I see it in every part of him. His taut muscles. His hands twitching against the cuffs. But in this moment, it’s not the metal that binds him.
It’s me.
Ghost is mentally calculating, judging how to close the distance between him and the guard, and how to neutralize the perceived threat to me. My body stiffens when I realize what’s about to happen.
“Ghost, don’t,” I say sharply.
His eyes snap to mine, but the fury doesn’t subside. His gaze flickers to the guard’s hand on my arm, his intent clear:Remove it, or I will.
Barlow doesn’t notice. “Let’s go,” he says again, tugging me toward the door.
I yank my arm free. “Don’t manhandle me.”
The guard frowns, his eyes darting between me and Ghost. My pulse is erratic, my skin clammy, but I manage to summon enough authority in my tone to encourage him to back off.
“I can manage without your assistance.”
Reluctantly, Barlow steps back, his hand falling to his side. I don’t miss the way Ghost’s body relaxes ever so slightly, though his eyes remain fixed on me, watching my every move with an intensity that leaves me breathless.
One of the guards mutters something about procedure, but I don’t hear it. My focus is locked on Ghost. His breathing is uneven, his jaw tight, but his rage is fading, replaced by something quieter and more measured. He’s still watching me, his eyes bright and assessing, as if making sure I’m okay.
Ghost would have risked his life to stop a man from touching me. And I just saved him, in the most subtle way I could, by taking control before the situation spiraled out of hand and he got hurt.
Or killed.
“I’m ready,” I murmur, though my words are hollow.
Before I leave, I glance back one last time. Ghost is still watchingme, his expression unreadable now, but his eyes—God, his eyes—are alive with something I can’t name, something that tangles with the confusion and yearning swirling inside me.
“Go,” Ghost says quietly, his voice low and rough. It’s not an order. It’s permission. A way of telling me that he’s all right, even if neither of us really believes it.
The door closes, and the sterile brightness of the hallway momentarily blinds me. Barlow stands beside me, oblivious to the turmoil raging inside my heart. My hands are trembling, but I keep walking, forcing my feet forward even as my mind races back to the man I just left.
Ghost cares about me. He saved my life. And I just saved his.
Does that mean I care about him too?
Neither should be possible. Or permissible.
The guard ushers me out, guiding me through the maze of hallways toward the relative safety of the administration area. Sirens wail in the distance, a discordant symphony that heightens the surreal feeling enveloping me. I mentally piece together the fragments of the last hour, trying to make sense of what happened, and what it meant. Not just to me, but what it meant to the man who saved me.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Dr. Andrews?” Barlow asks after a long moment, his voice quieter now. “That inmate didn’t hurt you, right?”
“Yes,” I say quickly, too quickly. “I just—never mind. I’m fine.”
He doesn’t look convinced but gives me a nod. “That guy’s dangerous. Don’t let him fool you into thinking otherwise.”
Dangerous.
The guard says it like it’s a warning, like it’s a threat I need to protect myself from. As the word echoes in my mind, all I can dois laugh internally. Ghost isn’t dangerous in the way the guard means.
He won’t use his words to hurt me; he’ll use them to entice me.
He won’t use his power to oppress me; he’ll use it to embolden me.
He won’t use his hands to harm me; he’ll use those very hands to pleasure me.
The memory of his touch, his lips, and the way he made me feel… it’s been seared into every part of me, impossible to ignore.That’sthe danger. Not because of what he’s done or what he’s capable of, but the way he’s turned me into a woman who risked everything.
