Page 13 of Auctioned to the Mountain Man

She’s leaving tomorrow.

I had purposely tried not to think about it, and before those kisses, it had been a possible task. Now, I don’t know how I’ll be able to say goodbye. Now, not so much.

Just thinking about not seeing her again, not having her within my reach, has my skin prickling and my appetite nonexistent.

“I’m sure working on your carpentry skills isn’t something you do often, but if you ever want to earn some extra cash on the side after all this is done, I won’t say no. I mean, you aren’t the best, but the help is nice—” Making the offer without thinking, I fumble with my words.

I’ve literally paid for this woman to accompany me through the weekend. She’s only doing everything she has to in order to keep her word. After tomorrow, she has no reason to come back. What am I thinking?

Lily squints, staring at me hard. Her expression is impossible to read as she swipes up one last fry. With a sigh, she clicks her tongue. “You are the most confusing man I’ve ever met.”

I am?

“Come on, finish up your food. The day is only halfway over. We’ve got more hard labor to do.” Sending fake enthusiasm in my direction, she pairs it with a smile that grips my lungs so tight that it’s hard to breathe.

The only thing confusing is what this woman is doing to me. While I haven’t figured out the fine details of why I feel the way I do, I know one thing is certain. Lily is special. No other woman has ever pulled out such an intense sensation from me.

There’s no point in denying that I want her. Not just her body, but I want her at my side. Somehow, I need to figure out how to do this right without scaring her off.

If I tell her I don’t just want her here for the weekend, but for the rest of my life, I have to step carefully. She’s in her early twenties, and I’m almost double her age. Settling down with a man like me is going to take some convincing. One step at a time, even under a time crunch, I’ll have to figure out which path will get me the woman of my dreams.

* * *

“A drill would make this so much easier.”

Lily’s voice is tight, her breath huffing out between clenched teeth as she wrestles with the stubborn screwdriver. A bead of sweat slides down her temple, catching the light from the bulb above before vanishing into the collar of her shirt.

The air hangs thick with the scent of sawdust and heated metal; the fans do little more than push the stifling heataround. Her knuckles whiten around the handle as her agitation continues to grow.

“We’d be done by now, you know.” Her nose scrunches as she glares at the stubborn screw.

“Risks splitting the wood. Or stripping the screw.” I don’t look up, focusing on the handle I’m securing to the other side of the cabinet. My voice stays even, but the heat licks at my patience, too. “This is the safest way.”

She lets out a sharp grunt, the sound edged with defiance. “You always play it safe?”

My frown is instant, my grip slipping as her jab lands. The screwdriver jerks, driving the screw too deep, and I bite back a curse. Her next scoff—loud, deliberate—grates like sandpaper. “Do you always look for the easy way out?”

The words hang between us, sharp enough to cut. The temperature isn’t the only thing simmering here. Lily’s frustration radiates off her in waves, but it’s not just the work.

There’s something restless in the way her eyes dart across the shop, like she’s itching for a fight—or a way to prove me wrong.

“I look for the most time-efficient ways, thank you. If we can finish this task faster, then that gives us time to do something else.” She jerks her chin up, challenge flashing in her gaze as it sweeps over my tools. I can practically see the gears turning. She’s looking for a damn drill just to spite me.

Offering to hire her was a mistake.

Or maybe it’s the way my blood thrums when she glares at me, all fire and stubborn pride, that’s the real problem. Because right now, the only thing I want more than finishing this cabinet is pinning her against it and shutting her up with my mouth, taking away her ability to argue about such trivial things.

Finishing up the handle, I stalk toward her and brush her hand aside. The contact is brief, but it sparks through me like a live wire.

“I’ll handle this. Go stand in front of the fan before you overheat.”

She doesn’t move right away. Her eyes narrow, locking onto my face like she’s trying to decode something—like I’m a puzzle she’s not sure she wants to solve. I can’t read her. I never can.

Then, without a word, she turns and heads toward the big floor fan, her steps heavy with attitude.

I crouch down and inspect her half-sunk screw. The problem is obvious. Damn knot. Of course, she hit one on her first try. Bad luck or cursed hands—either way, she didn’t stand a chance.

My lips twitch into a smirk before I let out a quiet laugh. Shaking my head, I lean in and muscle the screw through the knot, slow and firm until the threads finally catch. The next two glide in effortlessly, no resistance—like the wood had been holding its breath and finally let go.

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