Page 79 of Whispers in the Night

Harper buried her face against his chest, letting herself take comfort in his strength. When had Silas become her anchor? Again, she circled the thought that he’d somehow become…essential. When did that happen?

She pulled back enough to look up at him. His pale-blue eyes were soft with understanding and something deeper. Something that made her heart race.

“I need—” Harper stopped, not sure how to articulate what she needed. “I need to not think about the case for a while. I need to feel something other than guilt and frustration and fear.”

“What do you need, Harper?”

She answered by pulling him down into a kiss.

It started gentle, tentative, like last night. But it quickly deepened as days of tension and fear and denied desire poured between them. Harper’s hands slid up to thread through Silas’s hair, pulling him closer. His arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her slightly so she fit more perfectly against him.

They broke apart only long enough to catch their breath.

“Are you sure?” Silas asked, his voice rough. “Because if we do this, I need you to be sure. Not just running from the case. Not just seeking distraction.”

Harper met his eyes directly. “I’m sure. I want this. I want you. Not as distraction. As something real.”

“Harper—”

She kissed him again, harder this time, leaving no room for doubt. “Bedroom. Now.”

This time, no phone interrupted them.

They made it to the bedroom in a tangle of kisses and fumbling hands. Silas kicked the door shut behind them, pressed Harper against it, his mouth on hers, his hands sliding under her shirt.

Harper tugged at his shirt, needing to feel skin. Silas pulled back just long enough to yank it over his head, then returnedto her with renewed intensity. His hands found the hem of her shirt, paused.

“Still sure?”

“Yes,” she said breathlessly. Harper pulled her own shirt off and tossed it aside. “Stop asking and just—”

Silas kissed her into silence, his hands exploring newly exposed skin. Harper gasped at the sensation, at the heat building between them. She fumbled with his belt, frustrated by the buckle until Silas’s hands covered hers, helping.

They stumbled toward the bed, shedding clothes as they went. By the time they fell onto the mattress, there were no barriers left between them. Just skin and heat and need.

“You’re so beautiful,” Silas murmured against her neck, his lips trailing kisses down her throat.

Harper arched into his touch, her hands exploring the planes of his back, the scars she could feel there—souvenirs from Afghanistan, from a life before this moment. She traced them gently, reverently.

“Harper.” Her name was a prayer on his lips. “Tell me what you want.”

“You. Just you.”

Silas captured her mouth again, his hands moving with purpose now. Harper gasped at the sensation, her body responding to every touch. This wasn’t gentle or tentative. This was desperate and intense and exactly what they both needed.

When he finally sank inside her, Harper cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders. Silas groaned, his forehead pressing against hers as they moved together. The rhythm built, urgent and consuming, blocking out everything else—the case, the victims, the guilt, the fear.

In this moment, there was only them. Only the heat and pleasure and connection that went deeper than anything physical. Harper felt something inside her crack open, wallsshe’d maintained for years crumbling under the weight of what she felt for this man.

“Silas—” Her voice broke as the pleasure crested, washing over her in waves.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

He followed her over the edge moments later, her name on his lips.

They lay tangled together afterward, breathing hard, hearts pounding. Silas rolled to the side, pulling Harper with him so she was tucked against his chest. His arm wrapped around her, holding her close.

“That was—” Harper started, then laughed. “I don’t even have words.”