Billionaire lumberjacks.., p.25
Billionaire Lumberjack's Bride, page 25
The low heat builds fast.
I’m so fucking close.
Just having him in my mouth, swallowing him down, knowing that I could do that to him and make him come so unhinged, was almost enough to make me come on its own. And now that he’s hitting that perfect spot deep inside me, I’m about to come undone completely.
He inclines his body, pressing his chest against my back, and reaches his hand over, nudging mine away so his callused fingertips can take over.
Fuck can they do the job…
My orgasm doesn’t slam into me; it consumes me. Burning out from my core through my limbs, my entire body bursting into a conflagration I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to put out.
I gasp, my body jerking as he continues to pound into me. He bites down along my collarbone, a sharp sting of pain, making me clench around him as he finally comes deep inside me in short, hot spurts.
He sags against me slightly, gripping the headboard, and wraps his arm around my waist to keep me from fully collapsing under his weight. Then he kisses the spot where I undoubtedly have teeth marks and makes his way up my neck, pushing my hair over one shoulder to give himself access.
I turn my head to peek at him out of the corner of my half-lidded eyes, and he drops a kiss to my cheek, my temple, then buries his face in my hair.
“I fucking love you, Lyla.”
His words make me tense and clench my eyes closed.
What just happened was emotional, for sure, and those words getting thrown around at a moment like this are always suspect, but he reaches up and tips my chin toward him.
“Open your eyes.”
I do, and I see the truth in his.
His fingers feather over my cheek. “I didn’t think I knew what it meant. But this is it; you, me, this. Isn’t it?”
Shit, the man actually has to ask what love is.
The tears I’ve been fighting finally leak out of the corner of my eye, and I nod, swallowing past the emotion threatening to choke me. “It is.”
Relief flashes across his face, and I close my eyes again because watching him struggle with something we should so innately understand only makes me love him even more.
He pulls me to him again, then rolls onto his side, taking me with him, his cock still buried deep inside me. Curling around me, he kisses every inch of skin he can reach and holds me tight enough that it feels like he may never let go.
And I might not let him.
Chapter Eighteen
LYLA
The house where Silas was forced to grow up far too fast towers over us like some ancient castle that should be somewhere in remote Europe, not in the middle of Pittsburgh.
A shudder rolls through me as I stand in front of it, and not only because I know what happened inside those walls. The cold, stark exterior can’t be helped by the perfectly manicured bushes, flowers, and shrubbery. It still looks like a prison, and that’s what it was for him.
I squeeze Silas’ hand, and it barely gives, his entire body as rigid as the stone on the building we stare at. “Silas, you need to breathe.”
He glances down at me. “I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
The corners of his lips fight a smile, likely remembering me giving him the same advice before we walked into that conference room. Which means I’ve succeeded at getting his focus off the monstrosity in front of us and broken through the anxiety to actually get a hint of humor from him.
But it disappears as quickly as it was there.
He returns his focus to the house. “I don’t know how much time we’re going to have.”
After waiting all morning for Marty’s car to speed away from the house, this might be our only opportunity to get in without him here before we see the board on Monday. If I can get Silas in there without him passing out because he stops breathing.
Just like when we were standing outside Bolton Steel, I tug on his hand, urging him to advance toward the building that holds so many horrific memories of his past. “Let’s go.”
He swallows thickly but slowly steps forward, putting one foot in front of the other. Today, he dressed in something much more Silas—a pair of well-worn jeans and black Henley.
We approach the house together, and he stares at the double front doors for a moment. Long enough that I begin to think he’s going to turn around and walk away, but he squares his shoulders, walks up to it, and turns the handle, pushing it open without so much as a knock or ring of the doorbell.
I lean closer to him, keeping my voice low. “Silas, what are you doing? You can’t just walk in!”
He glances over at me. “I own the house, don’t I?”
“Well, yeah, but what if someone sees us walking around in here?”
“Let him call the police and try to kick me out.”
His confident defiance makes me grin through the tension. I follow him into Bolton Manor and shut the door behind me. The click seems to echo loudly through the front foyer, off all the marble and hand-carved wood, and I wince.
But Silas either didn’t notice or doesn’t care, too entranced by the interior of the house. He shakes his head slowly as he examines it. “Nothing’s changed here. They updated the offices because people are constantly coming and going, but here”—he spins, looking at the massive chandelier above us and the twin staircases wrapping up to the second floor—“this all looks exactly the same as it did almost two hundred years ago when they built this house. Eight generations of Boltons have lived here, but I’m going to end that tradition.” His gaze cuts to me. “After today, I’m never coming back. Whatever happens, I won’t set foot in here again.”
His declaration seems to hang in the air around us for a second before he motions for me to follow him.
“Where are we going?”
He heads up the staircase to the left. “My room. It would be the most obvious place for him to leave something for me…”
God willing.
