Page 51 of Ghosted
He walks through the couch and sits next to me, peering over my shoulder. “‘So,’ he asks again, ‘what’s that?’”
“Did you just refer to yourself in third person?” I ask.
“Mm. Trying something new. Too much?” he says, raising his brows at me. Today he’s wearing a casual t-shirt and dark jeans, the botanical tattoo sleeve dancing enticingly down his arm.
“Maybe a little,” I say with a laugh. “This is a grimoire. It’s super old,” I tell him, tilting the book so he can get a better look.
“Like, a spell book?” he clarifies.
“Yeah, sort of. It’s the writer’s collection of any and all magical knowledge, including spells. But even things like herbal remedies, dream journaling, and a witch’s calendar can be kept in a grimoire. The Cracked Spine donated it for the silent auction,” I explain.
“Are you trying to pick up a new hobby, Alderwood?” he teases.
“Not exactly, but I was just curious if there was anything useful for me or my sister in here. Anything about spirits or auras.”
He purses his lips at me. “You do remember that you were drugged yesterday, had a full day of work today, and are in the process of solving my murder?”
“Yes…?” I reply, drawing out the word.
He grabs the book from me gently and sets it on the coffee table. “You deserve to rest a little. You have a lot going on. And I know you’re going to be up early tomorrow to get back to work. Why don’t you go take a hot shower and go to bed?”
“Are you trying to boss me around?” I grumble.
“I would never,” he admonishes. “But I want you to take care of yourself, too. You’re running yourself ragged. You deserve a break.”
I sigh and nod, knowing he’s right. In a blink, he’s standing and holding his hand out to me, looking a little lust-crazed. “Oh, I see. This is a group activity,” I quip.
“No funny business. I want to take care of you,” he says, expression surprisingly tender despite the stoked heat in them.
I smile crookedly at him. “Okay, lead the way.”
When we get to my small bathroom, he turns the shower on for me. Scalding hot, just the way I like it. “I wish you had a bathtub,” he sighs.
“Me too,” I say ruefully, thinking of the gorgeous jacuzzi tub in his en suite.
“This will do,” he says, vanishing his clothes with a theatrical snap of his fingers.
“So, be honest: How much are you practicing that when I’m not around?”
“Oh, it’s like, ninety percent of what I do when you’re busy,” he says mock-seriously.
“And the other ten percent?” I ask, keeping my eyes trainedon his face, even though they’re practically begging to dip lower.
“I follow you around unseen in the ether because I can’t stay away,” he says, coming in closer to grab the hem of my long-sleeved t-shirt. He slowly brings it up overhead and tosses it in the small laundry basket in the corner.
“You do not,” I state, feeling a blush creep over my whole body. The thought of him watching when I don’t know is kind of hot. Maybe I’ve read a few too many dark romances, because that should be creepy, but it isn’t. It’s oddly sweet that he doesn’t want to be away from me, even when he’s “recharging” as we’ve come to call it. I thought I was sensing him when he wasn’t there, but I had myself half-convinced it was just wishful thinking.
He’s suddenly behind me, leaning in so his lips spark against my ear when he states, “I do. I watch you when I’m not with you because I can’t stop myself. You’re addicting.” He unclips my bra dexterously and allows it to fall to the floor.
I can’t help but watch my nipples tighten in the mirror, with a rosy-cheeked Dean looming over me from behind. He meets my gaze in the reflection, tilting his head like a predator evaluating its next prey. “You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever had the privilege of seeing. Touching,” he says in my ear, reaching a large hand around to palm the heavy weight of my breast.
“I thought you said no funny business,” I tease, watching his thumb make slow circles over me in the mirror.
“You’re right, I did say that,” he murmurs, removing his hand from my breast and letting it slide down to my waist, trailing goosebumps in its wake. I whimper in disappointment.He encircles my waist with both arms and pulls me back into his hard chest, making static dance up and down my spine.
He slowly undoes the button on my jeans and pulls the zipper down. I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience, watching him undress me this way in the mirror. I would normally see all the rolls or cellulite. The things that I wanted to change. But right now, with him treating me like a present he gets to unwrap, I feel like Aphrodite: powerful, and sensual, and wanted.
He bends down, taking my jeans with him, totally unencumbered by the wall behind him because he just passes right through. His control over his body in this form is truly amazing, and something I can think about in more detail later. Right now, I’m too busy trying to remember to breathe. Just when I think he’ll stand, he hooks his fingers around the band of my underwear and strips them off in one fluid motion.
