Page 110 of Right Man, Right Time
One word, but it feels like a ton of bricks, knocking me down to my knees.
He wets his lips, and when his eyes connect with mine, I can feel my body tremble with a combination of need and anticipation. But even though his presence electrifies me, I can see something different in his eyes. Not anger, not pain, but vulnerability. It’s right there, in his worn, tired irises. He might not say it, talk about it, or acknowledge it, but I can see it, and that makes me feel like I’m something special to this consuming man.
When he steps away from me and heads toward my bed, I walk on shaky legs to the bathroom where I finish getting ready for bed.
I take my time, attempting to calm my racing heart, and tell myself that I’m just sexually charged right now. That’s why my mind is clouded with thoughts of Silas, not for any other reason.
After I finish washing my makeup off, I turn off the light and notice that the only light on in the main living area is my nightstand light. Silas sits on the edge of the bed in nothing but his boxer briefs, and I can’t help but take in his muscular shoulders, rock-hard pecs, and the contours that wrap around his body from many hours in the gym. He’s carved and sculpted his body to perfection.
When he notices my presence, he stands, towering over me in his height, and pulls the blankets back. Without a word, I slip into bed and move against the wall but face him. He slips in as well, turns off the light, and faces me. We both rest our heads on the pillows, and I reach out and press my fingers to his chest.
“You good?” I ask him.
“Okay,” he says and then molds his hand over mine. “I’m sorry, Ollie.”
“Silas, you don’t—”
“Please let me apologize,” he says softly.
“Okay.”
He places his hand on my cheek, and he says, “I feel like I’m constantly apologizing to you because I keep fucking up, but that’s what I am . . . I’m a fuck-up.”
“You’re not. You’re just hurting.”
“That’s not an excuse.” His thumb strokes my cheek. “Just because I’m hurting doesn’t mean I need to hurt you.”
I lift my hand from his chest and cup the hand that’s on my cheek as I scoot closer to him. “I don’t know what happened between you and Sarah, and that’s your story to tell someday or keep in. It’s up to you, but what I do know is that she hurt you, that she took your trust, and she ran with it. And that makes me sad because I see you walk around, not allowing people to get close to you. I can even see it with your guys.”
“It’s how I prefer it. Can’t get hurt if you’re not close to anyone.”
“But you’re close to me right now,” I say, scooting in another inch.
“This is different.”
“Is it, though?” I ask.
“It is because even though you’re close, I don’t think I can fully let you in.”
I want to scream why? But I know the answer. I know he’s struggling with trusting people, and given his profession and celebrity, I don’t blame him. He probably has people asking him for something every day.
So I can pressure him, or I can let him realize that I am someone he can trust and maybe over time, he will let me in.
“That’s okay,” I say. “I’m just happy I’m close enough.” I smile at him, and he strokes my cheek. “But I need you to know something, Silas. I have no intention of hurting you . . . ever. That’s why I went to your place to talk about the hockey article because I wanted to figure out a way that wasn’t going to hurt you.”
“I see that now,” he says softly. “I’m sorry I thought otherwise.”
“I know why you did. And yes, was I mad about it? Of course. But do I understand? I do. Just know . . . I won’t hurt you. It might take you a while to find trust in me, but when you’re ready, it’s there.”
“Thank you,” he says quietly. “And you know I’m sorry, right? That I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, even though I made it seem like I would.”
“You’re a protector, Silas. Not a hurter. If anything, I feel safe when I’m around you. I trust you and your intentions, even if skewed at times by the hurt that rests tightly on your chest.”
With a heavy sigh, he rolls away to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling. Why is he pulling away?
I move in closer and rest my hand on his bare chest as I prop myself up on my elbow so I can look down at him. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No,” he says quietly.