I don’t even want to think about what we’ll do if I’m wrong and Ronald wasn’t able to get a copy of what he had on Marty stashed away somewhere safe for us. We’ll be left hanging with the board, whose members were reluctant to utter a single word in front of his uncle.
Stay positive.
It’s hard to do when we’re wandering around the place where so much damage was done without the benefit of having Whiskey with us as some form of protection should anything happen. But Silas insisted on leaving him at the hotel, worried the protective dog might alert someone of our presence far more easily than we would on our own.
I follow Silas up the stairs, keeping an eye out for any of the staff who must be roaming around the house. “Did you spend a lot of time in your room as a boy?”
He pauses mid-step, his hand tightening on the railing. “I did—mostly trying to stay away from my uncle and praying he didn’t come looking for me.”
My stomach turns at the thought of the small boy cowering in fear in his own bed. No wonder Silas doesn’t sleep well. I loop my arm through his and squeeze. “Are you sure you want to do this? Maybe I can go in, or—”
He rests his hand on top of mine on his forearm, and I look down at the scars across his knuckles, only partially hidden by the tattoos there.
“I have to, Lyla.”
Ending any further debate, he takes the last few steps up, and we move quickly down the hallway, past several closed doors to the last one at the end on the right. He pulls his arm out of mine and reaches for the knob, his hand shaking as he turns it and pushes the heavy-looking wooden slab open.
Not taking my own advice, I hold my breath and follow him in, unsure what I should do or say as his eyes dart around the room, taking in everything from the ancient-looking fourposter bed to the dresser, still covered in photographs of him as a teenager and various personal knickknacks that he never took with him when he left.
“They haven’t touched anything…”
His voice sounds hollow, somehow devoid of emotion when it should be full of it.
I walk over to the dresser and run my finger across it, lifting it up for him to see. “They’ve been dusting, though. Someone’s been in here keeping it up, maintaining it for fifteen years.”
He bobs his head. “Ursula, our maid. She never would’ve allowed dust to collect in here, even if she knew I wasn’t coming back.”
The affection in the way he talks about her leads me to believe she was one of the only people in this house who was ever kind to him—another piece of the sad reality he lived in for so long.
It makes the solitude he sought on the mountain make so much more sense.
Alone was safe.
This place definitely isn’t.
I scan the room for anything obviously out of place, perhaps a clue left by Ronald to alert Silas where he might have left the evidence. “Where would he hide something?”
Silas runs his hands through his hair and wanders over to the nightstand. “I don’t know.”
He pulls open the top drawer and rifles through the things in it, then shoves it closed and does the same for the drawer under it. Slamming it shut, he lowers himself to the bed, dropping his face into his hands.
“What the fuck was I thinking coming back here? I don’t know where he would put anything. This house has twenty bedrooms and dozens of other rooms. It could be anywhere, or it could be nowhere. What if he didn’t leave anything at all?”
The panic lacing his voice makes my heart go out to him even more.
I’ve been there myself—when the police took Joey into custody and said he was being charged. That feeling hung over me until last night, but the moment I told Silas everything and he promised to help him, it felt like a giant weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
And I want to be able to do the same for Silas.
Only I don’t know how when we’re twisting in the fucking wind.
Settling on the bed next to him, I rest my head against his shoulder. “Let’s just look anywhere we can in here, and if we don’t find anything, we’ll reassess, but we can’t give up. We’ve only been here for five minutes—”
The door clicks open, and we both jerk our heads toward it, tensing, prepared for a fight.
An elderly woman with white hair pinned up in a bun and heavy laugh lines on her face stands in the jamb, staring at us. Her eyes zero in on Silas, and tears start to pool. “Silas, is that really you?”
He rises from the bed and approaches her tentatively. “Ursula?”
She nods vigorously, wringing her hands in front of her. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
The corner of his mouth curves into a sad smile. “I never thought I’d be back.”
A tear slips from her eye, and she shakes her head. “I’m so sorry I could never do anything for you, that I couldn’t intervene, but your uncle would’ve had me deported, and I—”
Silas closes the distance between them and takes the old woman’s shoulders in his hands. “Don’t apologize. It was a long time ago.”
“But you were only a baby.”
“I’m not anymore, Ursula, and I’m going to make sure he pays for what he did to everybody, especially me.”
The woman sputters, her eyes widening slightly. “Your father…”
My spine stiffens as Silas narrows his eyes on her.
“What about him?”
“He was acting strange in the few days before he died, locked himself away in his office for hours at a time. I don’t know what he was doing, but I thought I would mention it with everything that’s happening. That’s where I found him.”
Silas raises a brow. “You found him?”
She nods. “He was slumped over his desk. They said it was a heart attack.”
The emphasis she places on the word “said” doesn’t go unnoticed by Silas or me, and he cuts me a sharp look that tells me exactly what we suspect is likely true. Even the maid believes Marty had something to do with Silas’ father’s death, the same as he did Ronald’s.
“Do you think Uncle Marty could have done something to him?”
