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“Yeah. It’s been a while.”
“Really?” He looked like a guy who could tap some ass anytime he wanted. Maybe in a bar, not a Starbucks, but women who went for a certain type would eat him up. God knew she wanted to. “How long?”
“Five and a half years.”
“Jesus, why? Were you locked up?”
Silas regarded her, his black eyes intense on her face. “Would that change your mind about me?”
It was a terrifying question, and her family would be horrified that she was actually thinking about her answer—that it wasn’t an immediate yes and where are my clothes? Over the past week, they’d spent more time together than people who dated for weeks. She’d seen him caring for injured children with endless patience and comforting grieving women in his broken Spanish.
“No,” she said at last. “But I’d want to know what you did.”
His face stilled. “I wasn’t incarcerated in the sense that you mean. But I’ve been . . . away.”
“Like on sabbatical, living in the wilderness?”
“Not exactly.” In a curt gesture, he sat the condom box on the edge of the sink. “Look, Juneau, I’ve hurt people. Killed with these hands.” He stared at them with such loathing, as if they didn’t belong to him, as if they did those things against his will. “And I understand if you want to walk away from this. I won’t stop you. But I won’t lie either. Not even for someone I want as much as you. I’ve promised I won’t hurt you . . . and you either believe that, or you don’t.”
“Shit,” she said. “Were you a soldier?”
“No more questions. Do you want to fuck or not?”
When he put it like that . . .well, yeah. Maybe he was dangerous. And she was definitely crazy, because she liked it. She wanted all his strength stretched out beneath her, wanted to drive him wild. A bolt of pure lust lanced through her. Juneau took two steps and leaped at him. He caught her, both arms wrapping around her.
Silas buried his face in the curve of her neck. Christ, he felt good. Nobody had ever held her this way, her thighs around his hips. But he wasn’t content with that for long; his cock throbbed against the curve of her ass. She snagged the condoms as they left the bathroom. Gonna need these.
“You thought I’d back out on you.”
He tossed her onto the bed. “I was afraid you might.”
“You know why I didn’t?”
“No clue.”
One possible answer occurred to her as he untied the sheet from around his waist. A woman just didn’t turn down a man like that, whatever the reason. He was built on . . . grandiose scales. As if he could read her mind, he glanced down and lifted his shoulders in an amused shrug that was part diffidence, part pride. Naked, he was every bit the gladiator: equal measures in sinew, ink, and scars.
“Because you hate yourself too much for somebody without a conscience. Your eyes are so fucking sad, and I want to take that look away, if only for a little while. I want to give you something good.”
A shuddering breath escaped him. “It’s been so long since anybody said anything like that to me.”
She beckoned to him. “Then let’s make up for lost time.”
Silas lay down beside her, and he dominated the bed. She couldn’t look without touching for long. Juneau ran her fingertips along his arm, tracing the lines of his tattoo.
“Does this have a meaning?”
“Each pattern represents a person.”
>
People you loved? Or killed? Juneau liked the element of danger and mystery that clung to him, and she had no doubt he would protect her, even if it came to violence. It already had, in fact. A primitive part of her approved.
He rolled on his side, drinking her in. She had no hang-ups about her body, and such intense scrutiny pushed all her buttons. Beneath his gaze, she arched and stretched as if in satiation. Silas drew in a sharp breath, and then he cupped her head in his head and leaned in for a kiss. Even in this, he was maddeningly gentle. His lips brushed hers repeatedly, lightly, seducing rather than conquering. She dug her nails into his shoulders and threw a thigh over his hip.
Instead of being drawn, he nibbled a path down her jaw to her throat. Tingles sparked through her, furling her nipples, and her core went liquid. God, he could nuzzle her neck all day. A whimper escaped her, and he shuddered, as if her pleasure sounds connected to his. She sank her hands into his hair, tugging not so gently.
“I need to finish,” she whispered. “The past few days have been . . . stressful.”
