It *does* bother me.
But not the way it should.
Because when I compare it to Izzy—to the way Izzy watched me, controlled me, manipulated me—it's not the same.
Izzy watched me because he wanted to *own* me.
Silas watches me because he's terrified of *losing* me.
The distinction is everything.
And my body knows it.
Heat spreads through me again, low and insistent.
My thighs press together.
I feel the slickness between my legs, the throb of my clit.
I wonder how deep it goes.
His "love" for a stranger.
Does he really know me?
Does he know all my secrets?
Or is this just hero syndrome—some twisted need to save someone so he can feel whole?
But even as I think it, I know it's not true.
Because he's not trying to save me.
He's trying to *protect* me.
And there's a difference.
I breathe in slowly, andhis scent hits me.
Smoke.
Cedar.
Leather.
Gunpowder.
God, it's intoxicating.
I let my eyes trace over him.
The stubble on his jaw.
The way his chest rises and falls with each breath.
The strength in his shoulders, even relaxed.
My ribs ache as I shift slightly, but the pain doesn't stopme.
