“That’s not what I said.”
“I know what you said.”
“Then answer it.”
She stares at me, shoulders tense, stubbornness and fear doing a slow dance behind her eyes. “I’m having… difficulties,” she says finally, tight and clipped like she’s throwing me a bone she resents.
I nod like that’s enough. “Okay.”
Her gaze snaps up. “That’s it? No interrogation?”
“You tell me what you want to tell me,” I say. “When you’re ready.”
Her eyes narrow. “Why are you being… reasonable?”
I let my mouth tilt. “Don’t get used to it.”
She gives a short laugh that sounds more like relief than she wants it to. “God. This is so weird.”
“It is,” I agree.
She looks around again, like she’s trying to find her footing in my space. Her gaze lands on the table, where the printed copy of the listing sits folded beside my keys.
She points at it. “So you really wanted… a mail-order bride.”
I watch her finger hover over the paper like touching it might burn her.
“I wanted a wife on paper,” I say. “Discretion. Cover. Someone who can follow rules and make this place feel more…homey.”
“And you thought… strangers were a good idea?” she challenges.
“I thought the right person would show up.”
Her eyes flash. “So you were waiting for me?”
The question hangs between us, half accusation, half something softer she doesn’t know how to hold.
I take one step closer until I can see the pulse in her throat. “I didn’t know it would be you.”
“But it is.”
“But it is,” I echo, and my voice is rougher now.
Ellie’s breath catches. She tries to hold my gaze and fails for a second—her eyes sliding down to my chest, the way my shirt pulls over muscle, then snapping back up like she’s mad at herself.
“You’re staring,” I say.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Her cheeks flush deeper. “Stop talking.”
I lean in just enough that she has to tilt her head back. Not touching. Just close. Close enough to make her aware of my heat, my size, the fact that she is alone in a cabin with me and her body knows exactly what kind of danger that is.
“I’m going to talk,” I tell her, calm and unfiltered. “You’re going to listen.”
Her lips part again. She swallows. “Wyatt…”
