Page 22 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bride

The fact that hewillcontinue if I don’t step in and remove him keeps me moving forward with this horrifically stupid plan Ronald concocted, despite the reservations my future wife clearly shares.

She seems so sweet and innocent—exactly the type of woman Uncle Marty likes. One he canbreak. But in the end, I’m the one who will break her.

This place isn’t meant for people like Lyla.I’mnot fit to be around someone so pristine. I’ll taint her with the permanent dirt that clings to me—literally and figuratively. Then the mountain will eat her alive.

But what other choice do I have?

If I continue to keep my head buried in the sand, trying to pretend what Uncle Marty did to me hasn’t continued the entire time I’ve been gone, the guilt will destroy me.

Ronald rises from the table with the contract. “I’ll see you two tomorrow at the courthouse at nine. Have fun getting to know each other.”

Fuck.

Scrubbing my hand over my face, I avoid looking at the woman I’m going to spend—potentially—the rest of my life with.

I don’t have any intention of getting to know Lyla. What I just said was true. This is a business arrangement, nothing more. It doesn’t matter that my breath caught in my chest when I walked out of the bathroom where I’d been listening to their conversation. It doesn’t matter that the moment I saw her and my eyes met her evergreen ones, I stumbled a step and remembered what it was like to be that teenage boy I was when I left home, the one who still reacted to beautiful women andwanted.

None of that matters.

It can’t.

I haven’t touched a woman in fifteen years and with good reason. Just because we say “I do” doesn’t mean I haveto doanything with this woman other than live in the same house and pretend we like each other long enough to get rid of Uncle Marty once and for all and secure the future of Bolton Steel the best I can.

Then, I can set her—and myself—free.

Lyla’s eyes widen as she watches Ronald walk to the door. “You’re leaving?”

He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, brows raised. “Yes.” He sweeps out a hand. “There isn’t a whole lot of room for me to spend the night, is there?”

She winces, and I can almostfeelher anxiety building. Maybe the reality of her situation is finally sinking in. The sooner, the better.

Her gaze darts around the small cabin, from the queen-sized bed against the far wall to the chair and fireplace, as Ronald steps out. “Is there another bedroom?”

I shake my head. “Nope, this is it, except for a bathroom.”

“Do you have…”—she looks around again, almost frantically—“electricity, running water?”

Fuck.

Not bothering to answer her annoying question, I stalk out after Ronald. Part of me wishes hewouldstay, or at the very least, take Lyla with him back to town and get her a room at the B&B so I don’t have to deal with her in my space tonight—but that would only be delaying the inevitable.

I need to get used to Lyla being around.

Her citrusy scent.

Her soft footsteps.

Her assessing gaze always raking over me, judging me.

But not at this second.

My heavy boots thunder down the few steps from the porch to the clearing where the parked cars wait. Ronald starts his and pulls away to do a turn and head back down the mountain, and I walk over to the idling sedan Lyla arrived in and motion for the driver to pop the trunk. He does, and I grab two small suitcases most people would bring for a week-long trip—not to somewhere they are planning to stay permanently.

By the time I close the lid, Lyla stands in the open door of the cabin, eyes shimmering with unshed tears, arms wrapped protectively around herself again. She’s on the verge of completely breaking down, and though I can’t blame her, given the circumstances, it’s the last thing I need right now.

There are more important problems to worry about than trying to figure out a way to reassure her. I can’t even reassure myself that this is the right action to take, so there’s no way I can do it for a complete stranger. Not when mybridelooks at me like her life is ending the moment we say, “I do.”

It just might be.

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