Silas (Dirty Aces MC #4) - Lane Hart Page 0,30
should be a crime. I’m the man responsible for dragging her away from her life, and she’s so convinced that I’m helping her and keeping her safe that she’s willing to let me do anything I want to her body.
It’s a heady feeling having that kind of power over someone even if it hasn’t been earned. Maybe that’s why I can’t seem to make myself leave yet.
Eventually, Cora will figure out she’s better off without me hanging around, using her body, and she’ll send me on my way.
Until then, I plan to make the most of this arrangement.
I’ll leave before she figures out that I’m the man from her worst nightmares, because that is something she never needs to know.
Chapter Fifteen
Cora
* * *
I’ve made plenty of meals in my life, but I’ve never had any of them served to me in bed.
That’s what Sam does when I’m finally able to wake up, embarrassed to find out that half the afternoon has gone by.
“Are you going to sit up or eat this lying down?” a shirtless Sam grumbles from beside the bed.
“I’ll sit up,” I answer with a smile as I stretch my arms over my head. That’s when it suddenly occurs to me that I’m naked under the sheets that I quickly cling to. “When did I get naked?”
“I took your dress off of you,” Sam informs me when he hands me a warm plate of reheated stir fry. “From now on, unless you’re cooking, I want you naked, so I don’t destroy any more of your clothes.”
I laugh because I assume that he’s kidding; but when he sits down in the oversized armchair across from me, he doesn’t so much as smile. Not that I think I’ve ever seen him smile, so I really can’t tell if he was joking or not. I do notice he’s wearing a pair of khakis that must be new since he didn’t bring anything with him to the island. I take that as a sign he’s going to stick around at least a little bit longer. I won’t ask him again since that seemed to piss him off earlier.
Neither of us talk while I eat. He just watches me as if I’m some sort of complicated puzzle he can’t figure out.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” I ask to end the awkward silence.
“Already did a few hours ago.”
“Oh,” I mutter, taking another bite of a roll.
I’m not sure what else to say after what the two of us did in the kitchen, so I’m glad when Sam says, “I set up a bank account for you while you were asleep. The account numbers are written down in the kitchen, and the debit card will be in here in a few days.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks,” I reply sadly. His tone makes me think he is leaving and wanted me to have my own money when he’s no longer here to help buy things I need.
“What? You don’t want the cash?” he asks gruffly.
“Of course I do. It’s just, I didn’t know the feds gave stipends for people in WITPRO,” I reply rather than tell him yet again that I don’t want him to leave. I think I’ve made my preference on him staying clear. Either he’ll give in or he won’t. Nothing I can do to change his mind.
When I’m finished eating, he takes my plate to the kitchen and then returns to his chair, reclining in it with his legs spread wide in front of him, staring at me like he thinks me in bed naked is more interesting than anything on television. Is he waiting for me to invite him to bed? I doubt that since he doesn’t seem like the type of man that would need an invitation. Does he want me to talk to him?
“H-how long have you been an agent?” I ask.
“A few years,” he responds stiffly.
I try to dig deep in the recesses of my brain to remember what I’ve read or heard about FBI agents. “Do you have a law degree?”
That question gets a smile-less chuckle before he says, “No.”
“So, you just had law enforcement experience before you became an agent?”
“Something like that.” He gives me yet another vague response.
“Should I not ask you questions about your job? Is this a situation where you could tell me but then you would have to kill me?”
“You could say that.”
“Do they teach classes on evasiveness for when someone asks you a personal question?” I joke.
“Why do you need to know shit