Page 14 of Auctioned to the Mountain Man

“I’m not taking back what I said,” she calls out, voice raised just enough to carry over the fan. She’s glancing back at me from over her shoulder, a flicker of defiance in her eyes.

I could explain. Could tell her about the knot, about why it wasn’t really her fault. But I don’t.

There’s something about her like this—flushed cheeks, sharp glares, the edge in her voice—that I can’t help but enjoy.

Once I finish attaching the doors to the base, she helps me carefully place the glass, after I’ve coaxed her back over. Slotting each in one at a time, I blink the sweat from my eyes. Using my shirt to swipe at my brow, I’m the one to sigh next.

“We made good progress today. Didn’t think I’d finish this piece.” My words hang between us, and when I glance up, she’s watching me with that look again—the one that makes my throat go dry. “How about we call it? A cool shower sounds good right now.”

Separate showers. Obviously.

The thought flickers anyway—steam curling between us, water sluicing over her shoulders, my hands working the tension from her muscles as an apology for being such an ass.Fuck.I shove the image away.

What I need are baby steps. Then again, it’s not like I’ve got time to be cautious when every glance from her feels like a lit match tossed at gasoline.

Her words from earlier echo in my skull.You always play it safe?

Maybe that’s the problem. Here I am—all rough edges and heavy hands—trying to tiptoe around her like she’s something fragile. What I really want to know is whether she’d melt against me or bite back harder.

“Yeah, I’m done.” She nods sharply, breaking whatever spell had her staring. No second invitation needed—she’s already peeling away, escaping this sweatbox of a room. With quick steps, it’s more like she’s running fromme.

Well then. With tomorrow being the last day we’ll be together, hardly even twenty-four hours depending on how quickly she’ll want to call things, I won’t waste any more time dancing around her.

I’ll make my intentions clear, make it obvious that I want her.

If she doesn’t want me, or I scare her away, then I’ll let her go tonight. There’s no chance I’ll be able to watch her leave otherwise without regretting a missed opportunity of my lifetime.

The chance of finding the woman of my dreams and making the fantasy of having a big family a reality.

7

Lily

Silas doesn’t take a long shower. Seven minutes tops. Enough time to let cool water douse his flushed skin from earlier.

He barely gives me time to smother the heat crawling under my skin—just long enough to press my thighs together, drag in a shaky breath, and try to pretend I’m not imagining the water sluicing down his back. Then, like the jerk he is, he swings the bathroom door wide open.

Steam rolls out in a thick, hazy wave, carrying the scent of his soap clinging to damp skin.

Despite finding me clutching my nightwear in a tight grip, he doesn’t move out of my way. Not immediately.

Leaning against the doorframe like he owns the very air between us, I take notice that he’s wearing nothing but those same plaid pants slung low on his hips from the night before.

The only difference? He’s not wearing a shirt today.

My gaze trips over him, greedy and traitorous. Water glistens on his collarbone, the defined cut of his stomach, and those few scattered freckles I want to trace with my tongue. By the time I drag my eyes up to his, my cheeks are burning.

Amusement flickers in his dark stare, his mouth tilting as he watches me squirm. He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t have to. A test of strength forms in the way he flexes his forearm against the doorframe, muscles tensing like he’s holding himself back. Or maybe just savoring the way my breath hitches.

Does he get off on this? Does he enjoy teasing me until I’m wound tight, until my nails bite into my palms, only to walk away, leaving me aching, furious, and wanting?

If this is his goal, well, it’s working.

He takes in my belongings in my grip, his mouth twitching when he notices my shampoo bottle. “And here I thought you forgot to pack that. Good to know.”

Meaning—he noticed I used his soap. Now that’s embarrassing.

Huffing as I dip under his arm, I don’t waste time shutting the door on him to finally block him out. I’m clawing at my clothes, demanding relief as I twist at the shower knobs to get the water going.

---