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I really, really don’t want to make him hate me.
I use one of the sparkly crystal glasses—which seem to be the cheap dishes he owns—to down a glass of water or three, then wash it and place it back exactly where I found it. The hand towel is a little damp, but maybe it’ll dry before he needs to use it. He doesn’t strike me as the type to check without cause, so… I think I’m safe.
He did say I could go in his room for a T-shirt, so that’s probably the best option. He was very against the idea of seeing me naked, so I would hate for him to wander back in and see my boobs head on and go straight blind or something.
Man, his bed is huge. Like two king sized mattresses had a baby and the dad bed is convinced the mom bed cheated on him with the empire state building. Who could possibly need this much room all to themselves?
My insides twist. Oh, no, what if he has a wife? Or a husband? Or both?
I didn’t see a wedding ring, but maybe that’s to protect them? He lives a dangerous life. I guess I wouldn’t want people to know I have weaknesses in the form of loved ones, either.
I find myself snooping through his drawers, his closet, even under the bed. Hunting, like my life depends on it, for any such evidence I’m going to be found and butchered by a lover he hasn’t considered.
I find nothing.
I meannothing.
His room is as put together as his fridge, everything sorted and color coded and steamed and pressed and perfect. Even his socks are matched up.
What I wouldn’t give for an ounce of his concentration.
Okay, so no wife. Maybe a husband, if he has absolutely nothing here for himself and just wears Ghost’s things. The most unusual thing is the unopened box of condoms by the bed, and they’re only noteworthy for being packaged in a leather box. There are no other scents, no different sized shirts or pants to be found.
He really is all by himself.
I set the drawers back as I found them and pick a dark green T-shirt from his collection. It’s softer than the others, with a little hole at the neckline he surely hasn’t noticed yet. This is one he wears frequently. It even smells most like him. Clean and crisp, like mint leaves in an apple orchard.
Nervous about stealing his mile long bed, I tiptoe back out to the living room. There’s more light out here anyway, and if he comes back up, he might want his bed to himself. Though he could fit fifteen of me in there with him, I know how it feels when you just want to be alone in your own bed.
I’ve missed being alone in my bed for so long…now I don’t know what to do with myself.
I really should be more upset about this whole thing, shouldn’t I? Scared, or at least shaken? Maybe even angry. Any sort of emotion would suffice, but I just…feel calm. Calmer than I have in a long time. I’m not worried about sleeping here and waking up to a hand over my mouth, or to Chuck screaming and breaking things in the next room. I’m not afraid to close my eyes and actually rest, because I don’t worry Ghost is going to come back and hurt me.
And maybe I should. No, I definitely should. The last four years have been a nightmare, and I’ve seen more than anyone should. But never have I watched someone murdered, and because of me. I should be so frightened, I should be aching in my bones with remorse, but…
I don’t know. My biggest concern right now is Ghost thinking I’m ugly, or too broken for him to think about as anything more than an obligation, or simply being too polite to throw a woman out on the street. I’m worried about him liking me, wanting me in his space, and not tolerating it.
There’s something seriously wrong with me, and I know that. But I can’t help but celebrate the death of my captor, and acknowledge that Ghost… He’s different. He’s special. And it’s not just because of what he did, because his two very large guardsmen couldn’t have gotten me in a car with them for anything.
I plop down on the couch, curling my feet up into the shirt, and rest my head on the throw pillows. Pulling two from the other side to cover my feet, I rest on my butt and bury my face in the back. I tuck my nose under Ghost’s T-shirt, and if I close my eyes tight enough, I can almost make myself believe he’s holding me.
It makes falling asleep a lot easier, convincing myself we’re not both all alone.
* * *
I feel his touch before I hear his voice. His weathered, rough fingers moving so gently over my cheek, brushing my hair off my face. Calluses built up from music, or rope climbing, or…digging holes for bodies, probably… make his skin drag ever so slightly on the soft skin behind my ear.
In sleep, I can’t hold back the hum, can’t help but lean into the fleeting touch.
Unsurprisingly, he jerks back, his voice taking on a commanding edge now. “Lucy.”
I whine and bury my face in the couch, stretching my legs and pointing my toes. He lets out a shaky breath as I roll over, finishing my stretch with my arms above my head, arching my back with a mewl.
A string of curse words falls from his mouth, and reluctantly, I peek my eyes up at Ghost. He’s pink cheeked and frozen, still and straight as a board. His gaze stuck like a prisoner on my stomach.
I grin. “Morning, bunny.”
His eyes shoot up to mine. “Bun—?” He shakes himself, taking a step back, nearly falling over his own coffee table. “What are you doing on the couch?”
