Page 32 of American Hellhound
In the speckled moonlight that filtered through the branches overhead, Ghost saw her eyes widen; heard the faint rush of her indrawn breath. Strands of escaped hair, glimmering silver in the shadows, framed a face that projected surprise. Not that he’d reached for her, he didn’t think – no, hers was the face of a girl surprised by her own reaction to his proximity.
It was the sort of thing he was used to – women having reactions to him – but it was never like this, never so undemanding and raw. Like this was new for her.
Ghost had had many things in his life; new wasn’t usually one of them.
“Here,” he said again, softly, and gripped the chin strap with great care. He unbuckled it, careful not to pinch her, and then drew the helmet off. Slowly, slowly, like she was a wild animal he was trying not to startle.
The wind caught her hair and dragged it across her face. She pushed it back and stared up at him, gaze gentle, and wondrous, and just a little bit afraid. She was beautiful. Not just hot, or sexy, or pretty. But honest to God beautiful. His awareness of her shifted, reached in deep between his ribs and clawed at vulnerable places.
Shit.
“I think you oughta get some new friends,” he said, to keep from saying something he might regret later.
Some of the surprise eased in her face, replaced with a smirking half-smile. She could handle the ribbing better than the kindness. “Friends who don’t hang out in nasty-ass houses?”
“Definitely.”
“You volunteering to be one of the new ones?” He tried to tell himself there was nothing hopeful in her voice. Nope. No way.
“Nah,” he said, giving her one of this patented, don’t-bother-me smiles that worked so well on the groupies. “You don’t want anything to do with me.”
Which was maybe theworstthing to say to a girl you were trying to push away from you.
Maggie’s smile widened, her eyes shining. “You might be handy for a quick getaway, though, if I ever need to run from the cops again.”
He lifted an admonishing finger and aimed it at her face. “Don’t get tangled up with illegal shit anymore.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, chuckling, and his stomach somersaulted in reaction.
“Good,” he said, covering the fluttery feeling in his chest with gruffness. “I’m too busy to be rescuing damsels all the time.”
“Too busy selling all those drugs.”
“Jesus.” He rolled his eyes and took a step back. “Get going before I change my mind about walking you to your door.”
Her eyes widened; she’d told him earlier, when they pulled over at Leroy’s, that she didn’t want her parents waking up and peeking out the window to see him. Not a surprising proclamation; he wasn’t the sort of man parents ever liked to see near their daughters.
Maggie took two steps away from him, and then turned back, poised in a moonbeam like something out of a kid’s movie, all silver and marble and disarming softness.
“Who was the medicine for?” she asked, expression concerned.
And just like that, all the leaping and jumping in his gut vanished, replaced by the familiar, heavy dread that had weighed him down like concrete for the last few months.
It was so easy to flirt with her, to engage in the back and forth and enjoy bantering with a pretty girl who didn’t know anything about him, no strings attached. He hadn’t expected it to last – didn’t even want it to – but the moment he mentioned Aidan, the charade would end…as would whatever thisrelationshipwas between them.
He swallowed hard. “My kid.”
Somehow, her expression softened further. “I hope he starts feeling better soon,” she said, and walked off into the shadows.
~*~
He needed to get home. Make sure Aidan was okay, relieve the “babysitter,” scrounge up something to eat before he started pouring whiskey down his gullet. There was no doubt a party raging at the clubhouse, but he didn’t have the heart for it. He didn’t want anyone’s company tonight.
But he lingered, just a little longer, walking down the dark, expensive street with his hands in his pockets. He followed Maggie at a distance, far enough she couldn’t see him, watching her reach her parents’ driveway, skirt the lights, and finally slip inside through a downstairs window.
He waited until the window was shut – locked too, he hoped – and then went back to his bike.
Eight
