Right Man, Right Time (The Vancouver Agitators, #3)(73)

“Oliana,” he says, unable to look at me. “Just let me go.”

“No,” I answer again and step up to him. With my hand that’s not covering my breasts, I press against his chest. “Why don’t you talk to me?”

“Because I don’t talk to anyone,” he says. “No one.”

“Silas, please, you can talk—”

“No, I can’t,” he says, moving me against the wall again. When his eyes meet mine, I can feel his pain so vividly that my heart actually aches. “I can’t talk to you. I can’t tell you how I’m feeling. I can’t tell you how fucking frustrated I am with you. How irritated I am. How I wish I never met you because then I wouldn’t be in this situation of wanting to fuck you so bad that I actually can’t think when I’m around you. And I shouldn’t want that. I shouldn’t want to be buried between your legs because you’re not right for me. We are not right for each other.” He takes a step back and uses both hands to pull on the back of his neck. “Just move, Ollie. Please. Let me go.”

I press my trembling lips together and shake my head. “I want you to stay here.”

“I’m not fucking you,” he says.

“Then don’t. Just stay with me, sleep in my bed, don’t be alone.”

He shakes his head but doesn’t say anything. He just stares at the ceiling, and I can see his resolve wavering. I can see him considering the possibility of staying, so I press him more.

“Please, Silas. Stay with me.”

He blows out a frustrated breath and looks me in the eyes. Pain sears through his pupils as he says, “I’m not talking.”

“Then don’t. You can just lie down with me.”

He scans me and asks, “Why?”

“Because it’s clear you’re hurting.”

“I don’t need you to fix me,” he says, trying to move past me, but I stop him.

“I’m not trying to fix you, Silas. I’m trying to offer you comfort.”

“I don’t need it.”

I press my hand to his chest again. “Yes, you do. And I’m going to tell you right now, if you leave this room, I’m chasing after you, just like this. Nearly naked. Is that what you want?”

He wets his lips, looking me up and down again. “No.”

“Then stay. Please, Silas, just stay.”

He studies me, just standing there, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his damaged eyes taking me all in, wavering with what he should do. And when I think he’s going to physically move me himself, he takes a step back and turns back into my room, where he takes his suit jacket off, followed by the white button-up, and drapes them over my desk chair. He undoes his belt and pants but doesn’t take them off as he gets rid of his shoes and socks.

When he glances up at me through his hair, I feel a wave of euphoria hit me all at once. He stayed. He might not say it, but he finds comfort in me, in my small dorm, and this is where he wants to be. Not alone in his large apartment . . . but with me.

He heads down the hallway and quietly says, “I’m going to use the bathroom. Can I use your toothpaste?”

I nod, and as he passes me, his hand trails across my stomach before he shuts the door to the bathroom. When he’s out of sight, I let out a deep sigh and drop my arm.

God, I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m in way over my head, and I know I shouldn’t want him in any way, but that damaged look in his eyes, it’s destroyed me. I’ve never seen such demons, such strength when it comes to keeping everything to himself. I want to help him, be there for him, let him know he’s not alone.

I push off the wall and walk over to his white button-up. I let the rich fabric rub between my fingers. Sarah must have really fucked him up for him to need me as a shield. And for him to make that happen, even if it means threatening me. He’s that desperate, which if I truly think about it, I don’t believe he would have said something. Even though he’d probably never admit it, I know he cares about me. I know he wants to protect me.

And that trust he has, it’s very thin, and he’s willing to take it away without blinking an eye. Which just means Sarah must have done the same thing.

I pick up his white shirt and fit it over my shoulders, the size difference easily noticeable as I button up the middle buttons. It feels warm, comfortable, like his arms are wrapped around me. And just as I start rolling the sleeves, he steps out of the bathroom and finds me.

The crease in his brow unfurrows.

“Is this okay?” I ask.

Slowly, he makes his way toward me, his every step sexier than the last with the attention he commands from his powerful body. When he reaches me, he pinches one of the buttons that rests just above my breasts as he says, “Yeah.”

One word, but it feels like a ton of bricks, knocking me down to my knees.

He wets his lips, and when his eyes connect with mine, I can feel my body tremble with a combination of need and anticipation. But even though his presence electrifies me, I can see something different in his eyes. Not anger, not pain, but vulnerability. It’s right there, in his worn, tired irises. He might not say it, talk about it, or acknowledge it, but I can see it, and that makes me feel like I’m something special to this consuming man.

When he steps away from me and heads toward my bed, I walk on shaky legs to the bathroom where I finish getting ready for bed.