Her slim shoulders rise and fall. “They had been arguing for months. I don’t know what about, but it got nasty. Things were tense here, so I can only imagine what they were like at the office…”
“What about Ronald? Was he here before he died?”
She narrows her gaze on Silas. “Ronald? No…not that I can recall. I hadn’t seen him here in weeks.”
Which means, he didn’t leave anything here for Silas.
Silas’ shoulders slump as he comes to the same realization, but then he glances over his shoulder at me. “We need to go to my father’s office.”
“Why?”
“If that’s where he was spending his time right before he died, maybe there’s something there that can tie Marty to his death or something else.”
It’s a long shot.
But at this point, we don’t have anything else to go on.
I rise from the bed and approach the woman standing in front of Silas, suddenly realizing he hasn’t bothered to introduce me yet. “Hi, I’m Lyla.”
“Shit.” Silas winces and wraps his arm around my shoulder. “Ursula, this is my wife.”
Ursula’s eyes widen slightly. “Wife?” Her wrinkled lips curl into a genuine smile, perhaps the first one I’ve seen from anyone since we got into town. “Oh, Silas, I’m so happy for you.” She reaches out and takes my hand in hers. “Do what I couldn’t. Take care of him…”
Silas presses a kiss to my temple. “She already does.”
SILAS
The longer I’m inside this house of horrors, the more determined I become to burn the fucking place down when I’m done with it. Each generation that lived here, the people who built our empire from inside these walls, would be absolutely disgusted to know what happened.
And not just to me.
Could Marty really have killed Father and Ronald?
I don’t want to believe it, but something deep in my gut tells me neither were “heart attacks.” Uncle Marty is smart enough to have it look natural so questions aren’t asked—like he might have done with Mom—but killing people he sees as a threat wouldn’t be out of his wheelhouse.
Ursula said Father was arguing with Marty, and that fact alone raises my suspicions even more—makes what should be unthinkable seem almost likely.
Those two were always so close, inseparable, really.
What possibly could have driven a wedge between them? What could have turned them against each other?
Something tells me the answer lies in Father’s office, the place that was always strictly off-limits to me as a child. So many kids grow up at their parents’ feet, under their desks, sitting on their laps while they work, but not me.
This was hallowed ground, and I was never allowed to step into it. Of course, it didn’t mean that I complied; I just tried to make sure I wasn’t caught because I knew what the consequences would be if Father or Marty ever found me in there.
But I don’t need to sneak around anymore.
I lead Lyla down the stairs and through the hallway to the west wing, where Father chose to set up his office so he could watch the sunset out the massive windows facing the horizon.
Lyla squeezes my hand as we move past several closed doors that I have no desire to open. Having her here with me for this is truly the only thing keeping me grounded. If I had attempted this alone, I never would have made it inside and certainly wouldn’t have been able to keep my head on straight.
Even with everything going on with her brother, she’s still beside me. Still my rock. Still willing to follow me into the lion’s den in hopes of finding the answer to our prayers.
We reach the door to Father’s office, and I take a moment to try to get my shit together before opening it. Lyla doesn’t push me, merely tightens her grip on my hand and waits with me until I grab the knob, twist it, and push.
The familiar smell of stale cigar smoke, wood polish, and bourbon fills the air. I inhale deeply, another flood of memories coming with it.
Father’s booming voice coming from behind the closed door…
Pressing my ear against it to try to hear what was being said…
Ursula seeing me and shooing me away before I got caught…
Lyla squeezes my hand again. “You okay?”
I don’t know how long we’ve been standing here in the hallway as I just stare into the room, lost in my head. But I can’t avoid going in forever. “I will be.”
When this is all over.
When I can go back to the mountain, to my cabin, my land, my freedom.
This isn’t the world for me. I left it behind for a reason, and even if we succeed in our mission to save Bolton Steel and crush Uncle Marty, I can’t stay.
The people. The traffic. The noises. The smells. All of it is too much.
But I have to push away my reticence, release Lyla’s hand, and move forward into the office.
I go straight for the massive wooden desk dominating the room and pull the chair back. The red leather monstrosity he always loved looks garish now, like something out of a cartoon rather than real life, but back then, it seemed like a throne he ruled from.
And apparently died in.…
I stare at it for a moment, picturing the old man slumped over the desk, likely with a drink sitting near his hand—the way I almost always saw him. That old feeling that I shouldn’t be in here engulfs me, but I slowly lower myself into the chair, pulling open the middle drawer.
Pens, a letter opener, miscellaneous office supplies.
Absolutely nothing of any interest.
Lyla wanders around the room, taking in the books on the floor-to-ceiling shelves along one wall and photographs of Father over the years with presidents and other political figures and celebrities. “Your father sure knew a lot of important people.”
I open the next drawer and rifle through it, searching for anything unusual before making my way to the next. “I told you; he and Marty have connections. The kind that ensured they got away with literally anything.”
For men like them, without consciences or souls, their power became a toxic drug they couldn’t get enough of. And they used it to get what they wanted—by any means necessary.
