Page 13 of Ghost

“Go to bed, pretty girl.”

I stared at him, not sure if I was more annoyed that he was issuing orders or that he had stopped. “You’re bossing me around in my own house?”

He turned me toward the hallway with a smile. “Consider it a strong recommendation.”

“Your recommendations sound an awful lot like orders.”

“I’ll work on it tomorrow.”

I glanced at him over my shoulder, my eyes narrowing. “You’re staying tomorrow too?”

“See? You’re catching on.” Satisfaction flared in his dark eyes. “Get some sleep. I’ll be here.”

I thought I’d be too keyed up to fall asleep, but his promise made me feel safe, and I drifted off shortly after closing my eyes.

6

GHOST

Iwoke to the sound of Tamsin moving around in her bedroom, the old floorboards carrying each soft step through the quiet house. I had spent the night stretched across a couch built for someone a foot shorter, sleeping lightly enough to register every vehicle on the county road. My duffel remained beside the couch, opened only long enough for me to trade the smoke-stained shirt from the night before for a clean black one.

My phone vibrated against the coffee table with updates. The Bellamy properties had remained quiet overnight, but a fire-damaged camera at the warehouse still left part of the west wall blind, so I ordered two men to keep on that section until Cipher replaced it.

Tamsin stepped into the living room with damp curls spilling around her shoulders and stopped when she saw me already dressed. She wore soft sleep shorts and a loose pale shirt that skimmed the curves of her tits and narrow waist every time she moved.

The memory of her mouth opening beneath mine against the wall the night before sent blood straight to my cock. I angled my hips behind the coffee table before the worn jeans I had pulled on made the reaction impossible to miss.

“Did you sleep at all?” she asked, gathering her damp hair over one shoulder as she came closer. The motion lifted the hem of her shirt enough to expose a narrow strip of fair skin above her shorts, and every filthy thought I had postponed last night came roaring back.

“Enough,” I replied, setting my phone on the coffee table.

She studied me, caught between suspicion and reluctant amusement, before moving toward the kitchen.

“Stryker wants you at the clubhouse before we go back to the warehouse,” I murmured as I followed her.

Tamsin stopped just inside the doorway and looked back at me. “What does he need?”

I leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. “He wants what you know, not whatever bullshit you can invent before coffee.”

“That’s a reassuring standard.”

I grinned. “Works for us.”

Tamsin glanced down and seemed to remember that she was standing in front of me in a loose sleep shirt and shorts. The movement shifted the thin fabric over her tits and exposed more of her bare thighs, drawing my gaze slowly down the length of her legs before it climbed back to the soft curves beneath her shirt. When she looked up again, she found my attention exactly where she expected it.

“I need to get dressed,” she muttered, tugging the hem of her shirt lower even as color spread across her cheeks. “You could pretend not to stare.”

“I could,” I replied, meeting her eyes without a trace of apology. “Seems dishonest, though.”

Her blush deepened as she opened a cabinet, and I took the coffee from her before she could start it. Tamsin gave me a pointed look but stepped aside, letting me fill the machine while she set out two mugs and reached for the cream. She moved through the small kitchen with sleepy familiarity, and I watched because I liked imagining her bent over that counter with those little shorts pushed around her hips.

She escaped to the bedroom with her coffee before the heat between us turned breakfast into a repeat of the previous night’s kiss. By the time she returned in dark jeans, boots, and a fitted blue shirt, my control had settled back into place, but my body still reacted to her curves.

She checked her phone, picked up her bag, and reached for the car keys hanging near the back door, but I held out the spare helmet a brother had delivered with my duffel.

“I have a truck,” she grumbled, curling her fingers around the keys as she looked from the helmet to me.

“It’ll still be here when we get back.” I lifted the helmet slightly, making it clear the offer was not changing.