Page 27 of When Hearts Surrender

Silas squeezes my hand and tugs me toward Hudson River Park. His stern face is unemotional, but I sense a deep sadness inside him. His jaw twitches before he glances back at me and smiles, the brief flash of pain in his eyes squeezing my heart.

I wish he’d tell me what was bothering him. I want to understand him, this mysterious man. I want to make him feel better.

I shiver from the night chill and Silas shrugs out of his leather jacket and drapes it over my shoulders before tugging me flush against him. His scent of amber and sandalwood wraps around me like a protective embrace. Walking beside him, I feel safe despite the empty streets, the strange sounds of critters roaming in the dark, the menacing shadows of lurkers standing next to alleyways.

Minutes later, he leads me to the railing at the far end of Pier 66 in Hudson River Park. Standing behind me, he curls his heated body against mine, and I no longer feel the light drizzle of the rain or the dampness of the air. Instead, my nerves are attuned to his quiet breathing puffing against my neck.

I fight every urge to lean back, to press my curves against his hardness as a sultry heat swirls between us.

“What are we doing here?” I whisper, staring into the glimmering dark waters of the Hudson, which are half-hidden in the thick fog shadowing the atmosphere.

“If we’re lucky, and I have a feeling with you…we will be.” A light murmur, the vibration I can feel down my spine and my breathing quickens. “We’ll see the sunrise.”

He presses against me, his hands wrapped around my waist, fingers grazing my dress, and every atom in my body comes alive with each gentle caress.

We talk about our greatest fears, with mine being departing this world without leaving an imprint behind and his being losing his loved ones. From the sorrow in his deep voice, I know he has experienced gut-wrenching loss before.

We share stories of our childhood—how I’d create imaginary friends to keep me company when my parents were jet-setting around the world, leaving me behind with an army of nannies. He says I must’ve felt lonely, and I deserve more. My chest clenches at his words. He recognizes the emptiness inside me.

He tells me about his mother, whom I’ve learned had passed away when he was young. She’d sit with him in the gardens, teaching him how to paint, taking him to museums to see great works of art.

She believed in him, much more than he believed in himself.

The minutes pass by, bleeding into hours, our conversation endless, and I’m afraid it’s the beginnings of an addiction I can’t quit. A few hours tonight with him isn’t enough. I want more—conversations, sensual touches, late night pastrami andrye.

He tells me he wants the simple life—family, kids, wife. But somehow the sadness in his voice tells me he doesn’t think he’ll get it.

It breaks my heart.

Why does he feel this way? And why do I want to give him his dream?

I shake myself—don’t get ahead of yourself, Belle. This man is still a stranger.

Eventually, the first rays of sunlight pierce the clouds, the ethereal light of dawn chasing away the mystic fog—the angels vanquishing the demons of the night.

Chuckling, as if sensing my awe, he slowly turns me around to face the city.

My breath catches as I watch the dark skies part above the tall buildings and give way to the golden aurora, each glimmer catching onto the droplets of the fog, cascading into a million minuscule, incandescent sunbeams bathing the buildings in brilliant swaths of pink.

“It’s beautiful.” I sigh out a deep exhale.

My heart flutters and my soul ignites. I want to capture this moment in my designs.

Silas’s arm tightens around my waist and I feel a pressure on my hair, like he has pressed a kiss there. Goosebumps form on my forearms and I turn around, watching his gray eyes flare in the golden light.

He isn’t smiling, his face austere as a vein pulses on his forehead. A few errant strands of dark hair have fallen over, covering half of his face in shadows. With shaking hands, I reach up and gently brush his silky strands to the side.Why do you look so sad, Silas?

I feel bereft for some reason, a desperate ache blooming in my chest for something I can’t name. It’s a deep yearning—a need as essential as air to my lungs.

My fingers release his hair, and he clutches my hand to the side of his face and leans into my trembling palm. He dips his forehead to rest on mine and rakes in a ragged inhale. A burgeoning emotion rises in my chest—one at the tip of my tongue, but I can’t seem to name.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“For what?”

Lifting my hand away from his face, he flips it over before pressing a soft kiss on the back. The spot tingles—it feels like a brand. His eyes flutter open and he stares at me.

Intense. Swirling pools I can drown myself in.

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