Page 3

Lily

As frustrating as Silas is, he’s got one of the most beautiful cabins I’ve ever laid my eyes on.

The cabin comes into view through a break in the trees—tucked between tall pines like it grew there on its own.

It’s all weathered wood and deep green trim, as if the place decided long ago it belonged to the forest. A wraparound porch curls around the front, facing the lake that stretches out in front of it like a sheet of glass.

The water’s so still it looks painted on—soft blue reflecting streaks of peach and gold from the sky. Everything is quiet out here. Not the kind of silence that feels empty, but the kind that settles deep in a person’s bones. Peaceful. Disarming.

I swallow hard, arms crossed despite there being no breeze. I don’t want to admit how… perfect it is. The way sunlight filters through the trees, the way the dock juts out just far enough to tempt bare feet and late-night stargazing.

It’s beautiful. Inconveniently beautiful.

The lake could help fuel my fantasy of the perfect vacation, if it weren’t for the glaring building next to his cabin. A building, I can only assume, is his workshop.

I can’t believe this man is the one behind Crafted Roots Co . While no one may know his face, I’m pretty sure everyone in town has seen his furniture. I’ve come across a few pieces being sold at the local farmer’s market during the warm season.

The person selling it wasn’t this man. If it were, I would’ve noticed him long before.

It’s honestly tragic—a face that handsome wasted on someone so infuriating. A mask, really. Someone who conceals the walking, talking personification of chaos and evil.

If I thought I wasn’t exhausted after my shift at the lodge, hauling all that furniture proved me wrong. Now I’m dragging myself up the path to his place, feet heavy, and shoulders aching.

Apparently, I can’t escape this mountain, even off the clock.

Stifling a yawn, I climb the creaking wooden steps and knock harder than necessary on the screen door. If I have to suffer through this evening, he’s not getting any version of me that resembles polite.

Unfortunately, Silas isn’t a creep. While he’s a jerk, he’s too respectful for his own good. So, I can’t get out of this by running to Poppy, making false claims. That doesn’t mean I don’t have a backup plan.

If I can get him to ask me to leave, then the remaining days of the weekend are mine.

I hear his heavy steps on the other side before he swings the door open. It’s the weirdest thing, seeing the way relief fills his eyes when he sees me. Telling myself that it’s all an act, a way for me to lower my guard so he can torture me more than he already has, I don’t fall for it.

When I meet his forest green eyes, I pretend my stomach doesn’t clench up, or that I’m filled with butterflies without reason. Instead, I straighten my shoulders and tip my chin to show just how fearless I am.

“About time.” He takes me in like it’s the first time all over again. “Thought you’d gotten lost.”

Grade A asshole, I swear.

The moment I step inside, the scent of cedar and pine resin hits me like a wall—warm and earthy, with the faintest tang of woodsmoke clinging to the beams overhead.

I hate to admit it, but the inside of his cabin is just as beautiful as the outside.

Rough-hewn wooden furniture dominates the space—a dining table with legs thick as my thighs, bookshelves carved with geometric patterns, a rocking chair that looks like something I would’ve hopped on as a kid.

I run my fingers along a shelf near the door, half-convinced he built it all himself. The wood is smooth under my touch, sanded to a satin finish. Stained a reddish color. Yeah, he probably did.

My gaze snags on a framed photo resting in the middle of a few paperbacks and a carved wooden buck.

Three men stand shoulder-to-shoulder in front of a lake, all variations of the same rugged template. Silas is the tallest, his scowl slightly softer than the one he’s wearing now. His hair was a little shorter, and he’s not doting as many deep age lines.

“Your brothers?” I ask before I can stop myself.

He grunts, nudging the door shut. “Yeah. They help with the business.”

Tearing my eyes away from the photographic soft expression, I turn my attention back to his hardened one.

“So, where am I sleeping?” Figuring it’ll be best just to hurry this along, I push to free my hands of my belongings.

If he lets me take a nap, I won’t lie, I’ll second-guess my plan to make him suffer.

He passes by me, silently beckoning to follow behind. His stride is long, so I’m fighting to keep up.

For a cabin that doesn’t seem to have much life inside, it’s quite large. I point that out, too. Curious about why a guy like him would want to take up this much space, he doesn’t humor me with an answer.

With one glance over his shoulder, and a non-committed grunt later, I’m left more curious about him than ever.

“Let me guess, you grew up with a big family and wanted something similar.” Pursing my lips, I squint at his back. “A wife and a bunch of kids. At least two. No, three.”

He suddenly stops, and I run right into him. He still smells like sweat from all the work we’d done earlier, but with it intertwining with his usual scent, it’s not a bad combo.

“You’ll sleep here.” Pushing open the nearest door, he motions me to enter a room that smells of dust and a lack of life. “Settle for now. I’ll find you when I’m ready. The bathroom is on the left.”

His eyes narrow on me, and I’m sure his frown is sharper than earlier.

I must’ve hit a sensitive spot. Well, is it my fault he probably scares every woman who gets near him? No wonder he was at that auction in the first place.

