Page 21 of Ghost
She swung her attention to his face.Instinct made her coil away from his ensnaring glare.Her hands were free now.She could fight.Even with the shackle she could do damage—strangle him with it.But she wanted to sink into his arms.To feel safe and protected, like she had for those blissful moments when he carried her.
Stupid.
He was going to kill her.Hated her.And he should.
She stared at him through heavy lids.Nausea rolled around in her stomach.If she’d eaten anything recently, she probably would’ve thrown up.
His hand went to the side of her face and she flinched.
“Easy.”The simple word, one he’d said before, came out low and soft, belying the monster in front of her.
He was so big.Had she really guessed he was only six foot two?He had to be larger.His palm touched her cheekbone as he inspected the wound on her head.
“Headache?”he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.She couldn’t nod.The searing pain was too great.
“Nausea?”
She blinked in confirmation.
His mouth flattened into a firm line.Her body braced for anger.For him to fling her back to the cement like a rag doll and leave her again.
He did none of that.
His hold stayed firm, and something in his eyes suggested he was at war with himself.She’d make the decision easy for him.Using what little strength she had, she pushed off his hands and crumpled back to the cement, closing her eyes.
For the first time in a long time, she wanted the voices back.
She didn’t know if she’d fallen asleep or if he’d left, but once again he was close.A warm, steady palm on the nape of her neck angled her head back slightly.
“Drink.”The word fluttered through the fog around her.
The incessant pounding in her head wanted only the void.
“I said, drink,” he ground out, clearly pissed.He was either angry at himself for helping her or taking her slow movements as defiance.
The rim of a plastic water bottle was at her mouth.Cool water touched her lips.She opened them and the liquid slid over her tongue and down her throat.Her eyes popped open.
The man held her head on his lap, his hand beneath her neck as he held the drink steady for her.Water dribbled down her face and neck, but he cradled her while she drank the whole bottle.
She gasped from the exertion it had taken to drink so much at once.His sleeve came across her lips.She wanted to lunge away from him, to scramble back to her spot on the cement so she could close her eyes.
“I’ve got some ibuprofen.Tell me your real name and I’ll give it to you.”
She fought a smirk.The guy was nothing if not persistent.God, what did it matter anymore?She was going to die here anyway.
The idea of hearing him say her name made her heart beat faster.Which was ridiculous.She must have hit her head pretty damn hard.
“Come on,” he urged, his fingers flexing on her scalp and sending a shiver of delight through her.His scent invaded her.His hands so close to her neck should have terrified her.She had no doubt he could snap her spinal cord with sickening ease—at least right now.
“M-Mila,” she whispered.
His dark eyebrows met over his nose, and then the hard planes of his face softened.Either he was shocked she’d complied or he didn’t think the name suited her.If the latter, he was right.The name Mila was right for the sweet nine-year-old dancing in her living room and skating on the rink in her backyard outside Moscow.
Not for the woman she’d become.
“Mila?”The name slid from his lips, sounding smooth in the timbre of his voice.
