The deep, husky voice echoed in the steamy bathroom as a long, lithe leg
swept over the edge of the tub, sending ripples across the fragrant water.
"Mind if I join you, darling?"
Elara instinctively crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back
against the porcelain. The warm water had tinted her fair skin a delicate pink.
Her almond eyes, veiled in mist, glistened as she shot him a look of flustered
annoyance. "And if I do mind? Will you get out?"
A soft chuckle was his only reply as he settled in behind her.
Fortunately, the tub was generously sized.
"Not a chance," Silas murmured, his voice a low rumble. Before
she could protest, his strong arms encircled her, turning her so her back was
flush against his hard, heated chest.
The sudden, intimate contact of skin on skin sent a jolt through her,
making her scalp tingle and her heart hammer against her ribs.
"Silas," she warned, her voice breathy as she clutched the hand he
had splayed possessively over her slightly rounded belly. "Don't you dare
get any ideas."
"Ideas about what?" he teased, nuzzling the sensitive spot
where her neck met her shoulder. His voice was thick with amusement. "The
little ones are right here. I just want to feel them, to say hello."
It was a noble excuse, one that might have been more believable if his
scorching lips weren't tracing a path along her collarbone.
Elara tilted her head, a slow, deliberate smile playing on her lips. Her
voice was a soft, honeyed whisper. "My husband, Silas Thorne."
A jolt, sharp and electric, shot straight down Silas's spine. He
stilled, his head lifting slightly. His dark eyes, now pools of molten
obsidian, locked with hers. "Hmm?" The single, guttural sound was
laden with promise.
Suppressing her wildly beating heart, Elara's smile widened. "I've
just realised something about mature, wildly successful men like you."
"Oh?" His interest was piqued, a predator sensing a
compliment. "And what's that?"
In a fluid motion, she turned in his embrace. Her slender fingers
reached up to playfully tug at the corners of his mouth, a silvery laugh
escaping her. "They have skin thicker than anyone else's!"
Silas burst into laughter, a rich, genuine sound that filled the room.
He seized her wrists, his narrow eyes crinkling at the corners with mocking
delight. "So that's what this is? Teasing me for my age?"
"It's not the age," Elara retorted, her charming eyes
crinkling. "It's the sheer hypocrisy. You have ulterior motives written
all over you, yet you hide behind the baby. You should be ashamed."
She might as well have called him a shameless old fox to his face.
Silas choked back another laugh. "Must you strip me of all my
dignity, woman?"
"With skin as thick as yours, I was under the impression you'd
abandoned dignity long ago," she fired back, her eyes twinkling with
mischief.
He was torn between exasperation and adoration, acutely aware of how
utterly disarming her playfulness could be.
Then, her expression softened. Her hands came up to cradle his face, her
bright, enchanting features drawing near. "But it's alright," she
whispered, her pink, sweetly scented lips brushing against his in a
feather-light kiss. "I happen to love your thick skin and your pretended
decency."
She lingered for a breath, her voice a velvety murmur against his mouth.
"And... I wanted to thank you, Silas. For taking such good care of
me."
In that instant, Silas's control shattered.
His large hand cupped the back of her head, and the proactive Elara was
swiftly, thoroughly devoured by the fierce beast she had awakened.
Forty minutes later, Elara was carried from the bathroom, swaddled in a
plush dressing gown. Her dark hair, freshly blow-dried, cascaded over her
shoulders. With her flushed cheeks pressed against his chest and her body
languid and boneless, she was a vision that threatened to re-ignite the passion
Silas had only just wrestled under control.
Even though the most critical period had passed, she was freshly out of
the hospital. However fierce his desire, his self-control where she was
concerned was ironclad. For now, he had to be content with mapping the
territory of her skin with his hands, leaving no inch unclaimed.
He laid her gently on the bed. "I'll get your clothes."
"Alright." Her gaze followed him—the tall, powerful
silhouette, the towel slung low on his hips, the play of sleek muscle across
his back and shoulders. He moved with a latent, predatory grace that was
uniquely his.
This exceptional man is my husband.
The thought sent a fresh wave of warmth through her. The way he kissed
her, held her, looked at her—she was becoming increasingly intoxicated by him.
She gave her warm cheeks a sharp pat. Don't get carried away. Don't be led
astray by his charms.
A message alert chimed from her phone. It was from the Head of BA at
Aeternum, confirming the commission for her last project and inquiring about
her health. The message ended with a proposition: a new project development
opportunity in Ashbourne that could secure her a permanent position after her
internship.
Elara's interest was instantly captured. The earnings from her first AI
project—her first real, self-made money—had given her a profound sense of
accomplishment that his generous cards and her inheritance never could.
She had been wondering how to broach the subject of returning to
Ashbourne when Silas emerged, fully dressed. As he helped her into a soft, pale
yellow maxi dress, he announced, "We're returning to Ashbourne tomorrow.
It will likely be an extended stay."
"I'm coming with you." The words flew out of her, her eyes
alight. The timing was perfect.
Noting her eagerness, as if she feared being left behind, Silas ruffled
her hair affectionately. "I never intended to go anywhere without you.
From now on, Elly, where I go, you go."
He would never let her slip from his sight again.
The plane touched down in Ashbourne the following afternoon under a
gloomy, overcast sky. Instead of heading to Rosewood Mountain Estate, the
motorcade drove straight to the Thorne ancestral home.
A fine, chilly drizzle began to fall as the car halted in the courtyard,
cloaking the ancient, solemn mansion in a misty haze. Stepping out, Elara was
hit by an inexplicable wave of oppressive heaviness.
Arthur Winslow, taking a large black umbrella from a servant, led the
way toward the rear courtyard. Silas, his arm a firm, protective band around
Elara, followed closely.
The closer they drew to the family chapel, the heavier the air became,
the weight of untold secrets pressing down on them. Silas had confided the
reason for this confrontation the night before, and even now, Elara found the
truth almost impossible to grasp.
The creak of the chapel door sliced through the silence, releasing a
wave of pungent incense. Inside, Old Lady Thorne sat rigidly in a chair beside
the altar, one gnarled hand resting on her walking stick. Her half-closed eyes
snapped open, meeting the gaze of the three visitors with eerie calm.
"At last, you've come," she rasped. "Sit down."
The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in with the ghosts of
the past.