Three Dirty Secrets (Blindfold Club 4)

I shivered. “Yes.” It had been more intimate than anything with Matt. More intimate than anything else.

Silas’s voice was wrapped in velvet. “It was for me, too.”

My mouth went totally dry. All the moisture in my body flowed downward and pooled between my legs. This man could turn me on like it was his fucking job and he was amazing at it. I needed to be careful or—

No.

Oh, fuck no!

Pain blossomed at the bottom of my skull and crawled up my scalp. My hands shot out and latched onto the edge of the table, gripping furiously.

“Regan?” He could tell instantly something was wrong.

I sucked in a breath through my clenched teeth. I had twenty, maybe thirty minutes, before I’d be completely incapacitated by the migraine. There was no way I could fake my way through the rest of the dinner. The cab ride back to my place would be twenty minutes or longer, depending on traffic. I scrambled into my purse, popped open the cap of my prescription, and swallowed two pills, chugging a mouthful of water.

“Jesus, talk to me,” he demanded. “Are you okay?”

The backs of my eyes had already begun to hurt and I could feel them as they shifted in my sockets to stare at him. “I’m so sorry,” I gasped. “I have to go.”

His gaze went to the kitchen door, then back to me. “What? They haven’t brought our food yet.”

Someone in the dining room dropped their fork and it clattered loudly against the plate, making me wince. “I have a migraine coming on. I need to go home.”

He looked like he didn’t know what to do, not that I’d blame him. The timing couldn’t have been worse, but I had to hurry if I was going to make it home before descending into agony. I slid out of the booth and dug my wallet out of my purse. My shaky hands clawed at the bills.

Silas was abruptly beside me. “Wait a minute. I’ve got it. Let me get our server.”

I turned my eyes up to him, wordlessly communicating that I couldn’t wait. He leaned over the table and grabbed both our helmets, thrusting the spare one at me.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m right behind you.”

I took it just so I could get moving, but how in the world was I going to get on his motorcycle? My unsteady feet carried me to the front of the restaurant and out onto the sidewalk, where it was noisy and the streetlights had a horrible halo effect. There wasn’t a cab in sight. Fuck.

I leaned on the side of a covered bus stop, plastering my back against an advertisement for a cell phone carrier that had a bright orange background. It made my eyes want to bleed.

Up the street, something yellow turned the corner and crawled closer. I raised my hand, which made my stomach roll, but the cab pulled over and drew to a stop. I reached for the door handle when Silas came out of the restaurant.

“You don’t need a cab. I’ll drive you home.”

I shook my head. Bad idea. I grew dizzy. “I can’t do the noise. The engine’s too loud.”

I sighed with relief when he didn’t fight me on it. He tugged open the door for me and I ducked into the back seat, blurting my address out to the driver. Only Silas was there, pushing his way beside me in the backseat, his helmet on his lap.

“Your bike,” I said quietly.

“I’ll come back for it later. Let’s get you home.”

The cab lurched away and the motion forced my eyes shut. God, this was awful. My fucking migraine had ruined the evening. Since I was squeezing my eyelids closed, I didn’t realize he’d put his arm around me until the heavy weight was there, urging me to lean into him.

This was always the moment I drew away. I retreated back inside myself, not wanting to be a burden, or have anyone witness my weakness. I preferred to suffer alone, but there was nowhere to go in the back seat of the cab. My head lolled into his shoulder, and I fit myself against him.

He smelled good, and thankfully it wasn’t overpowering. My hand rested on his soft sweater with my palm centered over his heart. His reaction to everything had been unexpected. Why wasn’t he pissed? He’d just paid for two dinners that hadn’t been eaten, and now he was leaving his bike in the parking garage and would have to go back to get it.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. Pretty soon I wouldn’t be able to talk anymore. It’d make my head pound worse. The drum was already beating pretty hard in there.

“Don’t worry about it.” His lips brushed at my hairline above my forehead.

We didn’t talk the rest of the ride, which was mercifully short and smooth.