Page 7 of Silent Stalker

"They're beautiful." I take them, my fingers brushing his. That same electric spark from the café shoots through me. "Come in. I need to find a vase."

He steps inside, and I catch his scent—something masculine and spicy that makes my mouth water. My heels click against the hardwood as I lead him through my entryway, hyper-aware of his presence behind me.

I reach for a crystal vase on the top shelf in the kitchen. The dress rides up my thighs as I stretch, and I swear I can feel his eyes burning into my skin. My nipples tighten against the fabric of my dress.

Water splashes into the vase, the sound too loud in the charged silence between us. I arrange the flowers with trembling fingers, trying to steady my racing pulse.

"Perfect." His voice comes from right behind me, closer than I expected. I hadn't even heard him move.

I turn around, and my breath hitches. Silas stands mere inches from me, his body radiating heat. My back presses against the counter's edge as I tilt my head to meet his gaze. Those blue eyes darken as they lock with mine.

"I..." The words die in my throat. My heart pounds so hard I'm sure he can hear it. His cologne fills my senses—dark and masculine.

His hand comes up, fingers ghosting along my jaw. The touch sends sparks of electricity straight to my core. "You're trembling, Clara."

God, the way he says my name. Deep. Commanding. Like he owns it. Owns me.

My lips part, but no sound comes out. I'm trapped between his solid frame and the counter, and I've never felt more alive. More seen. His thumb traces my bottom lip and my knees go weak.

"Tell me what you're thinking." His voice drops lower, rougher.

Heat pools between my thighs. I grip the counter behind me, desperate for something solid to hold onto. "I... I can't think at all."

He steps closer if that's even possible. His thigh slides between my legs, and I bite back a moan. My dress has ridden up, and the friction against my sensitive flesh is maddening.

"Your pulse is racing." His fingers trail down my neck, settling over my thundering heartbeat. "Are you afraid of me, Clara?"

"No." The answer comes instantly, surprising even me because I'm not afraid. I'm electrified. Every nerve ending in my body is singing for his touch.

His other hand finds my hip, fingers digging in possessively. The pressure sends a jolt straight to my clit. My breasts brush against his chest with each rapid breath, and I can feel him hard and long against my stomach.

I stand there, my breath shallow, when Silas suddenly steps back. The loss of his warmth makes me shiver.

"We should head out, " his smooth voice says, breaking through my haze. "Our reservation's at eight."

I blink, trying to clear my head. My heart's still racing, and my legs feel shaky. "Right. Yes. Dinner."

I grab my clutch from the counter, aware of every movement. The black silk of my dress slides against my sensitive skin as I walk. Each step reminds me of the dampness between my thighs.

"After you." Silas holds the door open, ever the gentleman. Such a stark contrast to the intensity from moments ago.

The cool night air hits my flushed skin as we step outside. Snow falls in lazy flakes, catching in my hair. I fumble with my keys, nearly dropping them twice before managing to lock up.

Silas's hand finds the small of my back as he guides me to his car—a sleek black Audi. The simple touch sends another wave of heat through me. I press my thighs together, trying to regain some composure.

He opens the passenger door, and I slide in, grateful for the moment alone, while he walks to the driver's side. I take deep breaths, attempting to slow my racing pulse.

The leather seat is cool against my bare legs. I adjust my dress, painfully aware of how aroused I am. What is wrong with me? I've never reacted this strongly to anyone before.

Silas slides into the driver's seat, his cologne filling the enclosed space. I grip my clutch tighter, my knuckles turning white.

"Ready?" He turns to me with that devastating smile.

I nod, not trusting my voice. As we pull away from my house, I wonder what I've gotten myself into.

The city lights blur past as we drive through downtown Evergreen Falls. I shift in my seat, still tingling from our encounter in my kitchen. "So, what do you do for work?" I ask, desperate to break the charged silence.

"Finance." His fingers tap against the leather steering wheel. The platinum Rolex on his wrist catches the passing streetlights.

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