Page 65 of American Hellhound
He swore he heard her rolling her eyes. “I have to take it and let our regular mechanic ‘make sure it’s safe.’ And I have to keep it spotless, and I’m not allowed to have more than one passenger at a time. But yeah, I can keep it.”
He wanted to say something about the “regular mechanic.” But bit his tongue – Mags couldn’t help what had been decreed. “Do they know it came from me?” he asked.
She blew out a breath across the receiver. “Yeah. I couldn’t lie about that.”
When she didn’t offer more, he said, “What’s your punishment?”
She hesitated. “I’m grounded. I can only go to school and my extracurriculars. And I have to help with my mom’s charity luncheon.”
“Your mom’s wasted on civilian life. She shoulda been a drill sergeant.”
Maggie snorted. “Believe me, I know.” She sighed. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”
His turn to snort. “I wasn’t sleeping.”
She made a concerned noise.
“Nah, it’s fine, I just…” He shrugged, though she couldn’t see him.
“It’s not my place,” she started, slowly. “And you don’t have to listen to me. But. Ghost, it doesn’t have to be like this. It could be better.”
“That’s what you don’t understand about the club, sweetheart.” His voice grew rough. “Once you’re in, you’re in for life. And the president makes the rules.”
“Even if other members have better ideas?”
“No one questions him.”
“Maybe somebody should.” He didn’t respond, so she said, “I’m sorry, I won’t keep you. Night, Ghost.”
“Night.”
The line went dead.
He hung up the phone slowly. No one had ever pushed Duane to go a different direction, not really.
But maybe somebody should.
Fifteen
Now
Maggie woke up warm, and a little bit breathless when her alarm went off. Ghost lay right up against her, his front plastered to her back, his arm tight beneath her breasts, squeezing hard enough to impact her breathing.
“Babe.” She elbowed him lightly and he snorted against the back of her head. “You’re going full boa constrictor on me.”
“Wha…? Oh.” His arm loosened – she took a deep breath – but didn’t move away. “Sorry.”
She covered the back of his hand with her own, lacing their fingers together. “Bad dream?”
“Yeah.” He moved their hands down, so his palm spanned the lowest part of her belly. He was no fumbling, first-time father; he knew where the new little life was growing, and he cupped it familiarly.
That simple touch was enough to warm her blood. She shifted back against him, pressing her shoulders into the hard wall of his chest.
He hummed his approval and nosed into her hair, working his way to the vulnerable skin at the back of her neck. He moved their hands lower, lower, pushing past the waistband of her sleep pants. She wasn’t exactly sexy lately, in her flannel, opting for comfort and warmth rather than slink – the pregnancy thing left her craving coziness – but he didn’t seem to mind, cupping her through her panties.
“You feel sick this morning?” he asked against her throat.
Her breath shivered in her lungs. “No.”
