Page 9 of Ghost
“Has he noticed I’m gone?” It’s a stupid question, but I feel the need to know.
“Yeah.” He sighs softly. “He knows.”
Something unsettling twists in my gut. Is it the thought of returning that is gnawing at me? Deep in my chest, I know the truth. As shaky as the future is, I don’t want to go back to the past.
Pinching my eyes shut, I try not to let my thoughts unwind about it all and hope sleep comes back to me.
5
Ghost
I get the best night of sleep in my life, even if it lasts only a few hours. When I wake, it’s not to the pounding fist telling me I didn’t do well enough to cover Diesel’s tracks. Instead, it’s because of the most minor shift of Eliza’s cheek against my chest.
My eyes open, and my heart skips. Fuckingskips.All because the woman who filled my dreams has an arm loosely draped around me, sleeping like there aren’t any troubles in her life.
For a long moment, I don’t dare to breathe. I just watch her, drinking in a beauty so profound it feels like a physical ache. In the pale morning light filtering through the window, her blonde hair is a tangled halo, her lips slightly parted.
Anyone can see she’s gorgeous. There’s a reason she’s been locked away. She’s dangerous in more ways than one.
Someone like me—a broken man held together by scars and a past of healing—couldn’t possibly be seen with someone sogorgeous. It’s a pipe dream. She could have any man in the world if she set her eyes on them.
Hell, she should.
The thought is a splinter of ice, but it can’t compete with the warmth of her against me. My control cracks at its core. Carefully, I raise my hand and stroke a stray strand of hair from her cheek. My thumb, rough and calloused, drifts lower, tracing the curve of her bottom lip. It’s softer than I ever could have imagined.
Her cheeks are flushed hot, turning into my favorite color. What is she dreaming of? What I’d sacrifice to get a small glimpse to see what’s happening inside.
Her eyes flutter open at the brave contact.
Now I’m staring, trapped, into a pair of curious, sleep-hazy blue eyes. She doesn’t yank back. Doesn’t startle. Instead, she slowly sits up, her attention locked onto me as if I’m the only thing in the world. Blinking like she’s in a daze, her cheeks flush into a darker shade.
Slowly, as if in a dream, she reaches out to touch me. Her fingers find my shoulder, where the map of my damage begins. Silently, she follows the faded, ruined skin up to my neck, her thumb gently brushing the patch of rough scars from the accident. A touch without pity, without horror. Just… acceptance.
Her teeth catch her bottom lip, and a shaky breath leaves her lips. Did she wake from a nightmare? Is that it? Her skin is prickling up, giving the telltale signs, so that has to be it.
Then her fingertips are on my jaw, her eyes trained on my mouth. Her voice is a whisper, so soft I feel it more than hear it. “Can I try something?”
I am utterly, completely lost to her. “Yeah,” I mutter, the word rough with a hope I thought I’d buried long ago.
While I couldn’t possibly imagine what she’d want to do, I’m not prepared in the slightest for what’s to come.
She leans down, and her blonde hair tickles my skin like a whisper. Then her lips meet mine, a feather-light press, so innocent and so devastating it rewrites my entire fucking history. Any kiss I’ve received in the past doesn’t come close to the simplest of brushes.
At first, I’m absolutely useless, unable to process the moment that lasted no more than a simple second. Then, when I see her frown, I know there’s more to this brush.
“If today goes badly, I want to choose who I give my first kiss to.” Muttering her reason, she doesn’t pull away.
Her words, so full of grim foresight, are a gut-punch. But the lingering softness of her mouth on mine ignites a fire in my blood.
My body reacts before my mind can catch up, my cock thickening against my thigh, every sense snapping to a razor-sharp alertness. Hers. The first. The thought alone is enough to undo me.
I cup her cheek, my fingers tangling in the silken hair I’ve been dying to touch. I’m so gone for her, it’s not even funny.
“Eliza,” I breathe her name like it’s the only word I know, my thumb stroking the pink skin next to her mouth. “Do you want a more memorable one?”
Her blue eyes widen, the surprise in them so pure it’s clear she never considered that first, chaste touch was just an opening. That there could be more. She gives a slight nod.
I don’t waste a second. Shifting to lean on my elbow, I slide my fingers through the roots of her hair. This time, I’m in control. Guiding her mouth to mine, I don’t just take. I savor. I trace the soft seam of her lips with the very tip of my tongue, a silent, teasing request to be let inside.
