Page 11 of Natasha
"Maybe," Natasha replied, crossing her arms and mirroring his stance.
"Maybe isn't a proper answer," Silas replied, his eyes on her mouth. "Yes or no. There is no between when I ask a direct question."
Natasha felt her mouth go dry. Her cheeks flamed. She wanted to get closer to him, so she didn't move when he closed the space between them, crowding her against the car.
"Do you understand?" he asked.
She wanted to say yes, but something didn't let her, so instead, she tilted her chin up in defiance. "Maybe," she said again, the challenge in her voice unmistakable.
Silas huffed out a slight laugh, his eyes moving up the curve of her jaw to finally meet her green eyes. When their gazes locked, Natasha felt some of her bravado slip, but she forced herself to keep staring into the eyes that were suddenly all storm and thunder.
Silas held her gaze for a second longer before he grinned at her. "Got a brat on my hands, don't I?"
Natasha's mouth dropped open. "W-what?" she spluttered, her arms uncrossing, hands coming down to ball into fists.
"A. Brat," Silas repeated himself, giving each word careful enunciation. He had her pressed against the car, the warm feel of the still warm hood on the backs of her thighs through her thin sweatpants. Natasha had to fight the urge to close her eyes and lean into him.
Steady heart, she thought to herself, though her breath was now coming quicker. Never one to back down from a challenge, she forced a smile on her lips. "A brat? Thought I was a little girl?"
"Mmm. Little girls are scared of the dark," Silas countered with a raised eyebrow. "And you don't seem much afraid of anything."
That's not true, Natasha wanted to tell him. She wanted to reach forward for the hug she knew he would give her. This big man, whom she barely knew, a man who had been a stranger before but was rapidly becoming the sun in her universe. How was it that she had passed him by three times a week when he dropped his niece off at her dance class? How had it taken something so ugly to have Silas this close to her, making her...feel?
Natasha blinked hard, the sudden weight of tears threatening to spill from her eyes, and she turned her face away. The truth was that she was afraid of plenty. Fear had driven her from the stage two years ago, had made her abandon her place as a prima ballerina, and even now, she was barely holding her fear at bay, except, this time, it was of Silas. Two years ago, in a moment of weakness, Natasha had given in to the grip of fear and lost it. Would she do the same with Silas? Taking a hasty breath, Natasha dared raise her eyes to the man in front of her. He regarded her with a concerned look on his face, those handsome features pulled into a frown, his hands half-raised at his sides like he wanted to reach for her but wasn't sure how she'd react. Licking her lips, Natasha wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that she was scared of plenty, and that, most of all, he was now among those things that made her panic.
"Natasha?" Silas murmured, his eyes searching hers in the dim street light overhead. The roar of the crowd reached a crescendo, his eyes darted to the side, and all at once, Natasha snapped back to reality at the thought of why they were in this parking lot in Queens.
"We should go," she said, eyes already focused on the warehouse in front of them. A group of people passed by, close to her side, and Silas slipped a tentative arm around her. "Is this okay?" he asked.
Natasha nodded up at him. "It's more than okay." She relished the feel of his hard body against hers, and she leaned into him as he pulled her to him. They started walking toward the warehouse and Silas let out a muffled sigh.
"I'm already late," he told her with a grimace as they walked.
"Tsk, tsk. A Sir is always on time," Natasha chided him, her tone light, though she was mentally calculating how long she would be able to keep him. She leaned into his side, taking in his profile, the smile curving his lips at her comment, and she wondered if she was mistaken?
Was it really that Silas was keeping her?
