Page 20 of Yours on the Canvas

“Removing Reid’s footprint. When he flew me here, he landed his helicopter in the hospital car park. Authorities are sniffing around him, so I’m wiping anything that leads back to his door. Deletion’s a beautiful thing, dove.” He winks at me and then turns back to his keyboard.

He says it so simply, as if hacking into government databases and deleting information is just another day for Silas. Watching him, I wonder what else he does on that laptop.

As I lay here, I watch him. The man is gorgeous; his long black hair is tied in a bun. His tattoos peek out from under his sleeves and collar. His hands move across the keyboard so quickly they almost blur, and the tattooed ink of skeletal bones on his fingers makes them look even longer as they reach for each key.

So damn beautiful… he’s beautiful.

My eyes catch on the beads woven into one of his wristbands, the one that sits wrapped firmly around his wrist. I asked him about them once. Aside from the spare hair tie he always keeps ready, he told me each leather band represents a different country he fought in. There are about fifteen of them, all leather, all different colors.

But there is one that matters more than the rest. The one with the tiny red and green beads threaded through the braid. He told me a little girl in a village they were staying in had made it for him. She had seen the others on his wrist and wanted him to have one of hers.

It is his most precious band of all.

Silas must feel me staring, because he looks up and smiles warmly when he catches me watching. He sets his laptop at the foot of the bed, stands, and takes the two steps over to me. He reaches for my face, but right before his hand makes contact, he pauses, his eyes asking for permission.

I give him a small nod, and his warm hand rests against my face. I turn into it, pressing a soft kiss to his palm.

“Thank you for…” My voice catches on the last word, still rough, my throat painful, but at least he can understand me now. “…coming.” I look at him. “I’m sorry.”

He looks at me for a beat, then says quietly, “I know, dove. I wouldn’t be anywhere else. I’m glad you gave them my name.” His thumb brushes my cheek, gentle. “We’ll talk when you’re ready.”

I nod and close my eyes. We will. Just not right now.

* * *

A week later, we’re pulling into Silas’s driveway, and I’m exhausted, desperate for bed.

Reid had flown over and picked us up. According to Silas, he’d sulked and may have thrown a shit fit when CJ told him he wasn’t allowed to land in the hospital car park again.

So, we had caught a cab to the heliport, and Reid had complained the whole way home, calling CJ, Captain No-Fun and the Vibe Assassin.

Silas’s truck was still parked at Reid’s base, so it worked out well.

Silas opens my door and reaches over me, undoing my seatbelt, giving me a small, steady smile as he straightens up. He hasn’t let me do a single thing since the hospital, even insisting on standing outside the toilet door, waiting for me.

I had argued with him, but he’d stood there, taking up most of the small hospital bathroom, staring down at me. “Dove, I’m not arguing. Go, take your shower.”

The worst thing was, I had needed him. He had stripped down and joined me in the shower, washing my hair and body with a tenderness that had completely undone me—right up until my moans had been loudly overheard.

We had both gotten a blistering lecture from the head nurse about letting my body heal before getting ahead of ourselves, sternly reminded that it was entirely unacceptable behavior and that we should know our place.

Silas had sat there biting the inside of his cheek, trying desperately not to laugh, while I lay frozen on the bed, utterly mortified.

As he stands outside my car door holding his hand out, I chuckle. Yeah, this is going to be interesting. Silas is going to be an overbearing bear if I don’t watch it.

“Silas, I can get out of the car by myself, you know,” I say, my voice tight with an edge of frustration.

“I know that, but I’m not letting you, so deal with it,” Silas replies, his hand suspended between us.

I huff, taking it, and stand slowly. As much as I hate to admit it, I appreciate the help. There may have been a few times when Silas had to help me dress, and it was a big deal. A huge deal—especially when his mouth had grazed my cock as he whispered Good boy before pulling my track pants up.

Dick.

So, while I wait for him to grab our bags out of the car, I watch him. His ass looks incredible in his jeans, the material pulling tight when he bends over. His shirt buttons are nearly popping from the stretch of his pecs, but it’s the loose tendrils of dark hair falling around his face that make my fingers itch. I want to touch him, to tuck those stray pieces behind his ear.

I shove my hands into the pockets of my pants, keeping myself from reaching for him as he walks back over to me, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Welcome home, baby.” His voice is quiet and gentle as he holds our bags.