Page 32 of Silver Sinner

"Why not? It's true." My hands shake as I pour the wine, ignoring how it sloshes up the edges of each glass and spills on the counter. "I saw the look in that cop's eyes. I saw what he was thinking and he was right. He was right. I'm a terrible mother. I—" Two gulps of wine do nothing to calm the growing anxiety in my chest. As I raise my hand to take a third, Pierce's warm, slightly calloused fingers slide around my wrist.

"Layla. No one is judging you. What happened was a terrible accident, but it's not your fault." He's very gentle as he takes the glass from me, then grasps my arm and guides me around to face him. "Those criminals chose you because they're opportunists who would have acted regardless of where you were. There was nothing you could do, and it was not your fault." His hand slides up to my shoulder, then higher still until one warm finger curls under my chin and he forces me to look up at him.

The moment I lock onto the sparkling blue eyes gazing down at me with such sympathy, the tears come. "I-I nearly lost her," I gasp, shuddering. "I was so scared I was never going to see her again."

"I know." Pierce's hand falls away from my chin and he draws me into his embrace. "But she's back with you. She's tucked up in bed, and she's safe. That's all that matters. Tragedies like this happen all the time. It's not your fault. Those at fault have been taken care of."

I bury my face in his shoulder, breathing in a subtle blend of wood, spice, and something with a fruity afternote that makes me eager to taste more. It's like walking through a Christmas market and absorbing all the gorgeous scents caught in the smoke of a beautiful fire.

"Wait… they've been taken care of?" Slowly, I lift my head and glance back up at Pierce.

"I imagine so, yes," he replies. "As you know, the police are very good at their job."

They are. I think.

Suddenly, I'm not sure. Not because I hold doubt against the cops, but because staring into Pierce's eyes leaves very little room in my thoughts for anything else. The way he gazes down at me makes me feel like I'm some kind of precious gemstone and he's managed to pick me out of a collection, one that he won't look away from. Exhaustion and upset weigh down my eyelids, but I keep forcing them back open so I can look up at him for a moment longer.

He's so handsome. There's something timeless about the warmth that grazes his face, set in the wrinkles around his eyes and the smile lines near his mouth. Despite the weathered glaze across his face, his jaw is as sharp and strong as it surely was when he was younger. That, combined with the glittering streaks of silver combed elegantly through his dark hair, and it's like gazing up into a collection of stars sparkling over the blue ocean of his eyes.

Was he always this handsome? Or is this the first time I've given myself a moment to really look at him?

He blinks slowly, his dark lashes caressing his high cheekbones, and suddenly my body takes on a mind of its own. I surge up onto my tiptoes, slide both my hands up the warm, smooth silk of his chest, and kiss him.

It's the only thing that makes sense.

Like a parched beast to water, lured by the comforting thrum of his deep voice and the dazzling allure of his eyes, I kiss him with damp lips and all the strength I have left in me. Just one kiss. It can be a thank you. It can be a declaration. It can even be a plea to feel something good and human after the worst night of my life.

All those reasons clash with one another in the back of my mind, but it doesn't matter which one settles. I've done it now.

Tension snaps through my shoulders as I wait for the inevitable rejection, but to my surprise, it doesn't come. Instead, Pierce clasps the side of my neck with his strong hand and aligns his thumb with my jaw, applying just enough pressure to keep my head tilted and raised.

Then, he kisses me back.

10

PIERCE

Layla tastes sweet, like the afterburst of a berry caught between my teeth. The salt of her tears barely even breaches the sudden flare of sugar that clings to her lower lip from her hasty gulps of box wine. It carries the tart of berry and the scorch of a foil container, a teaser to the real sweetness that comes when she parts her lips for air and kisses me again.

I'm addicted.

The soft press of her mouth, the warmth of her hands against my chest, and the slight increase of pressure as her fingertips dig into my pecs like she's looking for a handhold to boost herself closer. She can carve a path into me and I'll thank her for it.

It doesn't stop her from pulling away, though, as some kind of sensible thought bursts behind her eyes. She withdraws, suddenly uncertain, as if she doesn't trust that her actions will be reciprocated. So I soothe that and surge forward with a kiss of my own. Both my hands cradle her soft jaw, and I kiss her so hard that she stumbles back a step into the counter behind her. Her head tilts back and her body bows into me, like a flower giving in to the brush of a passing breeze.

I want to keep kissing her. I want to lick away every tear and caress her until the only sob escaping past those beautiful lips is one of pleasure. I want to cradle her close and take away her pain with every space I have left inside of myself. All of that in a single kiss is enough to make me lightheaded, but I don't pull back. I just shift my lips against hers and snatch in a breath while she clings to me like I'm some kind of lifeline.

Then her hands land on my belt and something clicks in my mind.

Fucking her would be a dream, but not tonight. Having this moment turn into a bad decision in the light of the morning would crush me in a way I can barely stomach thinking about, so when she tugs at my belt, I drop one hand and catch both her wrists in my grip.

"Greedy," I murmur against her lips. She shivers against me and both her wrists flex against my palm. "I'm the guest here. Shouldn't you be feeding me?"

I pull back. Her wide eyes gaze up at me, pupils blown dark with desire and a question trembling on her lower lip that doesn't quite make it off her tongue. Does she need me to spell it out for her? Given everything that's happened tonight, perhaps it will be best to show her.

"Do you trust me?" I whisper in the pocket of air between us. Layla's tongue darts out and swipes over her full lower lip, then she nods.

"I-I do."