Page 44 of Silas

I stare around me, and all I can do is shrug. “I don’t know,” I admit.

He hesitates. “Okay, then. How about this—focus on this rack right here.” He gestures at a circular rack containing clearance items—slacks and skirts, mainly. “Pick one thing that catches your eye.”

I scan the rack. I’m drawn, for reasons I couldn’t begin to explain even to myself, to a denim skirt with a white, frayed hem. It’s short, and would be tight. Sinful and immodest, Papa would call it, even though I’ve seen other women on the compound wearing garments much more revealing than this.

I hesitate and then pull it from the rack. “I like this.”

I risk a look at Silas, instinctually expecting a denial, an insult, a backhand; neither Papa nor Jerry ever hesitated to hit me in public. Instead, I get a small smile from him, and a nod.

“Jean skirts are hot,” he says. “Is it your size?”

I swallow hard. “I…I don’t know.”

“Well, do you think it will fit?”

I hold it up to my waist. “I think so.”

“Then you try it on.” He swings a hand at the department again. “That’s all you do. Pick stuff you like that you think will fit, try it on, and buy it.”

I look around. “But…I don’t have any money.”

He snorts. “No shit. You don’t even have fuckin’ shoes, babe. That’s why we’re here. I got you.”

I swallow hard. “But Silas…you…I…”

He takes the skirt from me and holds onto it. His palm grazes my cheek, thumb gently ghosting over my temple. “I get paid alotof money to do what I do, and I don’t spend any of it. And my parents were fuckin’ loaded, so my brothers and I just inherited a fortune, literally. Don’t sweat it.”

“But…why?”

He just smiles at me. “Because I want to. Because I like you.”

I frown up at him, and I can’t help nuzzling my face into his hand, just a little. “You like me?”

He snorts—it’s a laugh, and I think he’s laughing at me, but not unkindly. “Yes, Naomi. I like you.” I watch his tongue slide over his lips, and feel a shiver of emotion slither up my spine: my skin tightens, my gut clenches, and something seems to distort and heat down between my thighs. “I like you a lot.”

“Why?” I ask, my voice a soft breath, barely audible over the din of the store.

“Because you’re tough and you’re brave.” He gathers my long braid in his fist, dragging his hand down its length from my nape to my sternum; it somehow comes across as affectionate rather than controlling, and I find myself liking it rather than being afraid of him. “Because you’re so goddamn beautiful.”

I swallow hard. “I…I am?”

“Yeah, honey. You are. I bet no one’s ever told you, and that’s a damn shame because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” His fingertip touches the tender, bruised skin under my eyes. “Just gotta get these fuckin’ marks to heal.”

“They will,” I whisper. I feel my hand lifting, drifting…my fingers hesitate, hovering a millimeter from the thick red stubble on his jaw. “Silas…could I…may I touch you?”

He blinks. “Don’t have to ask, honey.”

I allow my fingers to make contact—electricity jolts through me at the unexpected softness of his beard. My touch slides up from his jaw to his temple. I follow the shell of his ear; his jaw grinds audibly, his brow furrows, and he inhales a sharp breath through his nose.

I jerk my hand away. “I’m sorry.”

He grabs my wrist and places my hand on his jaw again. “Don’t…I liked it.”

“Oh. You just—it seemed like it hurt you, or…or something.”

“It’s just that no one’s ever touched me like that before.”

“How?”