Page 7 of Ghost's Angel

Instead, all I can think about is how right it feels to hold onto him. How his solid presence seems to seep inside me and fill all the empty, hollow spaces that I've tried so hard to ignore.

The rational part of my brain knows this is crazy. Knows I should be cautious, and probably afraid. But for the first time in longer than I can remember, I’m not alone.

Chapter 5

Mira

I’m not sure what to expect as far as a biker clubhouse, but when we arrive, loud music and laughter spill from within. It sounds like there's quite a party going on in there.

Ghost doesn’t take me in through the front door, though. Instead, he guides me around back and up a staircase, his large hand clasped around mine, gently and firmly pulling me along. The worn wooden steps creak beneath his heavy boots, but he moves with surprising grace for such a large man.

We encounter no one on our way up. Ghost unlocks a door and ushers me into what can only be his private quarters. The space is spartanly furnished but meticulously neat—a few pieces of solid wooden furniture, a leather armchair in one corner, and a large bed dominating the room. The whole thing is lovely, far nicer than my cramped, damp place, but...

Abed.Onebed.

The realization dawns on me, and a knot of anxiety tightens in my stomach. Is this...? Does he...?

"Where should I sleep?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Ghost nods at the bed.

"Right. And you? Where will you...?" My voice trails off, already knowing his answer.

Another nod at the same bed.

Right. Fine.

He crosses his arms over his chest casually, a brow raised, as if waiting for a response from me.

The tension in my shoulders tightens just a fraction more as I contemplate the bed—our shared space for the night. "Okay.” Embarrassingly, the word comes out as more of a squeak than actual speech.

Ghost's eyes fall on the damp duffel bag I'm hugging to my middle like a shield and with casual confidence, he crosses the room, shrugging off his cut and hanging it with careful reverence on a hook by the door. The muscles in his back ripple beneath his t-shirt as he bends to pull something from a drawer.

"Bathroom's through there if you want to change," he says, handing me what appears to be one of his t-shirts. "Should work as a nightshirt."

I manage a withering smile despite my nerves, before retreating to the small attached bathroom, desperate for a moment alone to collect my scattered thoughts.

Inside the bathroom, I take a steadying breath, lean against the closed door, and think about the strange turn this evening has taken. What is Ghost expecting tonight?

Sex, of course. Duh, Mia.

A delicious thrill runs through me.

I've never had sex before. Not because I lacked opportunities, if you want to call men like creepy Dave opportunities, but because I've never wanted to do it with anyone—until now. Until Ghost.

In this moment, I'm overtaken by a sensation so rare it's almost foreign to me. Fortune. If I'm going to lose my virginity, I'm fortunate it's with a man like Ghost. Arealman—one whoradiates a fierce masculinity and primal strength. A man with honor.

Honor?

He’s the president of an outlaw biker club, not to mention he came dangerously close to ending a life right in front of you tonight. Can you really call him honorable?

There’s an undeniable darkness to him. But he acted to shield me, and that knowledge alone sparks tingles in my belly.

My heart races wildly, chaotically, and I have to employ my breathing exercise again—four counts in, four counts out.

It seems to work.

I almost giggle aloud as I fumble with his t-shirt. It's warm and smells faintly of leather and spice. When I slide it over my head, it swallows me whole, the hem falling almost to my knees. There's something vaguely erotic about wearing the t-shirt of a huge biker and shivers of nervous excitement slither through me as I anticipate his rough hands taking it off me.

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