Three Dirty Secrets (Blindfold Club #4) (21 page)

“Your bike,” I said quietly.

“I’ll come back for it later. Let’s get you home.”

The cab lurched away and the motion forced my eyes shut. God, this was awful. My fucking migraine had ruined the evening. Since I was squeezing my eyelids closed, I didn’t realize he’d put his arm around me until the heavy weight was there, urging me to lean into him.

This was always the moment I drew away. I retreated back inside myself, not wanting to be a burden, or have anyone witness my weakness. I preferred to suffer alone, but there was nowhere to go in the back seat of the cab. My head lolled into his shoulder, and I fit myself against him.

He smelled good, and thankfully it wasn’t overpowering. My hand rested on his soft sweater with my palm centered over his heart. His reaction to everything had been unexpected. Why wasn’t he pissed? He’d just paid for two dinners that hadn’t been eaten, and now he was leaving his bike in the parking garage and would have to go back to get it.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. Pretty soon I wouldn’t be able to talk anymore. It’d make my head pound worse. The drum was already beating pretty hard in there.

“Don’t worry about it.” His lips brushed at my hairline above my forehead.

We didn’t talk the rest of the ride, which was mercifully short and smooth.

“Don’t argue with me,” I spat out when Silas tried to pay for the cab. “It’s the least I can fucking do.”

The pounding in my head had accelerated to a roar and I hurried to the entrance of my apartment building, ignoring everything else and focusing on getting the right key out on my keyring.

He offered his hand. “You want me to—”

“No, I’ve got it.” My voice was clipped. God, I didn’t mean to be a bitch, but I was fading fast. Fifteen steps to the stairwell, two flights, four doors down.
You can make it.

I flung the glass security door open, flying past the mailboxes, not knowing if Silas was planning on coming up with me or not. I couldn’t think about it. I counted the stairs as I climbed, and heard them creak behind me as he followed. Nausea hit me at the landing and I braced myself on the railing, fighting to keep myself from throwing up right on the carpet.
You’ll be better once you’re home
, I told myself, pushing on.

I’d been so wrong. It was a million doors to my apartment, and I wanted to sob. “Can you go?” I said. This migraine was the motherfucking end of all migraines, and I didn’t want him to see me like this.

“You want me to go?” His tone was pure disbelief.

“I’m about to throw up in this hallway. I don’t want to do it in front of you.”

He paused for a single breath. “Tell me which door is yours.”

Goddamnit. “Green rug.” I already had the key out and he took it from my hands, moving away as I stood hunched over in the center of the hallway, my hands on my knees, panting.

Maybe I could just lie down here until the worst of the nausea passed. I hardly ever saw my neighbors, and it wasn’t like the hallway was busy. I leaned down and put a hand on the stubby, dirty carpet. I’d just rest until the pounding was quiet enough I could move again.

Where the fuck did this pan come from? It was on the carpet in front of me.

“Can you carry that?” A booming male voice asked, and I cried out at the sound, but I followed the voice’s request. I stared down into bottom of the steel pan, and moaned in pain when arms wrapped around me.

“Fuck,” I whimpered, clutching the steel handles as I was lifted and tilted back so my gaze went up to the ceiling and the terrifying lights which were as blinding as a thousand suns. Every step he took as he carried me through the doorway of my apartment was awful. It sounded like a cannon going off when he shut my front door.

Was he trying to whisper? “Tell me what you need.”

I needed to die, but that wasn’t possible, so I panted out my only alternative. “Dark. Quiet. Lay down.”

It was a painful blur as he jostled me through the apartment and into my room. I was placed on the bed so I could curl around the pan, and I whimpered as he pulled off my shoes. There was a piercing crack when the lights turned off.

He gave me the dark and the bed, but not silence. What the fuck was he doing? Loud, unnecessary rustling filled my ears, followed by two booms.

“Quiet!” I pleaded.

The bed rocked and I clutched the pan tighter. Don’t throw up.
Don’t throw up.

I was too focused on my goal to stop him. His enormous body wrapped around mine, spooning me. His fingers slipped into my hair, gently caressing my scalp.

Soft, feather light strokes in a soothing rhythm, over and over, which gave me something else to focus on instead of the nausea. His touch disarmed.

It kept me distracted long enough to let blissful sleep take over.

The pain behind my eyes had subsided, and I blinked them open. The worst of the migraine had stormed through and I was shaky and weak in the aftermath, but able to function again.

The room was pitch black and quiet as a tomb.

Except it wasn’t. Oh, no. There was a steady sound of someone breathing and an arm around my waist. He was still here? I tensed and whispered as quietly as I could. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah.” He matched my whisper. “What do you need?”

Oh my God. I shifted gingerly under his arm, turning on the bed so I was facing him, even though it was too dark to see. “How long have I been out?”

“A couple hours, I guess. I don’t see a clock.”

Oh my God!
I reached a hand out, searching for his face, and my fingertips gritted over the whiskers on his jaw. “Silas.”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve been laying here for hours? In the dark, and the
quiet
?”

Beneath my fingers, the muscles of his jaw moved as he swallowed. “You said it was what you needed. I wasn’t about to leave you.”

