“I think the worst of you.”
“Likewise,” he replied, but something in his tone made it sound like a remark of endearment.
I rolled my eyes at him and stood. “I need to change; leave me.”
He rose as well, placing his hands on my hips from behind. “I could be of assistance.” He bunched the fabric as he slid itupward.
I gripped his hands on my waist, his chest pressing against my back as he refused to leave.
A terrible pain bloomed suddenly in my abdomen, nearly making me keel over. He must have noticed the change in my posture because he wrapped his arms around me.
“What is it?” he whispered against the back of my neck.
“Nothing.” I swallowed, waiting for the pinch to subside. I struggled against him, but then a trickle of blood ran down my leg.
His eyes narrowed at me, and I heard the clicking.
I swallowed thickly. “Silas,” I warned, “don’t.”
He tightened his grip around my waist. “Were you going to hide from me all week if I hadn’t found out just now?”
“Hiding doesn’t seem to work,” I said through a tense jaw.
“Don’t you want me to help?” He spoke against the nape of my neck, his fingers scraping up the back of my neck before forming a fist in my hair.
I bit my lip, focusing on the pain pricking my scalp.
“You do, don’t you?” He licked his lips, flashing that split tongue.
“What if I told you I did?”
He raised his brows in surprise.
“On one condition.”
“Which is?”
I wrestled his hands off me, peeling myself from his grip and spinning on my heel to face him. I stepped back, and I held my hand palm outward to signal him tostay.
His brow twitched, confused at what I was doing.
I retreated, one step at a time, toward the light of the conservatory.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The blood from between my legs left small droplets on the tile, following me until my back rested against the cold window.
Silas took a step.
“No!” I shouted.
He flinched, an air of annoyance in his glare.
“Well, aren’t you the one who enjoys savoring things? I am sure you can handle a bit of edging,” I teased. I reached down, lifting my nightgown to expose an ankle, then just above the knee, a slow line of red trailing down my inner thigh.
“Please.” He swallowed. “It’s unwise to keep me hungry for too long.” His voice was low in warning.
“I don’t think you want it bad enough.” I tilted my head. “You’re not even on your knees.”
