Three Dirty Secrets (Blindfold Club #4) (22 page)

My pulse hummed along at a frantic tempo. “So fucking hot.”

“Of course they are. You’re in them.”

“I touched myself while looking at them and got off. Twice.”

His mouth dropped open, and then slowly widened into that perfect smile. “Jesus, Regan, your mouth. It makes me insane.” He leaned in. “It makes me so fucking hard.”

I loved it. I couldn’t tell Silas I was FBI, but I felt like I could be the real me in all other aspects. Being Regan was the person no one else got to see.

“Your memory card’s in my purse.”

“You want to look at them now?”

He was halfway off the bed before I could answer. “No, I can’t look at the screen.” And I certainly couldn’t do what I knew I’d want to after looking at the pictures. I was barely able to sit upright without my ears ringing. “I’m saying you should remember to get the card before you go.” He’d been such a great guy, I didn’t see him pulling a dick move and posting them. “I trust you.”

He appeared pleased. “You can.” His gaze drifted down to the bed. “I have a question, though.”

“Shoot.”

“What happened to your pants?”

I smiled and fed him the same line he’d given me before. “They fell off. Would you like to file a complaint?”

“Fuck, no.” The light on the phone went out and we both swiped at the same time, our fingers brushing together. He took my hand in his and pressed my fingers to his lips. His shockingly sweet gesture caused an equally shocking response in me. My heart fluttered.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked. “I’d stay, but it’s getting late and they’ll tow my bike if I don’t get it soon.”

“Yeah,” I said, although my voice was off. It had nothing to do with my subsiding migraine. Once again, it was Silas’s effect on me. “I’ll be fine. I’m sorry tonight didn’t go how we wanted it to.”

He grinned, and the blue light made it look indecent. “True. There was a lot less mouth-raping than I thought there’d be. But I’m sure you’ll be back at it in no time. I believe in you.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Okay.”

He sealed his lips over mine, drowning out all thought but him.

Chapter

SIXTEEN

I’d failed all of my objectives when it came to Silas. I hadn’t figured out how close he was with his sister, and I hadn’t outlined any ground rules about keeping things between us casual.

Last Sunday had been anything but casual. Every day since, my confusing feelings for him had grown.

Now it was Thursday and I sat in the exam room of my doctor’s office, determined to overcome the childish fear. If Silas could lie with me in complete silence for hours, I could get over the needle phobia. He’d texted earlier today and asked if we could meet for lunch, but I’d told him I was following his advice and getting the prescription for injections.

He reminded me again of his offer to stick it in me, and I’d grinned to myself.

The pain relief drugs worked fairly well, but keeping them down during the onslaught of a migraine was difficult. The injections would solve the issue. I watched my doctor’s stylus pen stroke on the tablet as she finished filling out the script, and just that action made my palms sweaty.

I went to the gym and worked out, and ran the rest of my errands, avoiding picking the prescription up, but finally forced myself to go to the pharmacy where the bored-looking pharmacist walked me through the entire process of loading the injector pen, how to change syringe cartridges, and of course, how to knowingly puncture my skin with a needle.

“Make sure you hold it against you for at least five seconds,” the guy said. “Otherwise you won’t get all the medicine.” He demonstrated by pushing the blue plunger, and the sharp needle gleamed.

“Oh, Christ,” I muttered. Maybe seeing the needle was enough of a warning to my body.
You see that? You give me another fucking migraine and I’m sticking that in my arm.

I read the patient instructions for use two more times on the train ride back to my place, because my memory of the demonstration went hazy once the needle had come out. As I walked into my apartment building, my phone rang. Payton?

“Hey, what’s up?” Usually I called her since I was the one who needed her to fill in for me.

“What’s the story between you and the tattoo artist?”

She was Joseph’s best friend, but I didn’t think he was much of a gossip. Apparently I’d been wrong. Had she found out Joseph covered Silas’s evening at the club?

“We hooked up a few times, but we’re keeping it casual.” The lie tasted wrong in my mouth. My feelings toward him were much too strong.

“Bringing him to my wedding as your date is casual?”

I dropped my bags on the table and froze. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Your RSVP card. It says Silas is your ‘plus one.’ Unless you’re dating a different Silas and the tattoo artist is your side piece?” I could hear her smile through the phone.

“I didn’t RSVP.” I hurried to the fridge where I’d stuck the invitation. It had arrived the Monday after Matt moved out, and in the chaos I hadn’t done anything with it.

“I’m looking at the card,” Payton said. “Ms. Regan Wilson and guest, Silas Getty.”

The invitation was one of those fancy folder types. I dug through the tiny folder, but the reply card wasn’t there, and neither was the envelope to send it back in. What the fuck?

“Holy shit.” On Sunday night he’d been gone a long time before he’d come back to bed with the beer and the water. Plenty of time to take the card. “He must have filled it out and sent it back.”

She laughed. “So much for casual. I like this guy’s style.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t.”

“So, I should put you down as solo?”

Tara’s words echoed back to me, that she’d be solo at the wedding. Oh my God, Tara. I hadn’t seen her since our night together. I didn’t have any regret about what we’d done, but what if she wanted more? If I brought Silas that would send a clear message. “I . . . let me figure out what the fuck is going on and call you back.”

