Page 122 of American Hellhound
“There’s no way out,” he said, answering the unasked question. “You’re in for life, until you’re dead or excommunicated, and those are two things you don’t want to be.”
“Okay. Well.” She tucked her hair back and fixed him with a determined look. “Then you can’t let the club keep hurting you.”
He wasn’t sure which scared him more: the prospect of demanding a larger role, or the look in her eyes, the loyalty he hadn’t earned and didn’t deserve.
“You think you could help me with one of those business plan things?”
Her smile was approving. “Absolutely.”
Twenty-Three
Then
It was almost midnight, and she was cross-eyed, the words swimming on the page before her. She shut her eyes and rubbed them, white flowers bursting behind her lids.
They’d started before dinner, completely engrossed, long enough that Aidan had started complaining, and that Ghost had ordered pizza so she didn’t have to clear the table and cook. They sat on the floor now, across from each other, linoleum cluttered with loose leaf paper, and grease-stained paper plates. Aidan had been asleep for hours.
Ghost stretched his arms up over his head until both shoulders popped. He gave a satisfied grunt and let his hands fall into his lap. “Damn.” It was a pleased, tired, disbelieving kind of “damn” – the best kind. He surveyed the business plan spread out between them, touching the corner of a page. “You think he’ll go for it?” He looked a lot like Aidan when he was doubtful.
“I don’t know.” She didn’t think he would. “But you have to get the others to go for it. If everyone thinks this is a good idea, he can’t dismiss it out of hand.”
He blew out a breath that ruffled the paper. “I dunno.”
“You have to try.”
“I know.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “You didn’t need to go to all this trouble.”
She shrugged and the muscles at the base of her neck spasmed. “I might as well put all that studying to good use. Besides, I want to help.”
He blushed, just a little, adorable color on his cheeks, and ducked his head. “Yeah. Thanks.” He was bashful, looking up at her through his lashes.
She was exhausted, and sore from sitting, but she felt a tease of heat in the pit of her belly.
He held her gaze a long beat, until she felt breathless, like they’d never…like they weren’t already…
“You tired?” he asked, voice low and throaty.
Her body responded, a rush of wetness between her legs. She was tired, but now she was turned-on, too, so she shook her head.
“C’mere.”
She climbed into his lap, legs going around his waist, hands finding his shoulders. Her lips were poised just above his when the phone in the kitchen started to ring.
She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to his. “Ugh.”
“Let the machine get it,” he said, and kissed her. Kissed her mouth, long and sweet, his tongue sliding against hers. Kissed her jaw, her throat, lingering over her pulse point until her neck was weak.
The phone rang out to the machine – Ghost’s voice, curt and uninterested: “Leave a message” – and then…
“Margaret,” her mother’s voice said, and her heart stopped.
She pulled back from Ghost with a horrified gasp. Cold chills, shaking hands, racing heart.
“I went to a lot of trouble to obtain this number,” Denise continued through the answering machine, voice tinny and wavering, “so I hope you’ll call me back. It would be the polite thing to do.”
“Is she fucking serious?” Ghost whispered against her temple.
“We need to talk, Margaret,” Denise said with a sigh. “You can’t go on like this. Call me. Please.” The “please” sounded like it pained her.
