Page 40 of Ghosted
“Well, that’s embarrassing.” I bury my face in my hands, brain cruelly replaying every single time I’ve looked at Dean and felt my heart rate kick up.
“It’s not. Rae, trust me, if you could sense how I felt, you’dsee that I feel the same things,” he says softly. “I’m not trying to invade your privacy. And if it helps, I didn’t know what it was until now. I assumed that I was just feeling my own emotions.”
I remove my hands from my face and sit back with a sigh. “It’s okay. I know it’s not your fault. My sister, Wren, can sense auras and emotions, so I’m used to it. She’s my sister, though. She might ask questions, but my emotions won’t scare her away. There’s kind of nothing to lose, you know?” I say.
“Auras?” he asks dubiously.
“Oh,nowyou’re going to be skeptical?” I say, sticking my hand through him and wiggling my fingers.
He glances down at my hand, making a humming sound. “Alright, fair point. But seriously? Auras?”
I nod, bringing my hand back to my lap. “Yep. She can sense the emotions and auras of everyone around her, and the more time you spend with her, the more in tune she is. So, being her sister…” I let the thought trail off, not wanting to sound like I’m not grateful to have her in my life or like her abilities are in any way her fault.
“It means that she can read you like a book.” I smile a little and nod at his comparison, though it’s more like she can sense and parse through my emotions as well as her own.
“That must have been hard growing up,” he says with a mock shiver. “I can’t imagine going through puberty and having someone else privy to my depraved, hormone-addled brain.”
I laugh against my will. “Yeah, luckily for Wren, I wasn’t exactly prom queen, so any lust I felt was alone at night in the safety and relative privacy of my bedroom,” I say, picking at a loose thread in my sweats.
“Lust in the privacy of your own room, huh? Way to rub it in. My parents are well off, but I had to share aroom with my older brother, Luke, until he left the house. Then I had one blissful year in my own bedroom. Jessica Alba and Ashley Graham were folded neatly under my mattress, free for me to drool over, amongst other things.” Dean leans back and stretches with a feline grace that belies the frequent use of his home gym when he was alive.
I try my damndest not to think too hard about what other things he might have done under the cover of night with nothing but himself and his thoughts for company. Particularly in recent years, when he had a whole house at his disposal.
Dean groans low in his throat. “You’re doing it again, Alderwood.”
“Sorry,” I say, not really sorry at all.
I’m suddenly aware that we’re alone with no real objective—and he’sright there.My heart gallops, but I try to distract myself by watching the movie previews playing one after another on the TV. I try to think of boils and scabs. Anything but the sexy specter to my right, who’s looking at me like he wants to have me for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I inhale a deep, calming breath, and can almost swear I smell his distinct brand of male deliciousness.
Geez, am I ovulating or something?
“You know, even when you’re masking your thoughts, I can still taste the undercurrent of your desire. It’s a physical weight on the room, Alderwood,” he says, voice low. I look away, stubbornly trying to avoid the conversation he wants to have.
His demeanor changes, voice losing some of its rasp as he says, “I thought you were okay with taking this moment by moment and enjoying this while we can. If you’re having second thoughts, tell me. Please. I never want to make you uncomfortable.” He places a crackling hand on my shoulderuntil I look at him, eyes roving over his worried expression. I like his concern. I like that he puts me first.
“I am okay with it. I really am. I’m sorry if I’m being confusing. I told you when we went out on our date that it’s been a long time since I’ve been with anyone. And, the truth is, even with my past relationships, they barely skimmed the surface before they ended. I’m not totally inexperienced physically, but… well, it’s been a while. And it’s never been like it is with you, dead or alive. Just kissing you alone is better than any sex I’ve ever had with another person. It’s overwhelming.” I swallow down the embarrassment of the admission and try to feel good about being brave. Even though I’m tensing for the inevitable pain of rejection.
I realize I’m still foolishly trying to protect my heart and to prevent myself from falling any harder for him. His humor, intelligence, and kindness, on top of the cologne-ad looks and physical chemistry we have, are all making it feel impossible. Even if he never touched me again, I’d still be devastated when he moves on. I don’t want to tell him that, though. It feels like too much to admit. Too much to lay bare. The lust and physical attraction are fine, easy to dismiss. The deeper stuff, though? That needs to be guarded. Because at the end of the day, I have a job to do. I can’t let my heart get in the way.
He nods. “I get it. It’s a lot for me, too. I guess I just don’t want to let any happiness pass me by, you know? ‘Life is short’ isn’t just a saying; it’s my experience. You make me happy, Rae. I want to soak up as much time with you as I can. While I’d love to touch you, if that isn’t something you want or feel like you can handle, I get it.” He gives me a tentative smile. His ability to be totally honest with me is refreshing. And it makesme feel guilty for guarding my own soft spots. But soon, he’ll be gone and I’ll be here—picking up the pieces.
I close my eyes against those thoughts, unwilling to follow my mind down that depressing spiral. When I open them again, he’s looking at me. It’s so tender and open, I could scream. Yell at him for baring his jelly-soft heart to me so easily. Doesn’t he understand how much it hurts to give your heart to someone and have them toss it out with the trash? Hasn’t he ever had it stomped on? It makes me irrationally angry that he’s so trusting. The man wasmurdered, and he’s still willing to hand me his heart on a silver platter. Meanwhile, mine’s so far hidden, I don’t even know if I can trust its’ judgement anymore.
The longer I look at him, the more frustrated I become. The more I want to kiss his stupid plush mouth and feel his stupid gigantic hands on me.
His eyes darken, pupils blowing wide. He reaches out a thumb, brushing it delicately along the sensitive skin of my lower lip. I didn’t even realize I was biting it until he gently frees it from the press of my teeth.
“Do you want me to touch you, Rae?” he asks my mouth, unable to move his focus from the motion of his thumb, sliding back and forth over my lip. Instead of answering, I open my mouth further and bite the pad of his thumb, before sucking the slight hurt away. “Fuck. Me,” he breathes.
A slow smile spreads across my face. “Can I kiss you first?”
TWENTY-FOUR
The manpositively launches at me, taking us both horizontal across the couch. I hardly have time to register the shock of his full body weight pressed against me, wedging me firmly into the cushions, before his mouth is on mine. All I can think about are tongues, and teeth, and gasping breaths.
He kisses me like a man possessed, and before I can think better of it, I’m right there with him. I feel like I’m losing my mind to this kiss and the way he brands me with the static of his lips.
My knees fall open, allowing him to press firmly between them. Dean’s groan vibrates from his chest into mine. He rocks his hips against me and I greedily cant my pelvis into him, seeking as much friction as I can. I throw my head back against the arm of the couch, biting my lip against the moan that wants to fall from my lips. When I feel his warm, large hand at the hem of my shirt, I open my eyes to see a question in his.
