Page 12 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost
Her date reaches across, brushing a curl from her face. My body shifts forward, instinct taking over like a switch being flipped. Every muscle in my body goes taut, ready to launch across the room. My focus narrows, the room falling away until all I see is her—and his fucking hand on her face.
I imagine her underneath my body again. Not fighting this time. Surrendering. Acknowledging what we both felt in that warehouse.
A waiter approaches their table with champagne. Expensive bottle. Special occasion. The man takes her hand across the table as glasses are poured. He raises his in a toast, leaning closer, eyes fixed on her lips.
Something dangerous uncoils in my chest. Hot. Violent. Absolute.
My phone buzzes. Team alert. Priority one.
For the first time in fifteen years, the mission waits.
I set down the untouched whiskey, deadly calm settling over me like a second skin.
"No one touches what's mine," I whisper, rising from my seat like a predator.
four
Alina
The candlelight flickers across the gleaming silverware as I straighten my napkin for the third time. Gary Danko hums with elegant conversation and the soft clink of crystal glasses. David sits across from me, his smile reaching his eyes when he laughs at my story about chasing down a city council member for a quote.
"So this politician literally hid in a porta-potty to avoid your questions?"
I nod, taking a sip of the champagne. "For seventeen minutes. I timed it. His aide finally had to rescue him when I started interviewing waiting construction workers about 'suspicious activity in the portable facilities.'"
His laughter is warm, genuine. It ripples through me, melting some of the ice I've built around myself.
When was the last time I actually dressed up for someone? Let myself feel this flutter of anticipation?
Mom's voice echoes in my head from our Sunday call: "Sweetheart, not every man is investigating you for a story. Sometimes a handsome lawyer asking you to dinner is just... a handsome lawyer asking you to dinner."
I study David's face as he signals for another round of drinks. He's objectively gorgeous—salt and pepper at his temples, intelligent eyes, easy confidence. The black dress I chose tonight feels both like armor and invitation.
"You look miles away suddenly," David notes, leaning forward. His cologne is subtle, expensive. "Am I boring you with legal precedents?"
"Not at all. Just... processing."
"Processing what?" His fingertips brush mine on the table. The contact sends warmth up my arm.
Processing how badly this could end. How I don't know if I can do this again.
"Processing that I'm actually enjoying myself." I offer him a smile, genuine but guarded. "My work doesn't leave much room for... this."
The memory of my last relationship surfaces uninvited. Michael, fellow journalist, charming and driven. Six months of connection before discovering he'd sold out a source—risked someone's life—for a career advancement. The betrayal was professional and personal. Complete.
"Your work is important," David says, interrupting my thoughts. "But so is living, Alina."
His hand covers mine completely now. I don't pull away.
"My mother said something similar recently," I chuckle.
"Smart woman."
"She is. Raised me in a newspaper office and taught me to question everything."
"Everything?" His eyebrow arches playfully.
"Especially men who look at me the way you're looking at me right now." The words slip out, braver than I feel.
