Page 101 of Unleashed

He groaned dramatically, running a hand through his wet hair. “Don’t remind me. That winter was brutal.”

It had been, but it wasn’t all bad. I smiled, thinking back to the snowstorm when Slade had asked me to marry him. Central Park, snow falling around us, and the surprise of his proposal made it unforgettable.

“It could’ve been worse,” I teased, watching him.

“I have no idea how. We were stuck working out indoors.”

I smirked. “Soon it’ll be summer, and you’ll be whining about the heat.”

“Never,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye, snapping his towel at my bare ass.

I yelped, half-laughing. “Hey, that hurt!”

“Want me to kiss it and make it better?” he asked, his grin widening as he stepped closer.

“Jerk,” I muttered, rolling my eyes even as a smile tugged at my lips.

He feigned offense. “I resent that.”

I grabbed my hairbrush and started working through the tangles in my long hair. Before I could make much progress, Slade took the brush from my hand and moved behind me. His hands were gentle as he worked through the knots, and I leaned into the sensation, my body relaxing under his touch.

“I love when you brush my hair,” I murmured, closing my eyes. “It’s so...”

“Intimate?” he finished softly.

I nodded. “Yeah, that.”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss the side of my neck. “I love being intimate with you.”

The warmth in his voice made my heart swell, and I turned to face him. “Maybe we should go for that run in the park after all.”

His eyes lit up. “Yeah? I’d love that.”

“Don’t bother finishing the hair,” I said, grinning. “I’ll just put it up in a ponytail.”

He chuckled, running his fingers through the strands one last time. “Deal. But can I brush it after our next shower?”

I laughed, swatting his chest playfully. “If you must.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he said with a wink, pulling me close for another kiss.

I hadno idea that our run would give me the shock of my life. The moment I saw him—or thought I saw him—my breath caught in my throat, knocking the wind out of me.

Slade and I jogged through Central Park, weaving between parents with their children, people walking dogs, and teenagers skating dangerously close to the cops. The warmth of the sun kissed my skin, and I reveled in the gentle breeze that stirred the budding leaves. It was one of those perfect spring days that made you forget how miserable winter had been. I felt light, carefree... until I saw him.

It couldn’t be. Michael’s shaggy chestnut hair fell below his collar, a sharp contrast to the clean-cut image I’d carried of him. His thin beard and mustache, a few shades lighter than his hair, were new too. But those eyes—those ice-blue eyes—locked onto me with the same intensity that used to make my heart skip a beat. My legs almost gave out from the shock, and I stumbled, coming to a halt.

I bent over, hands on my knees, struggling to catch my breath—not from the run but from the sudden reappearance of a ghost.

Slade was already several feet ahead when he noticed I was no longer beside him. “Morgan?” he called, turning back to me, concern creasing his brow as he jogged toward me. I forced myself to straighten up, my chest still heaving.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was laced with worry.

“Cramp,” I lied, wincing as if in pain. “In my thigh. Hurts like hell.” I spoke louder than I needed to, catching the side-eye of a woman walking by with two small children. She shot me a dirty look, and I ignored it.

Slade stepped closer, eyes scanning me for any sign of injury. “You want to walk it off?”

“I’d rather go home.” I glanced in the direction where I’d seen Michael, but he was gone. My pulse raced. Had I imagined him?

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