“It’s an excuse to get you to touch me. I’d sit for tattoos until there was no more space left on my body if that’s the only way to get to be with you.”

His eyes narrowed with distrust. “Would you? If I said ‘let’s go’ right now, you’d do it?”

“Yes.” My voice was solid. This wasn’t a bluff.

He stood up so fast, it sent his chair rolling backward. I expected him to go for his bike helmet but he didn’t. His expression was intense. “Get upstairs.”

Chapter

TWENTY-SEVEN

It was a command, but I followed it without hesitation or complaint. I hurried up the steps into his tiny apartment, and stood in the center of his living room, waiting. He came up the stairs, his phone in his hand, scrolling. He selected a playlist and set it on the speaker system, but didn’t hit play.

He leaned his hands on the counter, his head down. “You remember what Caroline said to me right as she left?”

“How I hadn’t stolen any of your shit?”

“That she likes you. She doesn’t like anyone, much less a Fed. She’s been beating herself up about what happened, and giving me grief about forgiving you.”

In another life, Caroline and I could be friends. Maybe even in this one.

He pushed off the counter and his gaze worked up my body. “The way I see it, there are two things standing in our way. So I’ve got conditions if this is going to work.”

“Name them.”

“I want to know everything about the part of your life you haven’t told me, including what really happened with the scar.”

It’d be scary, but I could do it for him. “Okay. And the second condition?”

“We’ll get to it. Start talking, Andrea.” He sat on his couch and tipped his head to the spot beside him.

I shook my head. “It’s Regan.”

Confusion splashed on his face. “You said—”

“I know, but . . .” God, it was going to sound so stupid, but I’d been playing this role for fourteen months. “Regan is who I’ve become. I like this version of myself better.” I sat down beside him and my voice softened. “Regan’s still my name, and I love the way you say it.”

His expression was cryptic. “All right. Talk, Regan.”

I told him about applying to the FBI and how excited I’d been when I’d gotten accepted into the Academy. Quantico had been grueling, but I’d survived, and then selected to go to their undercover school.

Like when he’d tattooed me, Silas listened without interrupting. He was engaged, though. When I told him about my assignment in Reno, he’d put his hand on top of mine to calm me. Or perhaps it was to cease my movements. I’d been unaware how badly I’d been fidgeting while talking.

There wasn’t much left to say about the morning in the garage, as I’d told him most of it already, but this time I added the details of how Paul had been crying, and how I’d felt like a failure for not finding the gun he’d hidden. And I admitted how I should have listened to my handler when she told me not to try to take Paul down by myself. I’d repeated the same mistake here in Chicago. I should have listened to Shane.

When I finally finished talking, I rubbed my hands on my thighs and glanced around his apartment. “So, that’s me. Special Agent Adams.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

I gave a tight laugh. It was so weird to have everything out in the open. Weird, but wonderful, too. “Did I pass? Will you tell me the second condition?”

He stood and held out one of his artistic hands. I let him pull me to my feet and lead me toward his bed.

“We both like to be in charge,” he said. “Sometimes it’s really fucking hot, and other times the bed turns into a battlefield. I don’t want to go to war with you.”

I stared at the mattress. “I don’t understand. You want me to submit?”

“No. I . . .” His forehead creased. “I don’t want it to be about control for either of us. The night you got your migraine, when we were in your bed? I want that. You know what I mean?”

Tags: Nikki Sloane Blindfold Club Erotic
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