Page 8 of Ghost's Angel

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair is a tangled mess, and my eyes betray my excitement. There's a faint flush to my cheeks that makes me look more like a girl about to go to her first dance than a woman about to share a bed with a man like Ghost—a man whose very presence intimidates.

In here, I can hear faint sounds wafting up from downstairs—shouts intermingled with the rhythmic base of the music. The energy feels alive, almost electric. I can't shake the curiosity creeping in. This ishisworld. What would it feel like to belong here?

What would it feel like to belong anywhere?

When I emerge from the bathroom, Ghost is reclining on the bed, his arms behind his head and his legs crossed at the ankles watching me with those intense dark gray eyes. He's wearing nothing but tight boxer briefs, putting his well-built body on full display. Intricate tattoos cover his muscled chest and arms—dark swirls and sharp angles that almost, but not quite, hide the collection of scars marring his skin. Powerful thighs, strong calf muscles, and deeply-defined abs are clearly visible, as is a tempting V that points the way to the large bulge beneath the waistband of his briefs. He's magnificent.

My cheeks heat and a wave of arousal drenches my panties. He’s so big and sexy and masculine.

A relaxed grin is plastered on his face.

"Better?" he asks, tilting his head toward me, his voice low and smooth like warm honey.

"Yeah. Better." I nod, enthusiastic but still teetering on that precipice of nerves.

I take a tentative step toward the bed then stop. This is it. My first time. My first ever sexual experience. Despite my nerves, I have to bite my bottom lip to keep from grinning like a lunatic.

And then he opens his mouth and my excitement crashes and burns.

"You don't need to worry," he says quietly. "I don't plan on touching you tonight."

I want to beg, I want to plead—touch me, please! And I almost do, but the words catch in my throat and stay there.

I simply nod, trying to hide my slight disappointment.

Silly. I'm silly. Of course he doesn’t want…

He's only being honorable, offering shelter to a woman who’s having a shit night. Nothing more.

Finally willing my feet to move again, I climb into bed. The sheets are surprisingly soft, and the mattress is far more comfortable than my lumpy futon.

Although I'm careful to maintain space between us, I can feel the warmth radiating off him. His powerful presence is intoxicating.

He reaches over and switches off the bedside lamp, plunging us into darkness. For several long moments, we lie in an awkward, charged silence.

"Tell me something," Ghost says finally, his deep voice rumbling in the darkness. "How is someone who works as hard as you living in a flooded shitbox?"

I'm mortified. I stare up at the ceiling, fighting back the burning in my eyes as I search for the right words to explain. How much to reveal? What parts of my unsavory past do I lay bare? I already feel like a charity case, do I really want to lay my sob story on him?

No, I don't, but something tells me he's not about to let it go, so I feed him a half-truth.

"I can't rent anywhere decent. My credit is ruined."

"How did that happen?"

Is that judgement I hear in his tone? I really hope not. This is already embarrassing enough. I swallow hard, setting my shoulders back as I steel myself for the confession.

"My last foster parents,” I start, my voice steadier than I feel, “they... they used my social security number. Opened credit cards, took out loans. Wracked up huge bills. I didn't even know until I tried to rent my first apartment."

Ghost's rumbling snarl startles me. It almost sounds like he growled the word "motherfuckers."

"There's not much I can do." My voice cracks and I swallow hard against the lump in my throat.

When he asks, "Have they been prosecuted?" I'm suddenly overcome with shame.

"Um...well, no. I thought about going to the police, but I don't need that." It’ll only make them hate me more and possibly come after me. By way of explanation, and praying I don't sound as pathetic as I feel, I add, "It's hard to fight a legalbattle when you're all alone and mere survival is kicking your butt."

Ghost rolls onto his side to face me, and even in the dim light, I can see the intensity burning in his dark eyes.

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