My breath squeezed painfully in my lungs. I had no idea what to say.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

How was I feeling? Like everything was upside-down. “I’m . . . better, but seriously, you didn’t have to stay. You didn’t sign up for this.”

“It’s no big deal.” He pressed me gently into him. “You’re here. It’s not like I was alone.”

His statement was weighted, revealing the truth. It wasn’t so much the absence of sound that got to him, it was the absence of people. I grasped his chin and pulled his mouth to mine.

The kiss at first was hesitant. He was probably concerned about overdoing it, but I couldn’t contain the emotions swirling in me. The need to connect with him was more intense than the pain from the migraine. My hand drifted to the nape of his neck and clutched at his hair, driving the kiss to a new level.

We had heat by the truckload, but this was something else. Passion. So different, and so much better. I had both hands cupping his head while his palm slid up my spine, coming to rest in the center of my back. His wet tongue slipped into my mouth, leaving me breathless.

Fuck, everything about this man made me breathless.

We lay in my bed, fully clothed, kissing for a long while, like we were both trying to learn the taste of each other. Our lips, our tongues, our necks. His gentle hands crept up into my hair, and then down to explore my shoulders and back, but never pressed lower.

It was kind of amazing.

“So,” I said, while he had his mouth buried in the crook of my neck and drew goosebumps, “this dinner didn’t go as planned.”

“Yeah, I can’t believe how fast I got you in bed.”

He made me smile. “Right. Demanding you to take me home before the food arrived? You totally set a record.”

“What can I say? I’m that fucking good.”

I tightened my hand on his shoulder and let my voice go serious. “You are.” He could have been a dick about the situation, and instead he’d been flawless. Without him, I was sure I’d still be lying on the filthy carpet in the hallway, curled up in the fetal position. “Thank you.”

He lifted his head and planted a kiss on my lips. “You’re welcome.” He sat back from me, probably propped up on an elbow, and had his arm draped across my chest. “That was kind of intense. Does it happen a lot?”

“Yes,” I said, my voice full of shame. “Well, no. I mean, that one was different. Most of the time I can at least function.” I set my hand on his forearm. He’d probably assume it was just a random gesture, but it wasn’t. I liked his arm around me and didn’t want him to take it away. “My doctor wants to try a different medicine, but they’re injections, and you know I’m a pussy about needles.”

“Come on,” he scoffed lightly. “You did fine.” He nestled down beside me so my shoulder was in the center of his chest. “I have to think one needle stick would be worth not going through all that.”

“Yeah, logically, you’d think so,” I said dryly. Too bad logic played no part in it.

“Okay, then. You get one of those doses ready, and bring it with you next time we have dinner.” He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear as if he wanted me to hear his low words better. “I’ll be
happy
to stick it in you.”

I laughed at his innuendo while my stomach churned with nervous energy.
Next time we have dinner.
I both did and didn’t want it. Lying to him about who I was made me feel like scum.

“We didn’t actually eat dinner,” I said. “Are you hungry? I could order you something.”

“You’re not hungry?”

“No, not anymore. Although I could use a drink.”

The bed shifted and his arm slid away. “Can I turn on a light?”

“Uh . . .” It was likely to make me feel like shards of glass were in my eyes.

Soft, blue light glowed and I squinted against it. Silas had his phone out and used the lit screen to guide his way through my bedroom.

The door shut behind him and the light flipped on, pouring from the crack at the bottom. I heard him plod to the kitchen and open the refrigerator door, and I used the time to wiggle out of my jeans and slide under the covers. He was gone a while. Was he conducting his own investigative search as I had thought about doing to his place?

It was dark again and the door creaked open.

Silas was bathed in the blue glow, carrying a can of beer and a bottle of water, which he held out to me. “I figured you want this, unless—?”

I propped myself up on a pillow and took the offered water. “No, I don’t drink beer.”

“It was in your fridge.”

“It’s Matt’s.” I paused. “I mean, it
was
Matt’s.”

“Oh.” Silas eyed the can like it was contaminated, then shrugged. “Mine now.”

His subtext had my heart racing. He climbed back into the bed and set the beer on the nightstand that had been Matt’s up until a month ago. I took a long sip from the water and tried not to think about how exciting it was to have Silas in my bed.

Perhaps it was because we’d missed out on having dinner conversation, but the words between us came naturally. He set his glowing phone between us on the bed as we talked, each of us taking turns to swipe a finger to wake the screen back up. He told me what it had been like growing up with a father and several uncles who were detectives with the CPD, and then his sister became a Marshal. Silas’s decision to forgo the badge hadn’t been an easy one.

“My family supports me, even though they don’t really fucking get it, but that’s all I can ask for,” he said.

He talked about his start with tattooing and the long hours. There’d been weeks where he’d had to work twelve hour days back to back to save up for the gallery lease, and he admitted he’d been scared shitless the first six months he’d been open. But the buyers came, and he did tattoos on the side when he hit dry spells, and now he was able to live comfortably.

“You shouldn’t have been worried,” I said. “Your work is beautiful.”

Even in the low light, I could see his expression soften. “Thanks.”

“Not just your tattoos and the stuff at your gallery, either. I looked at the pictures you took of us.”

His expression turned, shifting to one that was seductive. “Yeah? How’d they come out?”