Page 123 of American Hellhound
The call disconnected and it was silent again, just them, her erratic breathing, and the hum of the fridge.
Ghost jostled her lightly on his lap. “Mags.”
She went limp against him, arms around his neck, his solid strength and warmth holding her up. “Oh my God,” she groaned. “Just when I start to forget that she exists…I’m so sorry she called here.” She turned her face into his shoulder, pressed her nose into the worn cotton of his shirt. “I don’t know who she had to bribe to get your number, but I’ll make her tear it up. I–”
“Baby.” He rubbed a soothing hand down her back, over the quivering muscles that framed her spine. “I’m in the book. All she had to know was my name. She’s trying to guilt you into thinking it took a lotta effort.”
“Really?” She groaned again. “Story of my life.”
He bundled her in close, hand slipping inside her shirt, and the skin-on-skin contact was immeasurably comforting. No one hugged in her family; physical comfort was a rare, and often awkward thing. She didn’t think she’d ever tire of touching Ghost.
“We should introduce her to my ex,” he said. “They’d get ongreat.”
“I dunno. Your ex was married toyou, after all.”
He snorted. “Liv hated my guts. She liked fancy things, rich men, foreign cars. Shit knows why she ever married me, but she’s cold as ice. All about manners and fake shit. She’d love your mom.”
“Are you serious?” She tipped her head back far enough to read his expression. He never talked about his ex-wife; there was zero evidence that a woman – and a picky, snobbish one at that – had ever lived in the apartment. If it wasn’t for Aidan, Maggie wouldn’t believe she’d ever existed.
He gave a facial shrug. “Yeah. She’s living with some guy who owns a bank or something now. They have a housekeeper.”
“Are youserious?” she repeated, and he fidgeted under her.
“She really traded up, huh?”
“No.” When he gave her a skeptical look, she said, “Ghost, no. Absolutely not. My mom is the kind of bitch who doesn’t love her own family if their table manners aren’t up to snuff. She cares more about what the neighbors think of her than her own immortal soul. If the house caught on fire, and we were all inside it, she’d save her jewelry and then politely request that the fireman bring out her husband. If they could. She berates the waitstaff of every restaurant she ever goes to. My mom is awful. And if your ex is like her, then damn, you don’t need that in your life. I feel sorry for the poor asshole banker she’s haunting now.”
It wasn’t until she finished her rant that she realized she was way out of line. But Ghost was smiling, so she didn’t care.
“I think maybe I traded up too,” he said, chuckling.
She made a face.
“The bitch couldn’t cook, didn’t clean, was a shit mom.” He leaned forward and bumped her nose with his own. “I’m serious.”
It was amazing, she thought, how she could go from despondent to joyous in just moments. That was because of Ghost – she wasn’t sure she’d known what joy felt like before he came into her life. Or maybe it was a case of her coming into his life; she was the original instigator, after all.
She smiled; their faces were so close his features were blurred. “Me too. So don’t go trash-talking the man I love.”
It hit them both at the same moment: what she’d said. Love. They slept in the same bed, and she was playing mommy with his son, but the L-word was still a big, big deal.
Ghost pulled back another fraction, so they could really see each other with clear eyes. His were dilated.
It felt like she waited forever, poised on the edge of embarrassed panic.
His throat jumped as he swallowed. “Me too. You know that, right?”
She did. She nodded.
“I do,” he said, for emphasis, hand sliding up the back of her neck, cupping her nape. He pulled her in for a kiss that was different from every one that had come before it. When their lips met, she thoughtI love him, and he loves me, and it wasn’t just a meeting of lips, but a pledge. An acknowledgement of what they felt for one another, and what it meant: that they had each others’ backs, that they would defend, and support, and protect one another.
Maggie had never experienced anything like it in her short life. Something mutual. Something that meant so much to both parties. Sealed with a kiss.
She speared her fingers through his hair – silky-slick, the curls looping around her knuckles – and opened her mouth, invited him in.
His tongue licked between her teeth, hot velvet, heavy and whiskey-flavored.
Helovedher. The knowledge was better than acing a test, better than winning an award, better than her early college acceptance letters. There was nothing fake about him kissing her, nothing stiff, or formal, or forced. She didn’t have to pretend, here in his arms. It was easy. Good.Right.
