Still, my knee bounces up and down as I wait for him, trying to figure out what he’s doing in there that he didn’t want me to see.

Whiskey jumps off the bed and comes over, leaning against my leg and resting his head on my lap. I thread my fingers through his fur, rubbing at the spot he loves right behind his left ear.

“What’s he doing in there, big guy?”

Knots form in my stomach the longer he stays in the bathroom, but finally, the door opens all the way, and he steps out.

My breath catches. “Silas?”

The man standing in front of me has somehow transformed from the rugged, rough mountain man I first met into something else entirely.

His long, sandy-blond hair that usually falls past his shoulders is now pulled back in a tight bun at the base of his head…

An immaculate black suit covering him instead of his usual jeans or work pants and T-shirt…

A crisp white dress shirt and dark silk tie help conceal his tattoos that would normally be on display, only the slightest hint of ink visible above the collar and on the knuckles and backs of his hands.

I must be gaping at him because the part of his cheeks not covered by his beard redden, and he averts his gaze out the window, tugging at the tie awkwardly. “I look fucking ridiculous, don’t I?”

It takes me a moment to regain my ability to think, and I climb to my feet and shake my head, approaching him slowly with Whiskey trailing after me. “No, you look fucking incredible.”

The corners of his lips twitch, but he still gives me an incredulous look. “No, I don’t.”

I walk around him, examining the way the dress pants hang off his tight ass perfectly and the suit coat accentuates his narrow waist and broad shoulders. “Where the hell did you get a suit?”

He releases a sigh. “When we stopped to get gas and you went to the bathroom, I called ahead to the hotel concierge and asked if they could have one waiting in the room in my size. If I am going into that board meeting tomorrow, if I’m really going to do this, I need to look the part, or the board’s going to laugh me out of there.”

The thought of anyone having the balls to laugh at Silas makes me grin. I may be over his intimidating look, but in this suit, it’s impossible not to feel the power the man possesses. Even Whiskey stares up at him with his head cocked sideways, as if he’s seeing someone he’s never met before and isn’t sure how to react to him.

I step in front of Silas and press my hands against the crisp white shirt. “It wouldn’t matter if you walked in there in ripped jeans and a fucking flannel, Silas. What you have to say is important enough that what you’re wearing doesn’t matter.”

He raises a brow. “So, I should ditch the suit?”

Laughing, I take a step back and examine him again. “No, I think you should definitely keep the suit.”

This time, he returns my grin.

“Really, you look good—kind of what I would’ve expected the Bolton heir to look like, if you were going for that, minusthis.” I grab his hand and drag my thumb across the tattoos on his knuckles and the top of his hands. “We’ll just think of it as added flair.”

He releases a heavy sigh and pulls his hand out of mine. “The Bolton Steel board doesn’t like flair, and they aren’t going to appreciatethiseither.” He motions to his long hair, tied back for the first time since we’ve met. “At all.”

“Fuck them.” I poke my finger into the center of his chest. “You’re here for a reason, a good one. And don’t ever forget that youarea Bolton. Don’t letthemforget that.”

Silas moves over to the window and stares out at the city below us from the top floor of the hotel. “I don’t like being back here, Lyla. The closer we got, the more I wanted to turn around and go back to the mountain.”

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