Silas didn’t answer my call. I hung up without leaving a message and sent him a text to call me ASAP. I put my groceries away and my gym clothes in the laundry basket, and the longer I waited for him to return my call, the more annoyed I became.

Twenty minutes passed. Thirty. I scrolled through my texts and looked up the gallery’s number from when Payton had given it to me. It was quarter to six and should still be open.

“SG Gallery.” The male voice wasn’t Silas.

“Can I speak with Silas?”

“He’s not available, is there something I can help you with?”

I paced my living room. “Andre? This is Regan, I was at last week’s showing. Any chance you can tell me how to get a hold of him? He’s not answering his phone.”

“He’s in the studio working. I don’t interrupt unless it’s urgent.”

The statement hung as Andre waited for me to clarify whether or not this was an emergency. It wasn’t, but I was pissed. “It’s not urgent,” I said. “But if you see him, tell him I’m on my way.”

The weather had turned cold, and I pinched the front of my coat tighter as I hustled up the steps of the underground CTA stop. When I hit the street, I was battered with the nighttime wind and tucked my head down. I’d yo-yoed back and forth about what he’d done the whole way here. Part of me wanted to say no to the wedding date just on principle, but the other part desired it. Any excuse to be with him.

The sign on the gallery said it was closed, but I could see Andre sitting behind the desk, and he rose when he spotted me through the front glass. He unlocked the door and held it open, smiling warmly as I came in.

But he exited, pulling his own coat tight. “Can you lock this behind me? I’ve gotta run.”

“Did you stay because of me?” Now I felt bad. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s fine. Have a good night.” He pulled the door closed and stood in the wind, waiting for me to turn the lock. He was gone as soon as it was done.

The gallery was dark except for the security lights in the back. The paintings and photographs in the empty space looked forbidding, yet sexier, like this. I felt a blush heat my face when looking at the red painting, the one I’d told Silas reminded me of two people fucking. How in the world had his painting of implied sex gotten me to blush?

Music thumped from the back, and I went down the narrow hall to his studio.

It was much too loud in here. The music was a driving rap song, all bass and hook. It made sense, I supposed. The repetitive song was a pattern. Silas had his back to me, hunched over the table, his hands blackened with charcoal dust. His jeans looked well-worn and the black t-shirt complimented the tattoo curling down his left arm.

“Silas.”

He couldn’t hear me. I slipped off my coat and hung it on the back of his desk chair, pausing when I saw the picture on the printer. It was an extreme close-up of pale skin. The freckles across my chest, as I recognized the pattern instantly. No one else would know it was me. He’d been right. Up close like this, the image was pretty.

Stop thinking like that. You’re pissed, remember?

I went to the side of the table and glared up at him, my hands on my hips. I said it harsh and loud. “Silas.”

The music blared from the set of speakers on the table where his phone rested, but I grabbed his attention. He did a double take when he saw me. The first glance was annoyance and the second was pleasant surprise.

“Shit,” he said over the music. “I thought you were Andre. What are you doing here?”

I leaned over and clicked the volume down. “You weren’t answering your phone and we need to talk.”

Like a perfectly trained man, he went on alert at this phrase. His eyes drifted up and to the left as he searched his brain for what he’d done to bring those words into play.

“You stole a wedding invitation and sent it back.”

A guilty look washed over him, but it was fleeting, and replaced with amusement. “Yeah, I did.”

“What the fuck?”

He set down the thick black pencil and rubbed his forehead with the back of his wrist. His fingertips were filthy. “I’m available, and I thought it’d be fun.”

Was he messing with me? “You can’t just decide that without talking to me.”

The stone-colored eyes blinked and went stern. “I know, but I warned you. When I see something I want, I go for it. Are you planning to go to the wedding?”

I furrowed my brow. “That’s not the point.”

“Which means, yes. I figured if you weren’t, it wasn’t a big deal. People flake on weddings all the time.”

“Yeah, rude people.”

“So don’t be rude and take me as your date. Joseph and Noemi will be there. I recognized the name on the invitation.”

I put my hands flat on the table as I seethed. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“I’m not. It’s your choice. Do you want me to come with you as your date?”

I was supposed to blurt out
no
, but the word died on the tip of my tongue. I’d sworn to only lie to him when absolutely necessary. My gaze dropped down to my fingers spread on his table as I fought my confusion.

My voice didn’t have as much fire as I wanted it to. “I don’t like what you did.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that, but I’m less sorry if it works.”

“You could have just asked like a normal person.”

He pretended to look offended. “And invite myself along? That’s rude.” He turned serious. “I felt like if I did that, you’d say no, or worse, you’d bolt. You were pretty hard to nail down just on grabbing dinner.”

He was right. If he’d asked me point blank, I would have freaked and demanded we keep things casual. It would be easier to change the RSVP from two down to one, rather than the other way around, though.

The illogical side of me was rationalizing to get what I wanted.

“I knew it was stupid,” he said. “And I’m a guy. We don’t like going to these kinds of things, but fuck it. I’ll go if it means I get to spend time with you. I saw the opportunity and I took it.”

“You forced it on me.”