Page 54 of Arranged Obsession
His eyebrows lift. “No, feather. I don’t have a therapist.”
“I’m just saying, if you’re having tough nights, maybe that’d be a good idea.”
“What would I tell her? About all the murders I commit?”
“That’s a good point.”
“I don’t need to talk, feather.” He comes closer, one hand holding the towel. I’m buzzing all over, from toes to ears. “I fucked up tonight. Do you know how many mistakes I’ve made as my family’s Ghostman?”
“I’m guessing not many.”
“None. Not a single time. I’ve been good at this. It’s been my life. Until you.”
My jaw tightens. I steady myself. Anger helps to soften the lust threatening to overwhelm me. “Are you saying I’m somehow at fault for you fucking up?”
“I’m saying that before you, I was perfect.”
“Yeah, great idea. Blame the wife. As if I’m the one running around town strangling people.”
“You’re a distraction. I hurried a job tonight because I wanted to get home to you.”
That confession sends a ping of excitement into my core. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I can’t help myself. I want to be around you.”
“I didn’t ask for you to take Finn’s place, you know.”
“I know that.”
“Don’t act like it’s my fault.” I press a hand against his chest to keep him from getting closer. Which is stupid, because I feel his warm skin and his muscles bulging under my fingers. Holy shit, the man’s incredible. “I didn’t want any of this.”
“I didn’t either.”
“So why am I here right now?”
“Because the alternative was worse.” He reaches back and pulls me into him. I suck in a breath, now both hands pushing him back, but it’s worthless. I’m crushed to him and barely keeping half an inch of space between us. “I couldn’t watch you start a life with Finn. I couldn’t put myself through that hell.”
“Why?” I whisper, choking on the word, afraid of the answer.
He stares at me, all fury and beauty. There’s so much yearning and hate in those eyes. I feel the same way. I despise my husband for doing this to me. For acting like it’s my fault he’s a crazy person. But hating myself for liking it.
There’s no answer that’ll satisfy me. I think we both know that. The unspoken hangs between us.He’s my ghost. He’s been my ghost for seven years. I don’t understand it. Every time I try, it’s like my head gets overwhelmed.
“My job normally makes me feel something,” he whispers, ignoring my question. I’m relieved and desperate. “But tonight, it didn’t work.”
“Sorry your murder didn’t bring you joy.”
“It’s fucked.” His fist grips my hair. I whimper, fear lancing into my core, mixing with primal desire. “I’m so deeply fucked, feather.”
“What are you doing?”
He crushes his mouth to mine. I have a split second to decide what I’ll do.
Scream and fight, thrash and kick, try to get away.
Or surrender.
His mouth tastes so damn good. It’s like that smell I love so much. Memory assaults me and desire overwhelms every inch of my body. I should bite his tongue off. I should knee him in that huge fucking dick of his.
