Three Dirty Secrets (Blindfold Club #4) (20 page)

The position was that of a submissive, but I was too spent to move. My eyes fell closed. I had to catch my breath, then I’d evaluate everything I’d just done and how I was going to come out the other side of it.

What the—?

Strong hands gripped my biceps and lifted, dragging me into his lap. I struggled half-heartedly against him, but he was too strong. Too much to resist. I sighed when he had me draped in his lap, one arm under my knees and the other behind my back, holding me.

His face was like a sculpture. Perfectly symmetrical and expertly crafted. I was defenseless against it, especially as stubble darkened his jawline, accentuating his cheekbones. I put a hand on his cheek to steady myself.

“Come home with me,” he whispered in my ear. “If you think I’m going to let you slip away a third time, you’re fucking wrong.”

“I can’t,” I said. “But you can buy me dinner. I hear that’s the polite thing to do.”

Guarded hopefulness splashed on his face. “Yeah? When?”

It’s one meal
, I told myself. I could lay out ground rules on how to keep things . . . casual. “I have to work tomorrow.” With any luck, Roland would come in. “Sunday?”

“Okay. You’ll meet me at my place at six.”

Seriously? I gave him a sharp look.

His eyes lit with amusement. “Oh, yeah.
Can
you meet me at my place at six?”

Inside me there was a tiny thrill, but I squashed it and faked indifference. “I suppose.”

He didn’t fall for it, and victory flashed in his eyes. It was seriously hot. So I squirmed free from his hold and got the hell out of there before I considered redrafting my ‘no fucking a client’ policy.

My hands felt nervous, craving action. I straightened my dress and smoothed back my hair as I strode to the pair of heels I’d abandoned. Behind me, I could hear him doing up his pants. Once I had my shoes back on, I felt more comfortable. I had returned to my role of Regan the sales assistant, and snatched both my jacket and Tara’s robe off the hook. I undid the straps on her wrists and handed her the robe.

As we dressed, I could sense Silas standing there, watching. I turned to face him. “Okay, then. I’ll see you Sunday at six.”

“With the memory card.”

“Yes.”

He had his hands on his hips. In another situation I would have deemed this stance as aggressive, perhaps even threatening, but I didn’t need to worry about him using force on me. I had the terrible feeling that whatever assault he’d make would be subtle. He’d come at me sideways, striking at me on an emotional level, and it’d be far more damaging.

Chapter

FIFTEEN

Silas’s hand cupped his tall water glass and his fingers drew patterns in the condensation that formed there. Did he even know he was doing it?

I’d had my meeting with Shane this morning, revealing the weekend had been another bust. I didn’t tell him a thing about what had happened, nor had I told him I was planning on having dinner with Silas this evening. My first time not being transparent with my handler. I’d lied by omission, which was something I was a little too comfortable with.

I was on a date
. It was a bad idea, but the internal thought wasn’t loud enough to hear over the roar of his motorcycle’s engine as we rode to the restaurant, my arms wrapped around his waist.

The place was nice and boasted New American cuisine, whatever that was. The long, narrow room was dimly lit and had high-backed booths against the right wall, each illuminated with a decorative hanging light fixture. We were tucked in the last booth, and as I slipped into the seat so I could face the door and watch people entering and exiting, I got the impression he knew why I had chosen this seat. Thankfully¸ he didn’t make a comment.

“You look nice,” he said.

“Aw, don’t do that.”

He hesitated. “Don’t do what?”

“Be a cliché. You’re not obligated to say it.”

Silas grimaced. “I know I’m not obligated. All I’m doing is stating a fact. I’ll say you look nice if I fucking want.” His expression softened. “I’m an artist, Regan. I love to look at beautiful things, so I know what I’m talking about.”

Christ. His words made me weak. How was I supposed to respond? He was the beautiful one, not me. I swallowed hard. “Okay, thanks. You look nice, too.”

I meant it. He had on dark-washed jeans and a lightweight brown sweater, and its slim fit showed off his perfect form. He’d pushed the sleeves back, and the pattern on his forearm peeked out. It made me long to see the rest of his tattoo beneath the sweater.

Later. There was no way I could look at those pictures he’d taken of us and not want to fuck him.

“I have two questions for you,” I said, after we’d ordered our dinners.

“Yeah? Let’s hear them.”

My heartrate ticked up a notch, but I kept my expression blank. “You said your sister’s a Marshal.”

He considered my statement, but his expression hinted he wondered where I was going with this. “She is.”

“Well, are you two not close? Because Joseph’s club . . .” Would he think my motive for asking was that I feared for my illegal job?

“What goes on there isn’t Caroline’s business,” he answered quickly. “She probably wouldn’t care unless a fugitive came in anyway.” He leaned on the table, cutting down on the distance between us, and his voice lowered an octave. “Don’t worry. After I found out, I promised Joseph his dirty secret was safe with me.”

“How did you find out?” I was dying to know. “Have you been there before?”

He chuckled. “No. I did a cover job on a tat for one of the girls who worked there. Rachel, I think? Joseph sent her my way, and she thought I already knew what she did.”

“That had to be a helluva conversation.”

His eyes gleamed. “Yeah, it was interesting.”

He hadn’t really answered my question on whether or not he was close to his sister, though. I filed it away to work on later.

“What’s the other question?” he asked.

“I want to know what’s wrong with you.”

It was as if I’d verbally slapped him. “Excuse me?”

I crossed my arms and leaned on the table as well, bringing our faces only inches from each other. “You’re a great looking guy. Talented. Successful. And single. What’s wrong with you?”

He looked pleased at the compliments. “Maybe there’s nothing wrong with me. Maybe it’s them.”

Interesting. “Meaning?”

