Page 53 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bride

Even though I shouldn’t.

Even though it’s dangerous.

My thighs press against his crotch—and hisentirebody stiffens. I trail my fingers over his chest, sending a shudder rolling through his massive frame.

“What happened last night after the bath, Silas?”

I regret asking it instantly because it sounds like an accusation instead of a genuine question designed to learn what he had done for me.

His arms slide out from around me, and he shifts back. I wince as he throws back the covers and climbs from the bed, then tosses them back on me.

“You think I would’ve”—he tightens his jaw, hands fisted at his sides—“when you were likethat.”

He stalks away from the bed, and I push myself up into a seated position, my sleep-clouded brain trying to process how badly I just fucked up. Whiskey lifts his head to see where Silas is going.

His owner pauses at the edge of the kitchen, hands on his hips, facing away from me, his shoulders tense. “I told you I would never touch you like that.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just—”

He glances over his shoulder, that icy look back in his eyes. “You just what? Thought I would take advantage of you when you were almost dead?” His hand goes back through his hair, and he tugs on it. “Is that what you really think of me?”

“No.Godno! I—”

Silas whirls to face me, his jaw set hard. Every muscle in his body tenses for the fight we’re apparently going to have—all because I couldn’t keep my damn mouth shut and simply enjoy a fucking moment with him. “Youwhat?”

“That’s not what Imeant.”

His nostrils flare, a red-hot fury building in him, threatening to erupt right before my eyes. “Then what the hell did you mean?”

“I just…” I run my hands back through my disheveled hair and glance toward the bathroom, then motion to the bed where he slept beside me. “You found me. You took care of me. We…almost kissed in the tub…”

And I have no memory of you putting me to bed or holding me all night like you must have.

I want those memories.

I want toknowwhat that was like.

He stiffens again and follows my gaze toward the closed bathroom door, then lets it drift to the bed. The man who spent the night caring for me seems to be reliving every moment—and despising it, given the curl of his lip. “It was a mistake.” He grits out the words. “It won’t happen again.”

That same inexplicable pain that hit my chest the first time he announced he would never touch me or be a husband to me hits me again. Ten times harder this time because now I’ve seen glimpses of who Silas really is—under all the ink and rage and self-loathing.

Silas was broken by something. Shattered. And he carries the guilt of it like a badge of honor. He will never see how good he is, how much good he can do, while he’s blinded by his own pain.

But I can’t force him. Attempting to push things with him will only make him retreat further.

If that’s even possible.

He sighs and turns away from me, disappearing into the kitchen.

I lean back against the carved wood headboard and listen to the stillness of the cabin. Something rattles and bangs in the kitchen, and I bury my fingers into Whiskey’s fur. He shifts to drop his head onto my lap, looking up at me with raised brows like he’s trying to figure it all out, too.

Wish I knew, boy.

Truly.

The more time that passes without a word from Silas, the more I shift restlessly in his bed. Like waiting for a ticking bomb to go off.

A high-pitched whistle makes me jump, and Whiskey lifts his head, watching the kitchen until Silas reappears with a mug in his hand.

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