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“Stop, Ghost, please.”
“He hurt you?”
Yes, badly. But she couldn’t tell Ghost that. He’d go off the deep end. S
o, instead she shook her head.
“Jess, tell me. Say the word and I’m on my bike headed to fucking Seattle to beat that motherfucker’s ass.”
She couldn’t have that. She didn’t want Ghost to get involved in that, to commit a felony for her. And the last thing she wanted was to ever have anything to do with Kyle again. So she pasted on a bright smile and turned to face Ghost.
“Gonna play the big bad brother part, huh?”
“If that’s what you need me to do, brat. Absolutely.”
She laughed and rolled her eyes. “Not necessary. No ass beating required. I promise.”
His eyes searched hers, and she was sure he could read the lies on her face.
“Someday you’re gonna tell me all of it. That’s a promise.”
She went to him, pressing her head into his chest, her arms hugging him tight. “Not tonight, Ghost. Please.”
His arms closed around her, and his lips brushed her forehead.
“Okay, brat. Not tonight.”
She held him, her eyes closed, breathing in his scent, soaking up his warmth. She felt safe from all of it. Kyle, and the Death Heads. And she felt what little energy she had drain right out of her.
He held her a few moments longer, somehow sensing she needed it. Then his hold loosened.
“Come on, brat. Let’s get you to bed.
He took her inside and set her up in his bed, taking the couch for himself.
This time, she didn’t try to persuade him to join her, the wounds of his rejection still smarting. But that didn’t make the long night spent alone in his big bed any easier, especially when she was surrounded by the scent of him lingering on his sheets. She curled up, inhaling deeply from the fistful she pulled to her face and fell asleep, wishing things were different.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ghost woke to the smell of bacon. He frowned, pushing the throw blanket off him and glancing around, finding it strange to be waking on his couch for a split second before it all came rushing back.
Jessie was in his bed. Only she wasn’t. She apparently was making bacon.
He walked into the tiny room around the corner behind the bar that he’d converted into his kitchen, leaving the industrial kitchen alone for now until he decided what to do with the place.
He leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms and took in the sight before him. Jessie was standing at the stove adding a sprinkle of cheese to some scrambled eggs cooking in a pan.
His eyes skated down her. She had on one of his flannel shirts, her legs bare underneath, and he couldn’t help but wonder what else was bare under there. As he leisurely took in the sight, she lifted one bare foot to rub it against the back of her calf and hell, if that wasn’t the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
“Mornin’, brat.”
Her head swiveled, startled, and her eyes took him in. The bare chest, the sweats hanging low on his hips. And he watched her flush and swallow.
“Good morning. You woke up.”
“To a man, the smell of bacon cookin’ is better than any alarm clock.”
She grinned. “I’ll have to remember that. I hope you’re hungry.”