His gaze drifted from mine and he seemed lost in thought as he assembled the words. “The last girl I was with, she wasn’t honest.” His tone was resigned. “She didn’t tell me how much she was drinking, or how bad her money problems were. I didn’t find out until she’d cleaned out my gallery’s expense account and got arrested for a DUI.”

Silas scrubbed a hand over his face.

“I don’t want you thinking I walked on her when the going got tough. I tried, but she couldn’t even be honest with herself about her problems, and, yeah. I was pissed she stole from me. If I hadn’t recovered most of the money, I don’t know what would have happened to my gallery.”

In my mind, he had every right to leave her. She’d put his dream in jeopardy. Silas’s hand came down and he settled it on my forearm. The touch of his palm warmed into my skin, flooding every inch of my body.

“That’s what I like about you,” he continued. “You say exactly what you mean. You’re direct. You’re
honest
.”

My heart lurched to a stop. His statement sliced into me, and the word
liar
blared in my head, loud and on repeat. I winched and drew my arm away from his warm hand.

He watched my reaction with measured interest. “You all right?”

I pressed my lips together and nodded slowly. “I’m fine, it’s nothing. I’ve been battling a headache all day.” The concerned look continued on his face, so I smiled as brightly as I could muster, and it appeared to satisfy him.

“What about you?” His hand went back to tracing on his glass. “I know we’re not supposed to talk about exes but I already broke the rule. You said you just got out of something serious?”

I took a breath to get my head on straight. “We were together for two years, and he moved in back in February.” It was obvious Silas wanted more details. “Last month I caught him fucking another woman on our couch. Or girl, I guess. She looked like she was still in med school.”

Tension corded in Silas’s neck and displeasure smeared on his face. “Seriously?”

“Yup.”

“No offense, but he sounds like a fucking idiot.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, they should have gone back to her place.”

“I meant the cheating. If you don’t want to be with someone, it’s easy. Just don’t be with them.”

I held the same belief, so I gave a polite but strained look. “Preaching to the choir. Anyway, to answer your question, I guess that’s what’s wrong with me. Matt would tell you I’m emotionally unavailable. No, wait.
Detached
. That’s the exact word he used.”

Silas shifted in his seat, and practically snarled it under his breath. “He sounds awesome.”

I cringed inside when the conversation lapsed. I shouldn’t have brought it up.

“He’s not wrong,” I said, surprising myself. “I don’t talk about what happened with this.” I set my fingers on the spot where Silas’s ink was layered in my skin. I needed to stop talking, but the words tumbled from my lips. “It takes a lot of energy to block it out, and sometimes it’s easier to just . . . not deal.”

The noise of the dining room dwindled until it seemed to be only us. Just me and the beautiful artist with gray eyes who stared back at me. There was recognition there, free of judgment.

“I’m sure.” His voice was soft, yet deep. “But you talked about it with me.”

My breathing picked up. “I was worried you’d stop if I didn’t. Plus, there was the needle and that whole experience was . . .” I failed to come up with a word that could do it justice.

“Intimate.”

I shivered. “Yes.” It had been more intimate than anything with Matt. More intimate than anything else.

Silas’s voice was wrapped in velvet. “It was for me, too.”

My mouth went totally dry. All the moisture in my body flowed downward and pooled between my legs. This man could turn me on like it was his fucking job and he was amazing at it. I needed to be careful or—

No.

Oh, fuck no!

Pain blossomed at the bottom of my skull and crawled up my scalp. My hands shot out and latched onto the edge of the table, gripping furiously.

“Regan?” He could tell instantly something was wrong.

I sucked in a breath through my clenched teeth. I had twenty, maybe thirty minutes, before I’d be completely incapacitated by the migraine. There was no way I could fake my way through the rest of the dinner. The cab ride back to my place would be twenty minutes or longer, depending on traffic. I scrambled into my purse, popped open the cap of my prescription, and swallowed two pills, chugging a mouthful of water.

“Jesus, talk to me,” he demanded. “Are you okay?”

The backs of my eyes had already begun to hurt and I could feel them as they shifted in my sockets to stare at him. “I’m so sorry,” I gasped. “I have to go.”

His gaze went to the kitchen door, then back to me. “What? They haven’t brought our food yet.”

Someone in the dining room dropped their fork and it clattered loudly against the plate, making me wince. “I have a migraine coming on. I need to go home.”

He looked like he didn’t know what to do, not that I’d blame him. The timing couldn’t have been worse, but I had to hurry if I was going to make it home before descending into agony. I slid out of the booth and dug my wallet out of my purse. My shaky hands clawed at the bills.

Silas was abruptly beside me. “Wait a minute. I’ve got it. Let me get our server.”

I turned my eyes up to him, wordlessly communicating that I couldn’t wait. He leaned over the table and grabbed both our helmets, thrusting the spare one at me.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m right behind you.”

I took it just so I could get moving, but how in the world was I going to get on his motorcycle? My unsteady feet carried me to the front of the restaurant and out onto the sidewalk, where it was noisy and the streetlights had a horrible halo effect. There wasn’t a cab in sight. Fuck.

I leaned on the side of a covered bus stop, plastering my back against an advertisement for a cell phone carrier that had a bright orange background. It made my eyes want to bleed.

Up the street, something yellow turned the corner and crawled closer. I raised my hand, which made my stomach roll, but the cab pulled over and drew to a stop. I reached for the door handle when Silas came out of the restaurant.

“You don’t need a cab. I’ll drive you home.”

I shook my head. Bad idea. I grew dizzy. “I can’t do the noise. The engine’s too loud.”

I sighed with relief when he didn’t fight me on it. He tugged open the door for me and I ducked into the back seat, blurting my address out to the driver. Only Silas was there, pushing his way beside me in the backseat, his helmet on his lap.