My eyes fly open.
There’s nothing there. The room is empty, the door still closed, the balcony door?—
Was that open before?
I freeze, my hand still between my legs, my heart suddenly hammering for an entirely different reason. Every instinct I have is screaming something’s wrong, someone’s here, I’m not alone. I canfeelit—a presence, a displacement of air, a weight on the mattress that shouldn’t exist.
Please don’t let it be a motherfucking ghost.
“Hello?” My voice comes out tight. I sit up slightly, pulling my hand free, reaching for the lamp?—
Fingers close around my wrist.
A scream chokes in my throat.
What the actual fuck?
I jerk back, but the grip is gentle. Firm but not painful. And then a voice, low and rough and achingly familiar, speaks from the empty air beside me.
“Don’t stop on my account.”
Vanguard.
My brain short-circuits. He’s here. He’shere, in my room, and he’s invisible, he’s bloody invisible, and he was watching me…
“How long have you been…” I ask, sounding squeaky.
“Long enough.” His voice is closer now, right beside my ear, and I feel the mattress shift as he moves. “Long enough to know exactly what you were thinking about.”
Oh God.
Heat floods my face. “That’s—you can’t just?—”
“Can’t just what?” Something brushes my cheek—his knuckles, maybe, tracing down to my jaw. I can’t see him, but I canfeelhim, the warmth of his body, the displacement of air as he breathes. I feel like I’m losing my mind. “Can’t watch the woman I can’t stop thinking about touch herself? Can’t wonder if she’s thinking about me while she’s doing it?”
I shake my head at nothing. “You’re insufferable. Invisible and insufferable.”
“And you’re wet.” His invisible hand slides down my throat, over my collarbone, between my breasts. “Aren’t you, darlin’? Wet and desperate and thinking about me while you fucked yourself with those pretty little fingers?”
I should be angry, or at least disturbed. I should shove him away, demand to know how he got in, remind him breaking into someone’s hotel room is several kinds of illegal, even if youareAmerica’s superhero.
Instead, I’m more turned on than I’ve ever been.
“Yes,” I whisper, admitting it with absolutely no shame. I’m such a hussy.
His breath catches. I feel it more than hear it—a hitch in the air beside me.
“Say it again.”
God, he’s bossy.
“Yes.” My voice is steadier now, bolder. “I was thinking about you. About your hands. Your mouth.” I turn my head toward where I think he is, speaking to empty air. “About how you made me come so hard, I forgot my own name.”
A growl. Low, rough, almost animal-like. And then, his mouth is on mine—appearing from nowhere, hot and demanding—and I’m kissing him back before my brain can catch up.
This is insane, kissing a man I can’t see, feeling hands I can’t watch as they push aside my robe, shivering under a touch that seems to come from the air itself. It’s disorienting and terrifying and so fucking hot, I can barely breathe.
“Nate—” I gasp against his mouth.