Deciding how I want to thank him, I don’t get the chance to ponder long. Not when he’s turning away and leaving me all to my lonesome.

Good. It’s better this way. If he regrets offering to host me, I have a better chance of getting a boot out of here.

While he simmers, I take the chance to plop down on the bed.

The bed creaks as I collapse onto it, the firm mattress barely yielding under my weight. I roll onto my side, pressing my face into the pillow. It smells faintly of detergent, like it’s recently been changed.

Did he rush home and quickly prepare the room?

My body doesn’t care to ponder for too long.

Eyelids heavy as lead, I barely register the scratch of wool blankets against my skin or the distant sound of floorboards creaking elsewhere in the cabin. I could be lying on concrete, and it wouldn’t make a difference.

Somewhere between one breath and the next, sleep drags me under. I’m snoring before I can even think about setting some kind of alarm.

* * *

Silas doesn’t wake me up. Or, maybe he tried, and I was too gone. Who knows? Either way, when I wake up, I’m disoriented as can be.

The foreign surroundings don’t help much, but all I have to do is remind myself what happened to snap back into it.

My phone tells me it’s four in the morning. The bed tells me I should try to slip in a few more hours of sleep.

Instead, I get up. Feeling gross from sleeping in my day clothes, I grab my outfit for the day and hunt down the bathroom to shower.

The shower spray hits my shoulders like a thousand tiny pinpricks, hot enough to turn my skin pink. It feels good against my sore muscles, and I’m happy to say his shower head has lovely pressure.

Moving to wash my hair, I look between two completely different bottles. One is mine, promising a coconut butter scent. His is right next to it, looking daunting and bulky.

Remembering how good he smelled, even in the midst of work, I hesitate, as if I have the choice to pick and choose what I want to wash up with.

It would be rude to use something of his without asking.

What better reason to use it ?

Pumping an entire white puddle in the middle of my hand, I breathe in and groan.

The scent is stupidly good, all earthy and sharp, clinging to my fingers even as I rub it over my hair and collarbones.

What a mistake that is.

The suds slide down my stomach and hips as I inhale deeply, and suddenly my nipples are tight little points, sensitive against the steam. I grit my teeth.

Don’t. Don’t you dare, Lilian.

But, despite my mental scolding, it isn’t enough. My traitorous hands keep moving, soap slick between my thighs now, and— oh.

It’s pathetic. Twenty-three and still a virgin, still so starved for touch that even washing myself feels illicit. The water’s loud enough to drown out any shaky breaths, but not the heat pooling low in my belly.

Not the way my hips twitch when I remember how Silas looked in the doorway earlier—all broad shoulders and rough hands, watching me with those unreadable eyes.

Is he even aware of how he was looking at me?

My fingers press harder. My teeth dig deeper into my bottom lip as I barely contain my moan.

I shouldn’t. Not here. Not while thinking of him. But my body doesn’t care about shame, doesn’t care that I’m borrowing his soap or his bed.

The climax hits fast and clumsy, my forehead thumping against the tile as my knees nearly buckle.

Panting hard, my clit throbs like it’s hardly satisfied. I’m hardly satisfied.

When I finally turn off the water, my skin is scalded red. Running fingers through my slick hair, I push it all out of my face and soak in what I’d just done.

This is no good. I can’t hate the guy and then get off with him in my mind at the same time. This is seriously no good. How am I going to be able to look him in the eye now?

Finding the world’s fluffiest towels inside a closet, I take my time cooling off. The flush on my skin can’t entirely be blamed on the hot water. I need to calm down before I see him, or else he’ll read me like a book.

Once I’m dressed and ready to take on the day, I work my way by finding my way around his house. Through the dark, it’s a challenge in itself. Thanks to the distant glow, Silas makes it easier without trying.

The smell of coffee hits me before the sight of him does. A giant like him makes the table he’s sitting at seem normal-sized. While he sips at his drink, he flips through the same gazettes we get at the lodge. Focused on whatever article has his attention, his face is surprisingly relaxed.

He’s wearing plaid pants and a tank top that doesn’t come close to hiding his tree-trunk arms.

My legs wobble, reminding me of what kind of thoughts were just roaming my mind. I seriously should be ashamed of myself.

“Good morning.”

His eyes snap up, and I hear the paper between his fingers crinkle. Like I’m the one who is stressing him out, his brows come together as he takes me in.

I know he said to pack some worn clothing, so I hoped a large shirt and some shorts would do the trick. I can’t take another day of burning up. Hoping that, paired up with the mountain’s cooler air, I’d stand a better chance at surviving.

But under his gaze? I can already feel the heat prickling back onto my skin, almost like he’s as bad as the sun itself.

“Help yourself to something to eat. Check the fridge. Pot has some coffee left, too.” His eyes snap back to his paper. “You’re going to be burning a lot of energy today.”

I get another stupid flutter, another pesky tingle. My brain is going rogue, picturing things he doesn’t mean one bit.

The only position he’s putting me in today is one that requires heavy lifting, probably.