Page 85 of Every Silent Lie
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“The power just went out too,” I add.
Dec stops at my door and points. “Open.”
I get the feeling I’d be dumb to refuse, so I dig my key out and slip it into the lock, pushing the door open. I look at Dec. He nods toward the doorway in silent order, so I walk in, a little apprehensive. I’m about to be grilled about my cheek. About my brush-off text message earlier. About why I’m at home far earlier than I should be.
I hear the door close and turn around, and Dec is on me immediately, taking my mouth greedily, walking me to the nearest wall and pushing me up against it.
The misery of my day fades.
I’m kissed into oblivion, his hand cupping my neck, his thumb gently stroking my injured cheek as he blitzes my mind and assaults my mouth with gentle authority. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, every nerve ending stirring. When Dec kisses me, there is nothing else.
He eventually breaks away, his eyes glossy and soft, as I pant shallowly, my mouth open, my lips swollen and wet. “Are we clear?”
“Yes,” I whisper, feeling through his hair on his nape.
“Why are you avoiding me?”
“I didn’t want you to see this.”
He half frowns, half scowls. “A door sprung back in your face?” he asks, wincing as he checks it.
I nod, shame and guilt getting me hard in my stomach. “I’m clumsy.”
He sighs, and I see he hasn’t got it in him to challenge me. “Have I got to start wrapping you in cotton wool when I’m not with you?”
Wouldn’t that be wonderful? To be protected from damage. From hurt. “I wouldn’t mind.” I loop my arms around his neck and nuzzle under his chin. “I’m sorry.”
He groans and lifts me, carrying me to my bedroom and laying me down, crowding me completely. He kisses me gently again. “You taste like brandy.”
“Mr. Percival was trying to get me drunk,” I say around our swirling tongues, my eyes widening when he firms against my thigh.
“Fuck it.” He rips his mouth off mine, wedges his palms into the mattress, and lifts his torso. “I need to take a rain check.”
“Why?”
“Ron’s waiting outside and he’s got somewhere he needs to be after he’s dropped us off.”
“Where are we going?”
“For dinner.” He stands and pulls me up to my feet.
“But Dec, my face is?—”
“Beautiful. Do you want to change?”
I sigh and look down my front, wondering if he’s seeing what I’m seeing. “I should think so.”
“I’ll wait”—he gestures over his shoulder, backing away—“out here.” He grimaces and adjusts himself as he turns, and I bite my lip to stop my smile. Which is crazy. Why would I stop it? So I let my happiness loose. Why would I ever deprive myself of something that seems to make everything in this godforsaken world easier to bear?
We pass an electrical engineer as we leave, which makes me feel a whole lot better about Mr. Percival and his ice box. Not that he seemed bothered. I’m still waiting for the feeling to come back in my fingers and toes.
Dec halts abruptly on the steps, and I stagger to a stop next to him, following his line of sight. I smile. Dec hums under his breath, the sound full of puzzlement. “Why is there a turkey in the snow?” he asks, pointing at the frozen bird plonked outside the doors, some wire netting laying over it, assumedly to protect it from Maureen and any other neighbourhood cats.
“Mr. Percival,” I say. “His freezer will have stopped working with the electricity cut.”
