Anger flared, bright and brittle. “Wait, so let me get this straight. You’re mad because yesterday I asked you to come to the meeting and back me up, and you came and… backed me up?”
Ghost exhaled slowly, like he was counting off the seconds. “I’m mad because you didn’t think.” At last, he faced her fully, and his expression might as well have been carved from stone.
“You know what it looks like, Naomi?” His voice stayed low, pitched for her ears alone. “An ex-con obsessed with missing women. Now I’m on every law enforcement radar within a hundred miles. So before you go grandstanding again? Maybe consider who’s going to eat the fallout.”
That got her.
Not enough to make her back down, but enough to crack the armor she wore everywhere but home.
She folded her arms. “The truth doesn’t mean much if nobody hears it. Staying invisible never solved anything.”
He took a step closer, crowding her space, and her nerves snapped taut. A weird fluttering started low in her belly and spread until her nipples pebbled against her bra.
No.
Oh, no.
She was not attracted to this man. She refused to be.
She crossed her arms, hiding the hard peaks from his gaze. Because, dammit, he was looking. And if she wasn’t mistaken, heat flared in those ice storm eyes before he viciously beat it down.
The tension between them stretched until it hummed in her bones. She tried to hold her ground, but something about the way he stood there, silent and unflinching, made her want to… what? Prove herself? Fling every frustration square into his implacable face? Or close the last inches, grab him by the jacket, and?—
Her breath caught, barely audible, but it was enough to draw his gaze to her mouth, and she swore her pulse tripped over itself.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
She was not here to get distracted by the guy whose whole deal was “don’t get attached.”
She broke the stare first, jaw clenched, furious at herself.
“Thanks for showing up,” she muttered, shoving her hands deep in her jacket pockets. “I won’t ask again.”
She pivoted, ready to storm off, but his hand shot out and caught her wrist, drawing her back so hard she had to catch herself against his chest to keep from losing her balance.
“Don’t twist it,” he said quietly, close enough that his breath stirred the stray bits of hair at her temple.
For a heartbeat, she couldn't move. His fingers were warm against her skin, his grip firm but not painful. Her palm was flat against his chest, and she could feel his heart hammering beneath layers of clothing, belying his outward calm.
“You needed backup. I gave it. Now leave my name out of it.”
“Fine. You’re out of it.”
He didn’t answer, but nor did he make a move to drop her hand. He just watched her, eyes narrowed, like she was a specimen he couldn’t figure out.
A beat passed.
She became excruciatingly aware of how close they were standing. If she leaned forward, just half a step, she’d be able to feel the warmth of his body, inhale the dark, spice scent of him. It was almost intoxicating, this strange, taut energy between them.
God, what was wrong with her?
A car door slammed nearby, jolting her back to reality. She took a deliberate step back, forcing air into her constricted lungs. “You should go, Ghost.”
“Yeah, I should.” But he still didn’t move.
“Then why aren’t you?”
