Page 27 of Closer Than You Think
“I won't lie,” he says finally, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room. “There's something between us. An energy I can't explain. But your dreams are your own, Hallie. I have no part in them.”
His denial should reassure me, yet it wraps around my heart like a coil, squeezing tighter. He leans closer, and the air between us crackles with unspoken truths.
“Then why does it feel like you're not telling me everything?” The question hangs between us, a challenge laid bare.
“Because we're standing on the edge of something neither of us understands.” His admission sends a shiver down my spine. “You’re mine now, Hallie. That’s all that matters.”
“I don’t know anything about you. All I know is I feel this . . . pull. This physical connection is intense, but that can’t be all there is.”
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
“There’s more, angel. There’s everything.”
I don’t know how to respond, so I don’t.
“But you’re right. You don’t know me. So we’ll change that.”
“That’s a start. But it’s so wild. In my dream, you—the man—called me angel too.”
He doesn’t respond, merely gives me a look of doubt.
“Look, I know how it sounds,” I start, my voice trembling with the fear of judgment. “Like I'm losing my grip on reality. It's just . . . when I woke up from that dream and then everything with you, it felt like it wasn’t a dream.”
Silas's eyes soften, the green in them flickering like embers in the dying light. He leans forward, closing the distance between us and placing a soft kiss on my lips. “Hallie,” he says, his tone carrying a firm reassurance I didn't expect, “You're not crazy.”
My shoulders sag with relief, even as a skeptic's whisper curls through my mind. Can I really let myself lean on him? Thesame man who, just last night, unleashed a passion in me so raw it bordered on savagery?
His presence is a gravitational pull, undeniable, terrifying.
I let myself kiss him again, let myself get lost in him. I feel a thrill anytime he touches me and it’s growing, like a sick addiction.
But there's a wariness too, a caution that tugs at the edges of my consciousness. Who is Silas Thatcher truly? A protector or a predator? Or both?
“Talk to me, Hallie,” Silas prompts, his voice a low command that sends an involuntary shiver coursing down my spine.
“Every part of me wants to trust you,” I admit, the truth of the words scraping against my throat. “But this connection . . . it's intense, Silas. Almost too intense. Like I’m bound to you and it’s out of my control.”
“You think I don't feel it too?” he says. “I don’t ever get like this over a woman. If you only knew . . . ”
Knew what? I wonder. But I’m too scared to ask.
“It scares the hell out of me, baby. But we're in this together now. You’re mine and I’m not letting you go.”
And there it is—the crux of my turmoil. Yes, I am scared. Scared of what lies ahead, scared of the depths of my own desires. But above all, scared of how right it feels to be here with Silas, despite the chaos churning within me. Despite the fact that I don’t even know if I can trust him.
“Okay,” I breathe out, a shaky exhale. “Together.”
Thirteen
Silas
Istride into the dimly lit headquarters, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken words and a tension that coils in my gut. Alan's steely gaze meets mine, his posture rigid like granite. Cain leans against the wall, arms folded, eyes sharp and assessing. Jet's fingers dance restlessly on the surface of the table strewn with gadgets and maps. Blake is a shadow at the edge of the room, his silence as loud as any spoken doubt.
“What the hell is going on?”
“Silas,” Alan starts, cutting through the quiet with his gravelly voice, “you've been keeping us in the dark about Hallie St. James.”
I look at Cain, knowing he’s the one who must’ve said something.
