Page 80 of Man of Lies

My throat felt scratchy, but not in the miserable way it had for weeks. Not that sharp, splintering ache I’d gotten used to carrying around like a second heart. This was something else. Softer. I knew if I let them out, the tears would be relief, like a first breath after coming up for air.

I looked down at our hands. His thumb brushed over my knuckles, sure and steady, like he wasn’t sure he could stop—and didn’t want to.

“You sure?” I asked, finally meeting his eyes. “I don’t know what comes next. You and Dom might’ve shut down part of the problem, but Dom is still neck-deep in trouble, and so is Ben.”

Vanderhoff was still out there, circling my family, waiting for an opportunity to destroy us. The watch sat locked in my desk drawer, and I had no plan for how to tackle it.

But for once, the lack of a plan didn’t shake me.

Because when I lifted my eyes to his, Silas was already watching me. Calm. Unshakable.Mine.

“I’ve got your back,” he said simply. “No matter what comes our way.”

I believed him.

How he looked at me reminded me of the first moment we met. He could always read what I thought and felt at a glance. In his unerring way, he read my heart and gave me what I needed most. No strings and no expectations. Just offering it up like it was the easiest thing in the world to love me that well.

Slowly, almost reverently, he removed my glasses and hooked the earpiece on the collar of his shirt. Then he cupped my face in his weathered hands. His thumbs traced my jaw line, callusesscraping against stubble, and his quiet tenderness sent ripples of desire through my body.

His lips brushed mine with infinite care, soft and gentle, asking before taking. Like we had all the time in the world, and still, he wasn’t about to waste a second of it. This was about more than passion. It was about love. With each sip of my lips, he was showing me how much I mattered.

I sank into it without thinking, my fingers curling in the front of his shirt, and let out the breath I’d been holding for three weeks straight.

He kissed me again, harder this time, angling my jaw just enough to deepen the kiss. I let him take it further, tasting me like he’d missed this—missedme—with every mile that had separated us. And I gave it all back to him, thrusting my tongue between his lips just to hear him moan.

By the third kiss, we were both breathing heavily. His strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me flush against him. I slid my hands under his shirt, feeling the warm, solid muscle of his back. He smiled against my lips, that crooked, cocky grin that never failed to make my knees weak.

“Careful, counselor,” he murmured, voice rough with heat and laughter. “You keep kissing me like that, and we won’t even make it to the bed.”

“We’ve got time,” I breathed against his mouth.

We had a lifetime.