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“You’re delusional,” he scoffed, but his cheeks were flushed, eyes fever-bright.
“Coward.” The single word fell between us like a gauntlet, heavy with challenge.
We stared at each other, chests heaving, the air crackling with tension. I was drowning in those fathomless eyes, lost in the swell of his lips and the corded muscles of his neck.
“I’m not afraid of you,” he rasped. His voice had an edge of anger to it and was dripping with contempt.
I leaned in, my mouth hovered a hairsbreadth away from his ear, and murmured, “Prove it.”
He froze, emotions flickering across his face in rapid succession — surprise, confusion, anger, and maybe even lust. Arousal shot through my veins like fire as my cock hardened painfully in my pants. The aching desire intensified and pulsed throughout every inch of me as I waited to see what he would do.
He surged forward, mouth crashing into mine, and I groaned at the taste of him, whiskey-sharp and intoxicating. Our tongues tangled as my hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer until there was no space left between us.
He was hard beneath his jeans, and the thought of him being aroused by me sent a bolt of pleasure right to my groin. He pulled away suddenly, and I growled low in protest, my hands grasping his shoulders, not wanting to end our kiss. He pushed me back, and I immediately retreated.
His flashing eyes bored into me, full of hate and loathing. Lifting his chin, he met my gaze defiantly. “Fuck you, Greyson. I’m not afraid of you.”
I chuckled darkly as I tried to steady my breath. I was so filled with lust that I had to clench my hands into fists, so I didn’t reach out and touch him. He may hate me, but that kiss was pure passion.
I shifted in my seat, desperate to quench the searing passion that had taken over me. My cock was so hard and thick that I felt like it could rip through the fabric of my jeans. Ghost’s smoldering gaze seemed to consume me, and the look in his eyes made it clear he wanted to hate fuck me into next week. The thought of an unrestrained night with him ignited a storm of craving within me, and I doubted I’d be able to handle the sheer intensity of it. I would combust.
Ghost said that he hated me, but then he kissed me with such intensity that it was hard for him to deny that there wasn’t something more between us. I suspected his intense anger was coming from a place of denial — deep down, he wanted me, but he refused to acknowledge it.
And that knowledge excited me. If his hatred was misplaced, then maybe I could get through to him.
The car pulled up to the entrance of the hotel. Ghost sat unmoving, staring out the window as the driver got out of the car.
“We need to talk about Remi.” My voice sounded harsh in the silent car.
Ghost turned to look at me then, his eyes cold and hard. “There’s nothing to talk about.” He turned back to face the window.
I wasn’t going to sit around while he acted sullen and immature, but I was determined not to let this be the end of the discussion between us. I’d come to Boston to resolve all of these feelings I had for him, for good or for bad. I got out of the car and closed the door.
The security guy who drove us wheeled my suitcase over to me. It must have been in the back of the car. One of the perks of being a celebrity was constantly having people take care of all my needs. I hadn’t even thought about my suitcase since the airport.
As I was thanking the man, Ghost opened the car door and circled around to my side to enter the hotel.
The security guy asked, “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Durant? Would you like me to arrange a room for you?”
“No, thank you. I’m good for now.” I smiled at the man and then quickly followed after Ghost, who was walking through the nearly empty lobby and making a beeline straight for the elevator bank. The security guard trailed a few steps behind us.
One of the elevator doors slid open right away and Ghost slipped inside, pressing buttons and trying to close the doors before I could get in. I stuck out my hand and prevented the doors from closing before I got onto the elevator, earning a glare from Ghost.
When the security guy tried to join us, Ghost spoke up, “I’m in for the night, Bishop. Thanks.”
Bishop stepped back. “Alright, Ghost. Have a good night.”
The elevator doors closed, and we rode up in silence. Ghost looked back at me as I followed him off the elevator onto the eighth floor. “Are you stalking me, Grey?”
I wasn’t going to let him scare me off. “I’m not leaving until we talk.”
He looked away, and I could see the muscles in his jaw clenching. He didn’t even respond as he strode down the hallway toward his room. I followed closely behind him, my heart pounding against my chest in anticipation of what I needed to reveal to him.
We reached his room, and he fished the keycard out of his pocket and opened the door. I followed him inside, my eyes immediately drawn to the luxurious suite. To the right of the entrance was a sitting area that boasted a couch with plush velvet upholstery, two armchairs, and a low coffee table. A kitchenette was on the opposite side and straight ahead in the bedroom area sat a king-sized bed with a thick feather-down comforter and too many decorative pillows.
I left my suitcase by the door and found some water bottles in the kitchen. When I came back with one for each of us, Ghost was reclining on the couch with his arms stretched across the back of the cushions, his head tilted back and eyes closed, and his long legs propped up on the coffee table.
I placed a water bottle on the table for him and then sat down in the chair near the couch.
