Page 83 of Vows of Silence

Small.

The air almost palpable.

My stomach tightened nervously as Silas pulled out the chair opposite mine and sat down across from me. Even seated, he seemed too large for the space around him. Too intense. The silver mask reflected softly in the morning light pouring through the windows, whilst his gaze remained fixed entirely on me.

Not the food.

Me.

I suddenly became hyperaware of everything—the way my hair fell over my shoulders, the thin material of my top, the smell of vanilla lingering from my bath products. The fact that I was sitting across from a man who had murdered people with his bare hands whilst I reached for a croissant like this was normal.

My cheeks warmed slightly at the thought.

Silas’s fingers began drumming softly against the table, and my eyes clocked the steady rhythm immediately.

I knew what that meant.

He was nervous.

The idea of Silas Falcone being nervous around me should have been ridiculous. And yet the longer I sat there beneath his stare, the more I noticed little things. The harsher sound of his breathing beneath the mask. The way his hands kept flexing against the edge of the table. The way he looked at me for slightly too long before abruptly shifting his gaze elsewhere.

Awareness crackled heavily between us.

And for the first time since meeting Silas, I had the terrifying suspicion that maybe I wasn’t the only one beginning to lose control of this situation.

“I love strawberries,” I said, trying to distract myself by reaching for one of them, and then my face immediately reddened. I could practicallyfeelthe smug smirk. I practicallyfelthim raise an eyebrow at me. I didn’t need to see it.

I know…

Because he did fucking know. He knew everything about me.

“Well… that was a pointless statement,” I added with a fake chuckle.

And then the room grew silent again.

I swallowed heavily, my throat feeling thick and heavy, as though all the tension from the room was being swallowed up by my rapid breathing, becoming lodged in my throat, slowly suffocating me.

Silas shifted, and my body was aware of every inch of him. From his long legs under the table, brushing close to mine. From the way his finger drummed on the cloth, the way his hair smelled, the fresh, almost youthful look of the mask with the sunlight reflecting off it.

Even without looking, I was aware of his movements. I knew when he reached for the teapot, pouring liquid into my cup. I knew when he brushed an imaginary crumb off his knee, his fingers almost brushing against my bare leg.

But most of all, I was aware of how my body responded—the back of my neck grew hot, my mouth dried up, my knees almost trembled.

And my stomach?

Well, that stupid thing wouldn’t stop flipping with nerves and excitement.

The worst of it though was the other areas I responded.

My inner thighs warming. The throbbing between my legs. I was both mortified and disgusted with myself. And the only way I knew how to cover this up was to talk.

“I really appreciate this, Silas,” I said, scooping up some sugar to put in my tea. “You really didn’t need to go to this much trouble, though. I would have been happy with just a bacon sandwich, haha.”

Now why in the fuck had I laughed like that?

I sounded like an absolute wanker.

And I wasstilltalking!