Page 51 of Every Silent Lie

Hesitating.

He’s married.

It grates on me. Do I want to sleep with Hugh? No. Should I? No.

Will I?

“Don’t look at me like that,” I say, catching Julio’s mild look of disapproval. “I don’t touch married men.” He’s observed me many times in recent years. He knows this.

His eyebrows lift. “So you’re just leading him on?”

“He deserves it.” I give him a sardonic smile. “You can watch him wilt when he realises I’m not going to follow him up to room six-one-eight. You can make me another martini now. Maybe a single guy will show up soon.”

Julio shakes his head and pulls the vodka off the glass shelf. “I have a feeling the disappointment will be real.”

“Really?” I ask. “Why? Because I dazzled him with my charm? Swooned all over him? Made hi?—”

“Indirectly promised him a night of sex with no strings attached.”

I pause for thought and then nod mildly in agreement. “Every sex-deprived, married man’s dream.”

“But what about the single men?”

“They’re usually emotionally unavailable.” Except Dec. I flinch and check the progress of my next drink.

“You’re a stunning woman, Camryn,” Julio says, surprising me. “I’m just being honest here, okay?”

“Okay,” I say slowly, quite sure I’m not going to want to hear this.

“You’re obviously smart, confident, successful, and very intriguing.”

And utterly fucking broken. None of them see that part. Except Dec. Julio starts shaking my drink, and it can’t come soon enough. The moment the sound of ice crashing against the metal stops, he pushes a clean glass toward me and pours, eyes on his task. “Men love those qualities, but many don’t want to marry them.”

“They just want to fuck them,” I murmur, just as he looks past me.

“There’s sometimes the odd exception who wants to go deeper.” His eyes come back to me. “I’ll leave you to your third martini.” And he goes to the sink and washes the shaker as I stare at my drink for a few moments, my spine tingling.

I eventually bring myself to look over my shoulder.

Dec’s at the entrance, slap bang in the middle of the open double doors, eyes like spears aimed my way. “I had a feeling.” His voice is deep and grainy, as if his vocal cords are straining, a certain edge of darkness dripping from his tone I’m sure I should be wary of.

And I am.

He looks somewhere between anger and disappointment, like a parent who’s dealing with an errant child. My hackles rise. He had a feeling? Endless retorts run amok in my mind, not one of them willing to come forward. The collar of his navy coat is turned up, flakes of snow dusting his shoulders and hair.

Indignance and sheer stubbornness demands me to turn away, give him the cold shoulder, but my eyes have other ideas, continuing with their appreciative jaunt down his tall frame to his feet. His brown leather dress shoes are dark around the toes, stained by the snow. Why did you leave me hanging all weekend? Why did you leave me alone?

No. “You had a feeling,” I murmur.

His astute gaze scans the empty bar as he approaches, his gait smooth, his posture tall and intimidating. “What’s going on, Camryn?” He flicks a small nod to Julio, his lips straight.

“I’m having a drink.”

Julio disappears to the other end of the bar, pulling open the glass washer. Steam billows out, misting the space between the bar and the ceiling, making the hazy lighting even hazier. My eyes drop to the half-drunk Negroni next to my martini, and I just know that’s what Dec’s gaze is set on too. A cautious peek out the corner of my eyes confirms it. If the tumbler shattered under the weight of his concentrated glare, I wouldn’t be surprised. He’s livid. And yet still unbelievably handsome. His lips should be thinner given how stretched they are, but they remain plump. Kissable. “Whose is it?” he asks, his question brittle. “Answer me, Camryn.”

“You didn’t give me a chance to.”

“I’m giving you the chance now.” His towering body turns into me, coming closer, forcing my neck back to look up at him. A familiar wave of panic starts to rise from the pit of my stomach, my thoughts scrambling in a hundred directions. Fight? Flee?