Was she? Maybe. Her skin prickled with cold, but also from the brush of his gaze. “I’m fine.”
His gaze dipped to her chest.
He didn’t bother to hide it. No apology, no flicker of shame. Just a flat, hungry stare, focused dead-on the hard points of her nipples under her shirt.
Heat flooded her face, but she didn’t look away. Hell, she couldn’t—not with the way his attention pinned her in place.
“Every single fucking man who’s walked in here has stared at you.” His voice was low, rough. The kind of sound that scraped raw along your nerves and left you aching in places you didn’t know you could ache. “I don’t like it.”
She folded her arms, pretending to shield herself from the chill, but really she just needed pressure. Something to keep her anchored while he watched her with that predatory focus.
He leaned in over the table, crowding her space until the scent of him and the weight of his attention erased the whole damn bakery. All those locals, the laughter and clatter and rising scent of cinnamon? Gone. There was only the caress of his gaze—hungry, unblinking—and the wild drumbeat under her skin.
“Put the hoodie on, Fury, or I’m taking you out of here.”
Her breath caught in her throat. This was dangerous. Stupid.
And yet she couldn’t stop herself from whispering, “Then take me.”
fifteen
Ghost shovedhis chair back and stood, making everyone in the bakery glance in their direction.
“Truck. Now.”
He grabbed her hand, tossed some bills on the table, and towed her out the door, past the counter and Nessie’s open-mouthed stare, straight into the rain.
He walked fast, like he couldn’t afford to think twice or he’d change his mind. When they reached his truck, he yanked the passenger door open and propelled her inside before circling to the driver’s seat.
The silence in the cab was a live wire, humming.
He gripped the steering wheel so hard it creaked in protest, and his knuckles bleached white. “Put the hoodie on, Fury.” His voice was low, rough-edged. “Or I’ll do it for you.”
She let out a huff that was equal parts incredulity and offense. “You dragged me out here just to dress me?”
Ghost twisted to face her, eyes gone flat and hungry. “I dragged you out here to stop myself from fucking you in the middle of Nessie’s bakery.”
Then he cupped her jaw hard enough to make her breath stutter and kissed her like it was the only way to keep the world from splitting in two.
She gave as good as she got. Dug her hands into his shirt, dragged him closer, kissed him back until her lips went numb.
He tasted like coffee, and when her tongue brushed his bottom lip, he groaned—a sound so raw she swore she felt it in her chest. Hell, lower than that. Her hips jerked up off the seat, needing friction, something, anything.
Ghost bit down on her lower lip, then licked the sting away. She gasped, head dropping back against the seat, and he took that for what it was—a green light. His hands were everywhere, greedy and unrepentant, dragging her across the console so she straddled his lap.
She hit the horn with her knee. It blared. She didn’t care.
His mouth was on hers, hot and bruising, hands locked around her hips like he expected her to tap out and run if he let up for even a second. She braced herself with both hands on his shoulders and bit his lower lip, hard enough to taste blood, just to see if he’d flinch.
He didn’t.
He growled low in his throat, yanked her closer, and shoved his thigh up between her legs. The pressure made every muscle in her body clench. Her hands slid under his shirt, palms skating over scars and hard muscle, nails raking down his back. He arched into her, his breath coming ragged.
She loved that sound. Loved that it was her making him come undone.
He tore his mouth away and buried his face in her neck. “You shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Why not?” She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing closer, knees bracketing his hips. He was hard under her, cock straining against his jeans, and the knowledge that she’d donethat—that she’d cracked the unbreakable Ghost—made her feel savage and alive.
