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He grunts, angling my head again.
“That bad, huh?”
Is it just me or did my voice come out a little too breathy? I clear my throat a little and curl my fingers over the edge of the counter, holding myself still.
“Got it, Dad!” Hunter sing-songs. It sounds like a herd of elephants are running down the stairs, not a single five-year-old.
Silas steps back and turns toward Hunter, taking his citrusy bergamot scent with him. I exhale a silent breath and shift to jump down.
“I'm not done with you,” Silas says, his hand landing on my thigh.
“Oh,” I breathe out. “Okay.”
“Hop up, bud. You can help me, yeah?” Silas doesn't turn toward me. And he doesn't take his hand from my thigh.
“Of course,” Hunter exclaims.
The next thing I know, Hunter is next to me on the counter, sitting crisscross and facing me. He's talking to me about the chef show he watched this morning, but I'm distracted by Silas.
Silas and his gentle touch as he opens an alcohol pad and wipes it around the cut on my forehead.
“You're good at this,” I hum.
He just grunts, and for some reason, his grumpy reaction makes me smile.
“All done,” Silas murmurs.
“Wait, Dad. You forgot to seal it with a kiss,” Hunter says.
Silas grunts his displeasure and I feel a smirk tugging up one side of my mouth even as I try to stop it.
“She doesn't need a kiss, bud.”
My brows fly toward my forehead and I speak before I think. “I don't?”
Because I feel like I very much do need a kiss from Silas St. James.
God, I wonder what he kisses like. Would he press his lips to mind in a gentle caress, or would he take my mouth with a ruthless hunger?
A sudden jolt of electricity courses through me as Silas's long fingers wrap around my right thigh. His touch brings me back to reality. I'm sure he meant it as a silent warning, but the man's been between my legs for the last ten minutes. It's hard to think straight.
“You always told me that a kiss seals the magic in,” Hunter says, narrowing his eyes at his dad. “Nan says we shouldn't lie.”
Silas's jaw twitches, and I imagine he's trying to figure out a way out of this pickle he's in. I could throw him a bone. Or . . .
I look at Hunter, giving him my best serious face, even nodding a few times. “Your grandma's right. We shouldn't tell lies.”
His fingertips dig into me as he tightens his grip, his thumb sliding lower against the delicate skin of my inner thigh. The sensation threatens to send my mind wandering again.
“I did say that, didn't I, bud? I guess I'd forgotten since it's been so long since you needed some magic,” Silas says, ruffling Hunter's hair with his free hand.
My heart does this stupid little flip at the affectionate gesture. It's such a juxtaposition to the possessive, intense way he's touching me.
Silas abandons my thigh and I exhale a quiet breath. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed. I honestly don't know what the fuck is happening right now. There are a lot of confusing feelings happening since I came to Rosewood, but nothing more than the complicated relationships I have with the men of the Rosewood Reapers.
I don't have time to dwell on it right now, because Silas slides both hands along my neck. He threads his fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck, tilting my head as he shuffles impossibly closer.
I look at him from underneath my lashes, my heart pounding in my chest loud enough I'm positive he can hear it. I can feel the heat radiating off of him, and suddenly I'm so close I can see the flecks of gold in his deep brown eyes.
