Page 22 of Ghost's Revenge
He must think I'm a complete failure. A grown woman reduced to a single room in a shelter, with nothing to show for her life except a four-year-old and a box of donated clothes.
But something in his face when he looks at the children's drawings taped to the wall, something in the way his jaw tightens when he glances at the teddy bear Tyler sleeps with every night, tells me this isn't just pity I'm seeing. This is understanding. Like he's been here before, like he knows what it means to lose everything and start over with nothing.
"I'm hoping to find a job soon," I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "Something with flexible hours so I can be there when Tyler gets out of school. Then we'll find our own place, something small but ours. Things will get better." I pause, looking at the pictures Tyler drew of the two of us holding hands under a bright yellow sun. "He deserves better than this."
"You're strong," Derek says, his voice low and certain. "You'll find a good place. I can even talk to some contacts in the city, get you a good deal on an apartment when you're ready."
I turn to look at him, this massive man who fills my doorway like he was built to protect it, and something inside me breaks loose. I want to step forward, grab his shirt, pull him down to my level and see if his lips are as soft as they look. He's so tall,so powerful, all coiled muscle and dangerous edges, but never dangerous to me. Only to the people who would hurt me.
"That would be lovely," I whisper, taking that step toward him. "Thank you. I don't have anyone else to help me, besides the women here. My parents are gone, and it's just me and Tyler now. I just need someone to help me get started, and I promise I'll work hard to make up for it."
I don't mean to cry. Don't mean to let the tears start falling, but they do anyway, hot and humiliating as they streak down my cheeks. All the fear and pain of the past months, the terror of seeing David on the porch this morning, the relief of watching Derek handle it so easily, it all crashes down on me at once.
"I'm sorry," I say, swiping at my face with my sleeve. "I don't know why I'm—"
Derek moves before I can finish, crossing the space between us in one long stride. His hand comes up, impossibly gentle for someone so large, and brushes the tears from my cheek. I look up at him, have to tilt my head all the way back to see his face, and find his dark eyes locked on mine with an intensity that makes my knees weak.
I close my eyes, overwhelmed by the closeness, by the heat radiating from his body, by the way his scent—leather and soap and something musky—surrounds me like a shield.
When I open them again, his face is even closer, and his gaze has dropped to my lips. I must look a mess. Eyes puffy from crying, hair uncombed, wearing day-old pajamas that have seen better days. Why would a man like him notice me when there are prettier women everywhere, women without my baggage and damage and stretch marks from carrying a child?
But I need this. Need to feel wanted and cherished, to know that someone could still look at me and see something worth having.
"Would you..." I swallow hard, embarrassed by my own neediness. "Would you hug me?"
His eyes widen, genuinely surprised. "Why?"
"Please," I whisper. "Just... please."
He doesn't make me ask again. His arms come around me, strong and secure, pulling me against a chest that feels like it was carved from stone. One hand cradles the back of my head, the other spans my lower back, and I'm enveloped in warmth and safety and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
It feels so good, so right, that I melt against him without meaning to, let myself be held in a way I haven't been held in years. Not since before Tyler was born, before David started seeing my body as something to criticize instead of cherish.
Derek's face presses against my cheek, and his lips brush my ear as he speaks.
"You're beautiful," he whispers. "This is too much. I should leave, but fuck, Debbie, I don't want to. I don't know how much more I can take being this close to you. All I can think about is ripping your clothes off and worshipping every inch of your body."
The words send heat surging through me, pooling low in my belly and making my panties suddenly, embarrassingly wet. I can feel myself throbbing, desire pulsing through me in a way I'd almost forgotten was possible.
"Wait," I manage to say, pulling back just enough to see his face.
His expression shutters, and he immediately steps away. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. It was inappropriate and—"
"No, you misunderstood." I move toward the door, my heart pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. "I'm not asking you to leave."
I close the door with a soft click, then turn to face him. My hands are shaking as I reach for the hem of my pajama top, but I force myself to keep going, to pull it up and over my head before I lose my nerve.
His reaction is everything I could have hoped for. His hands clench into fists at his sides, and a muscle jumps in his jaw as his eyes rake over me like he's memorizing every detail.
"I know I'm not... I mean, I had a baby, and I never really lost the weight." I gesture awkwardly at my soft stomach, the stretch marks that web across my skin. "But I hope you like what you see."
Derek makes a sound that's half laugh, half groan. "Like it? Fuck, Debbie, I don't like it. I love it. You're perfect."
Then he's moving, closing the distance between us in two long strides. His hands find my hips, fingers digging in just enough to make me gasp, and then his mouth is on mine and everything else fades away.
The kiss is nothing like I expected. Not gentle, but hungry and demanding, like he's been waiting years for this moment. His tongue slides against mine, exploring and claiming, and I make a sound in the back of my throat that would embarrass me if I had any capacity for embarrassment left.
My thighs rub together, seeking friction to ease the ache building between them. I want to touch myself while he watches, want to show him how much I need this, need him.
