Page 8 of Ghost
He reaches a hand down to help me up. My fingers slip into his, and the moment our palms meet, a jolt of heat spreads up my arm. He pulls me to my feet with an easy strength, butinstead of stepping back to give me space, we both seem to freeze as time feels nonexistent.
I’m standing closer to him than I have been all night. The bar’s muted bass thrums in time with my heartbeat. My gaze, which had been fixed on the solid wall of his chest, travels upward, over the column of his throat, the sharp line of his jaw, until it lands on his mouth.
A sudden, unbidden thought flashes through my mind, so vivid it steals my breath. I wonder what they feel like.
The intensity of the wonder shocks me. It’s not just a passing curiosity; it’s a desire to know if they’re as soft as they look, or if they’d be demanding against mine.
Ghost wanted to save me for a reason, and I find it hard to believe that it was out of the kindness of his heart. What if he wants me as much as the man I was promised to?
Somehow, my heart beats harder. His hoodie on my body feels even warmer.
Then, just as quickly as it came, the moment breaks. He clears his throat, the sound rough, and takes a step back, releasing my hand. The loss of contact feels like a cold draft.
“Come on,” he says, his voice slightly deeper than before. He turns to lead the way, and I follow, my legs feeling unsteady for a reason that has nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with the man walking ahead of me.
He leads me back to his room and motions toward the large, rumpled bed. “Try to get some sleep.”
My body thrums at the sight of it, a flush creeping up my neck. The proximity from moments before in the common room still hums under my skin.
Are we going to share it? The thought is terrifying and exhilarating. The concept is so foreign, so intimate. I’ve never shared a bed with anyone before. My mind races, tripping over a cascade of worries—the heat of another body, the sound ofsomeone else’s breathing in the dark, the accidental brush of skin.
While I’m frozen in my silent, internal panic, he moves. But not toward the other side of the bed. He grabs a spare blanket from a shelf, then slides down the wall to sit on the floor, his back against it. He pulls his laptop onto his lap, the screen casting a blue glow across the sharp planes of his face.
“I’ll be here,” he says, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room. “Tomorrow might be worse. I’ll have to tell the president what’s happening.”
The relief that washes over me is so potent it feels like weakness, my knees nearly buckling. But it’s quickly followed by a confusing, sharp pang of… disappointment? He’s giving me his bed, taking the hard floor himself?
“You’re not tired?” Drifting to the bed, I spread out against the blankets and take in a deep breath. Everything in this room smells the same. Smells like him.
“I work best when it’s late.” He keeps his eyes on his screen. “More invisible this way.”
I hum, trying to digest his answer. His jacket has a patch that says ‘Tech Specialist’, but something tells me it’s more than that. He got into our security, after all.
The exhaustion finally seeps into my bones, heavy and undeniable, and somehow, despite the whirlwind in my mind, I let my eyes close and use the sound of his keyboard to fall asleep.
It’s only a few hours later when I wake, the room still dark, the muffled bass from the bar now silent. My eyes adjust, and I see him.
Ghost is still on the floor, the blue glow of the laptop screen painting his face in shadows. He looks tired, the line of his shoulders tense, but his concentration is absolute, his gaze fixed on the screen. Has he found something out, or is there already a list of issues for this place he tries to protect?
Still wrapped in the haze of sleep, the words leave me in a soft mumble. “Aren’t you going to sleep?”
He doesn’t look up, but his typing stops. “Monitoring the feeds. Making sure no one gets any ideas about coming this way.”
The protectiveness in his voice, the sheer exhaustion in his profile, makes my chest ache. It’s a reckless, sleepy impulse. I shift over, my hand patting the empty space on the mattress beside me. “Just for a little while.”
His eyes snap to mine, the screen’s light catching the surprise in them. The room is so quiet I can hear the faint hum of the laptop. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” I whisper into the darkness, my heart thumping a slow, heavy rhythm against my ribs. “I’m sure.”
Even if it’s the exhaustion pulling at me that’s causing my guard to be lowered, I’m ready to feed into it.
When he shuts the laptop and the room is engulfed in darkness, I hear too much shifting around. Unable to see what he’s doing, I hear the sound of fabric against skin. Imagining he’s getting changed, I bury my face into the blankets before my eyes can adjust completely.
When Ghost finally appears, there’s a slight struggle as he joins me. I don’t need to overanalyze his frustrated sighs and grunts. Nor do I miss the soft apology that leaves his lips when something thuds to the ground.
Once he’s on his back, he’s respectful enough to keep his distance, but there’s only so much that can be made on a bed this size.
Feeling the heat radiating off of him, I scooch closer without thinking. He doesn’t shift, letting me do as I please.
