And if his car wasn’t enough, when we pull up to an iron gate and are allowed entry by a man in a suit, not a uniform but a suit, I realize his choice of transportation was just the beginning of the lifestyle he leads.
“Food is on the table, sir,” the gate guard says.
“Food?”
“We left the restaurant before we could eat so I went ahead and asked the chef to prepare the same dishes we’d ordered.”
“The chef?”
“Javier. Once you try his burritos you’ll never eat Chipotle again.”
“Chipotle is amazing.” I leave out the part that it’s an extreme treat for me, because of the price.
“Chipotle was amazing. You’ll see.”
“I guess so.”
“I know so.”
As we pull up to the horseshoe drive all the events of the day start to hit me and I realize that although Silas is beyond bossy, he’s doing it for my own good. Or at least what he thinks is my own good.
As much as I want to fight him I have to be honest that he’s older, more experienced, and an expert and renowned figure in the art world.
I should stop trying to mentally arm wrestle with him and allow him to take care of me, a bit. The idea of removing the responsibility of making decisions and struggling to survive is way more appealing than trying to prove I can make my own decisions.
I can, and I will, but maybe I should lean into his bossiness a bit more and see where it takes me. If nothing else he surely has connections that can help me track down my father, which is the reason I came here in the first place and something I need to get on. Time is of the essence, and it’s time to finally admit that I appreciate everything he’s doing.
“Silas,” I begin as he puts the car in park and a valet, a freaking valet at his house, comes running out. I blink a few times and shake my head at this level of opulence. Silas, on the other hand, keeps his eyes focused on me and doesn’t say anything about me addressing him by his name for the first time. It’s as if he knows what could be described as a tender moment is just around the corner and like me, he’s going to let it blossom. “Thank you for tonight. I regressed, and well you—“
And just like that he’s back to his usual self, not allowing me to finish. “You didn’t regress, you progressed.”
And as I’m starting to see his normal ways actually do more good than harm. I need to stop listening to his tone, and start listening to his words.
“Not regress, but progress. I like it.”
“I do too, because it means you’re moving forward, learning more about who you really are inside,” he says in the most tender tone he’s taken yet. His hand lifts from the stick shift and he places it just above my heart, not quite touching my clothes but making me wish he was. “And at the same time I’m learning more about how I really am inside as well.”
“You seem like you have it all figured out.”
“I thought I did too, until this.”
“How so?”
“You’ll see soon enough, little one.”
“Why not show me now?”
“Because I make the rules, remember?” He pauses, before continuing. “Your mouth’s going to get you in trouble real soon.”
“How soon?”
“Come here,” his voice like leather tipped in steel orders.
I lean over to his side of the car.
“Closer,” he says.
I feel my heart jackknife in my chest, wondering what he’s got planned. He hasn’t moved a muscle.
“Closer,” he says, “so I can finally do something about that sassy mouth.”
“What are you going to—“
And before I can say another word his lips come crashing down on mine, shutting my mouth with such a possessive force that it has my body melting into his.
7 Silas
I carry her into the house, her legs wrapped around my waist like a belt as I beeline straight to the dinner table where I sit her down on the white linen and take a forkful of ceviche spiced with ají and bring it to her lips.
“Eat,” I insist, and she doesn’t resist for one second.
“Oh my, God. This is so good.”
I stab another forkful and bring it to her lips as quickly as the first bite disappears.
But when it’s time for the third I taste what I want to taste, her lips for a second time, my tongue sliding into her mouth as she whimpers with need.
I fork a big portion and bring it to her lips and she provocatively takes it from the silverware.
Wasting no time I carry her toward her room, ready to prep her for bed.
“I want you so bad,” she confesses.
“I know, because I want it too, but the time’s not right. It needs to be special.”
“In a mansion overlooking the ocean isn’t special?”
“Not in that way.”
“What way then.”
“You’ll see.”
“Do this. Do that. You’ll see. I know everything. When do I get to make decisions for a change?”
“You don’t. Now watch your mouth little girl. It’s time to get your ready for bed.”
We arrive at the guest bedroom and I toss her on the bed, moving swiftly to the attached bathroom to see that the housekeeper did indeed draw a bath with oils and candles.
