Page 60 of My Ghost

That’s…my shampoo.

I freeze, staring at the label.I hadn’t noticed it when I showered this morning, but there’s no mistake, it’s the same brand I always buy.My blood turns cold.

How…?

“Relax,” Matteo murmurs when he feels me tensing up.“You’re a mess,amore.Let me take care of you.”

Take care of me?My mind spirals.He knows everything about me, what I use, what I wear, obviously what I eat for breakfast.The thought sends a chill through me and I shiver despite the warm water running down my skin.

He pours a bit of shampoo on his palm and moves behind me, slides his hands into my hair to massage the suds in with slow, soothing circles.The gentleness of his touch feels wrong because I know that what my mind wants to believe is tenderness is actually control and obsession.

“I can do it myself,” I whisper.

“No,” he says simply, his tone tolerating no argument.“You’re mine to take care of.”He slightly tightens his fingers in my hair, and the light display of control oddly grounds me.

I don’t answer, my throat is dry and I can’t seem to form a coherent thought anymore.

He tilts my head back, letting the water wash the lather away, then he reaches for soap.He lets his hands travel over my body in slow, possessive circles.I try not to shudder when his hands circle over my waist, my hips or my breasts, or when he lingers for a beat too long on the bruises marring my skin.

“You’re trembling,” he notes with a quiet voice.“Are you afraid of me, little ghost?”

I manage a small shake of my head, knowing full well that it’s a lie.

He leans in, lips brushing my ear as he murmurs, “Maybe you should be.”

My breath hitches and I stay silent, letting him wash me.I don’t move, even when he releases me to wash himself.After he is finished, he turns off the water and steps out.Then he wraps me in a soft towel and turns me toward him.I see him fully for the first time, and I must admit that he is breathtaking.He is built like someone who hits the gym regularly, his muscles are lean, rippling under his inked skin with every movement.His broad shoulders taper down to a narrow waist, and…Oh my, God why?Under all his tattoos, he has that hot V-shaped groove traveling down to his very nice-looking— My mind blanks out.

“Like what you see?”

My eyes snap up to his face and I see that he is smirking.I feel my face burn in humiliation.I huff and turn around to step out of the bathroom and into the closet.He follows suit after wrapping a towel around his hips.Before I can pick out something to wear, he holds out one of his shirts.I look up at him with confusion.

“Whenever we are here by ourselves, you’ll wear one of my shirts.”

It was not a suggestion but a command.I narrow my eyes at him, assessing if it would be worth it to ignore his order.But it would only rile him, so I rip the damn shirt from his hands and throw it on after I’ve put on the first set of underwear I get my hands on.

I am pretty sure I hear him chuckle behind me.I turn around to see that he has thrown on a black shirt and black jeans.

Wait, where did those come from?I look at him in shock, I’ve never seen him in anything else than his beloved black-suit-white-shirt look.And this look makes him appear more…dangerous.The T-shirt hugs him like a second skin and his muscular arms are visible, as are the dark swirls covering muscle and sinews.

Definitely dangerous for my sanity.

He doesn’t seem to notice my inner turmoil, he just steps to me to grab my hand and drag me after him to the dining room.At least he lets me walk and is not carrying me around over his shoulder like some caveman.

When we reach the dining room, I see that a room service cart has been wheeled in, although I haven’t heard anyone come in.The table is set for two, and our plates are sitting on the table with silver cloches covering them.My steps falter.So someone else came in here.Maybe I can—

“Don’t even think about it, they’ll only come in when I’m here,” Matteo says from a step in front of me in a bored tone.I inhale sharply.He has his back to me, how does he…

“Come sit, let’s eat.”He motions to the table and I step closer.It is way past lunchtime and I am starving.But before I can slide into a chair, Matteo grabs me around the waist and pulls me down so that I am sitting sideways on his lap.I gasp.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“Shh, little ghost.Indulge me.”He coils his arm around my waist, pinning me to him.

“I can sit on my own chair,” I retort, annoyed at him and his overbearing manners.I push against his chest to try to disengage myself, but he only tightens his grasp.Then he casually leans to the table to uncover his plate.It smells so good that my stomach starts to grumble.I have been around Lily enough to recognize the small golden spheres glistening on the plate, surrounded by thinly sliced prosciutto and small stems of roasted asparagus.I am suddenly starving.But when I reach for the plate, he grabs my wrist.

“No,amore,” he says, tone calm but firm.He releases my wrists and picks up an arancini with his long fingers to hold it out to me.“You’ll eat when I feed you.”

I gape at him, heat rising in my cheeks.“Matteo, I canfeedmyself.”