Page 41 of Every Silent Lie
“It will be,” he mouths, tightening his hold. Fuck. My composure is slipping. Can’t have that. I tighten my hand too.
“How’s the handshake?” Dec asks, pouting his lips over the rim of his glass as he finishes the last drop.
“Pretty pathetic for a businessman.”
“Ha-ha-ha!” Thomas blurts, holding his belly. “I told you she’s a firecracker.”
“You’ve been talking about me?”
“Were your ears burning?” Dec raises his brows. No, Dec. Not my ears. Just the rest of my body.
I’m acutely aware that to these two men, I am two vastly different women. Dec’s seen moments of vulnerability, a woman who’s conflicted and at odds with her past and future. He’s seen the cracks. Thomas has only ever encountered me at work, where I show no fear or hesitancy, where I command and dictate. Where I am cold and hard-nosed.
Interest is a storm in Dec’s eyes. How long will he hold back the questions written all over his magnificent face? “Care to catch me up?” I ask, tearing my gaze off Dec and my hand from his before Thomas notices our . . . what? Connection? The electricity subtly sizzling between us? The fact I’m wobbling slightly on my heels? All of these reactions to Dec Ellis have taken me by surprise to say the least.
Thomas snorts, flapping a hand flippantly. “Just friendly chitchat.”
“Friendly chitchat,” Dec confirms quietly, almost tiredly.
“Oh look, dinner’s up.” Thomas points toward the ballroom as he heads that way, the crowds starting to bottleneck there. I hadn’t even noticed everyone had moved from around us, giving me air. Because with Dec around, breathing is hard, whether I’m stifled or not.
“Wanna get out of here?” he asks, moving into my side.
I look up at him, this fine form of a man, and not for the first time I ask myself . . . why me? My heart’s beating so hard, there’s no mistaking that I’m alive. I sometimes wonder. If I’m really alive or not, I wonder that. Only the grief confirms I am.
Cruel.
“Yes,” I breathe. “I do.”
“Let’s go.” Dropping his glass on a passing waiter’s tray, Dec places his hand on the small of my back and guides me toward the exit. “Do you have a coat?”
“No.”
“Really? It’s five degrees out there, Camryn.” He stops at the cloakroom and hands over a ticket, and a moment later he’s covering my shoulders with a black wool overcoat. “I have a feeling you’re going to suggest walking home,” he says on an unimpressed mutter.
“I like walking with you.”
“I like walking with you too.” He holds his hand out to me. “I don’t want you to shake it this time.”
I place my hand in his and let him lead me out of The Dorchester, then we start the long walk home that’s going to feel much shorter than it is.
The silence is comfortable, as it is more often than not, but I hear the endless questions swirling in that mind of his. Which will he lead with, if any?
We’re at Euston Road before Dec finally breaks the silence. “Your boss’s description of you is contradictory to who I know.”
“Maybe you don’t know me.”
“We both know it’s your boss who doesn’t know you.”
I nod mildly, as if in agreement. “My boss knows the career woman I used to be. You know the woman I am now.” I look up at him, relying on him to ensure I don’t bump into anything or anyone, my steps now blind. And that’s something else I appreciate about Dec. Feeling safe. “Tell me what we were drinking to,” I order gently, feeling my body pushing closer into his side.
He smiles mildly as he looks ahead. “Our first kiss.”
“We haven’t had a first kiss.”
At that very second, he stops us and turns into me, taking my cheeks in his palms gently and scanning my face. Hope is a vise on my sensibility, squeezing it until it finally pops and I’m mentally begging him to kiss me. His jacket falls from my shoulders to the pavement when I reach up to his wrists, clinging to them. “It’s time to fix that,” he murmurs, his mouth slowly falling onto mine. His tongue sweeps my bottom lip, gently encouraging me to open up to him, and my world is suddenly lighter, the black cloud that shadows me constantly lifting a fraction to allow the sun to shine on me. My tongue meets his, warm, lax, and slippery, and follows his pace without much thought at all. To not think feels like a blessing I don’t deserve. My hands slip from his wrists to his strong shoulders, my body pressing closer to him. It’s a slow, peaceful duel, and my entire existence is consumed in this moment.
It will take me forever to get over this kiss, which is fine because I don’t want to ever get over it. Here, now, will be imprinted on my heart forevermore, no matter what happens between us. It’s something I’m thinking about more and more, and to think about it is to worry about it. What is happening between us?
