Page 17 of Auctioned to the Lumberjacks (Auctioned)

Food first.

Sexual gratification later.

The noises of enthusiastic chewing fill the cabin. No one says much tonight. It’s as if everyone is holding their breath, but the air is charged even without conversation.

There is now only a faint glow from the fire, which casts an almost celestial halo around Skye’s head. Her hair is tied into a loose ponytail, which sits on one side of her face and rests gently over her shoulder. The skin of her cheeks is luminescent.

My mind is foggy with all the things I want do to her.

What is going on in her pretty little head?

I squash the urge to compliment her on her cooking and instead watch her fingers gripping her cutlery. The juice from her steak drips onto her fingers somehow, and she’s trying to stop her knife and fork from slipping from her grasp. Sensing my eyes on her again, she puts her cutlery down and her words sound awkward in the already stilted atmosphere.

“I’m sorry about today. I shouldn’t have asked to come to the site with West and Finn. It caused a problem and…” She trails off as though she’s not sure what else to say. West’s cutlery smashes onto his plate. The mention of anything to do with Ethan is not welcome around this table. But I’m not in the mood to consider his feelings about the matter. He clutches his collar and loosens his shirt as if trying to release the tension bursting from behind the buttons.

“I don’t want to cause any problems while I’m here.” She’s trying too hard. She doesn’t realize that it wasn’t about her. She was just a pawn in Ethan’s game. “Can I run you a bath after dinner, Jack? I found some eucalyptus earlier in the bathroom cabinet. I wonder if you’d feel better soaking your muscles…you look like you’re in pain.”

Too much. She’s trying too hard. Her words sound as fake and bright as my mom’s used to after I crept out of my room, bruised, and battered after one of my stepfather’s rages. Like fixing me a shitty meal could make up for turning her eyes away from my pain.

I ignore Skye’s comment. I just want to eat my goddamn steak in peace.

Finn and West have cleared their plates of every scrap of food, and West wipes up the remnants with a chunk of bread like a vulture devouring roadkill.

Finn gets to his feet, leaning over to pick up Skye’s plate. “That was absolutely incredi-…”

I can’t help it. I erupt, even surprising myself. Banging my fist down hard on the table, I rise to my feet, my chair topplingbackward and crashing down to the floor. A roar forms in the back of my throat. “For fuck’s sake, god damn it, Finn! How many times have I got to remind you that she’s not some girl you have taken around to impress your damn parents.” I’ve touched a nerve. Finn’s shoulders raise, and he slumps back down at the table, but, in a split second, he’s on his feet again, and this time, he’s leaning over in my direction, drawing back a huge, meaty fist.

Before it can make contact with my face, West is in between us fast. The ligament in his thick neck is tight, and beads of sweat gather at his temples. I sense the formidable power he must have relied upon during his time in the military.

“Way too much, Jack!” Finn speaks, but his words sound choked with emotion. It was not a good thing to say to an orphan, but helping Skye with house chores is directly calling our arrangement into question once again. He disregards my opinion over and over.

A pitiful sound pierces the air. Skye has her hands over her ears, and her eyes scrunched tightly shut. She’s braced so still, it’s like she isn’t breathing at all.

Pity trickles down my throat and into my chest, but it only makes me angrier. Women know how to manipulate men. It’s in their DNA. She’s trying to make me feel sorry for her, so she’ll have an easy year. If she has her way, Finn will wait on her hand and foot, and West will have his face permanently between her thighs. She’ll be calling the shots. Of that, I’m sure.

I decided a long time ago that I would never let a woman under my skin, and I intend to keep my promise.

“If this shit carries on, she’s out of here. Do you understand? We already have one stray dog under this roof. We don’t need another.”

The words are out, rippling around the bare-beamed room like a clap of angry thunder before I’ve had a chance to think about their impact. My tongue stings as Finn’s cheeks flash red, and he turns his back on me without a second thought and lumbers over to Skye. West appears momentarily stunned into silence, heaving in his huge chest and exhaling loudly.

“Oh man, even for you, that was low!” He stands stock still, watching me, his eyes portraying something I can’t figure out.

Is that pity or hatred?

My heart hammers in my chest as I turn to face the porch for my escape, but instead, I storm in the direction of my room. In my haste, my thigh catches one of the table legs, and Skye’s glass, which must have been dangerously close to the edge and still full, tumbles to the floor. I carry on going despite the sound of shattered glass and the splash of the blood-red wine as it splatters to the ground.

Slamming my bedroom door with a force that vibrates the walls, I glance at my appearance in the mirror hanging over the dresser. I’m a disheveled wreck of a man, and my eyes are wild and crazy, as sharp, and dangerous as the glass on the kitchen floor. The smell of sweat sticking to my body cloys in the back of my throat, and I rip open my shirt so fast that buttons bounce off the floorboards. My erratic breathing makes my head spin, and I throw open the window, letting in a rush of icy frigid air that slaps me around the face and makes me shudder.

The sounds and scent of the forest are no comfort.

I kick off my boots and peel off my socks, and on autopilot, I strip the rest of my clothes from my weary body and head to the shower.

The warm water does nothing to soothe me. Dirt and sweat wash from my hair and skin, but the thick black feeling wedged inside me stays put. I press my palms against the cool tiles, letting the steaming water run over my face, holding my breath longer than is comfortable.

This is why I didn’t want a woman here. One-night stands are one thing, but someone around all the time, getting under my skin is just too fucking much.

Skye’s just too sweet, and it’s sickly. Fake. It reminds me too much of the past when I felt helpless.

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