Thief:A Bad Boy Romance(47)

 

“And Silas got the full brunt of it.”

 

Rowan snorts. “Oh, believe me, I took a fucking sermon from Dad in that hospital bed. If I wasn’t his own flesh and blood, I’d be as gone as Silas, trust me.”

 

“Silas was basically his flesh and blood,” I say heatedly, my face darkening as I think of the unfairness of it all.

 

My brother nods. “I know, Ivy.” He meets my eyes. “No one said it was fair, it’s just the way things shook out.”

 

He frowns. “How is it, by the way? Seeing Silas, I mean.”

 

I swallow the heat from my face as I casually reach for my phone as a sort of cover. “Oh, fine,” I shrug. “I mean, you know, the past is the past. We were kids back then.”

 

“You loved him back then,” Rowan says quietly.

 

I look up from my phone, swallowing the pain and the memories that threaten to come tearing out as I put on a forced smile.

 

“It was a long time ago, Row.”

 

He nods before he glances at his watch. “Hey, I’ve got a bar that needs opening.” He looks up at me with a grin. “Feel like helping?”

 

“Does it come with a free drink?”

 

My older brother laughs as he puts his arm around my shoulders. “Today, Slimy, it comes with three.”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Three

 

 

 

 

 

Ivy

 

 

 

 

“You shouldn’t be here.”

 

He sees me coming this time, sitting on the roof of his boat and watching me as I come down the docks towards him.

 

“I should be wherever I want to be, actually.”

 

He shakes his head, his jaw tight. “Not here.”

 

I ignore what he’s said as I step over the side of the boat. “Silas, what my dad said-”

 

“What your dad said is fucking true.” His words come sharp as he climbs down from the roof until he’s standing right in front of me. “I can’t be near you, Ivy,” he says icily. “I can’t be near you or anyone like you, it’s why I fucking left in the first place!”

 

It’s only then, in the shadows cast from lights further down the piers that I see how strained he looks. His face is drawn, his eyes burning into mine as he slowly shakes his head. He looks hurt - broken from all those years ago.

 

“I’m not your ‘bad boy’, Ivy,” he says quietly. “I’m not your walk on the wild side or whatever. I’m just bad. That’s it. My world and your world shouldn’t ever mix.” His chest rises and falls slowly as his eyes lock onto mine.

 

“Done yet?”

 

He glares at me. “What?”

 

“I said are you done yet, with all your shitty excuses.”

 

Maybe it’s seeing the hurt in his face, and being reminded of that knocked-down-but-not-broken boy I fell in love with all those years ago. Maybe it’s being so close to him after being apart for so long - the proximity of pheromones my body remembers.

 

Or maybe it’s that I’m just confused, and scared, and looking for something to grasp onto in the storm of my life. And come hell or whatever happened in the past, he’s always been the lighthouse in that storm.

 

But in the end, none of it matters.

 

Because right then, I kiss him.

 

I don’t even know why, or what insanity possesses me to do it, but before I know it, my lips are pressed to his, my hands sliding up his chest to his collar to pull him into me.

 

But when I do kiss him, the reasons why become irrelevant - lost in the whirlwind of that moment.

 

He holds back for one shred of second before he’s growling into my mouth, his arms wrapping tightly around me and pulling me into him. He kisses me hard right back, and I moan as his tongue finds mine, his hands sliding across my body.

 

The reasons leading to this moment don’t actually matter, because we’re right back to that passion from before. It’s the visceral need for each other we’ve always had, before we decided to pretend it wasn’t there. He’s pulling at the hem of my dress as my hands drop to tug feverishly his belt, and none of the years matter as we pull away pretenses and clothes and come together.

 

His hands slide down to cup my ass beneath the short dress, pulling me up as my legs wrap around his chiseled waist. He carries me into the houseboat, his lips never leaving mine.

 

It’s small, bare.

 

Perfect.

 

His strong muscled arms lay me down across his bed, finally pulling the dress from my body and letting it drop behind him on the floor. His eyes lock onto me, devouring me like I’m a meal he’s been waiting a lifetime to feast on. His shirt and his jeans join my dress on the floor before he’s crawling over me, his mouth crashing into mine again.