This is my mission.
And I’ve got to stop fantasizing about this man naked.
Stop it, girl.STOP.
Focus on the ghost.
Not the growly, golden-eyed Sheriff whose hands feel too good on your skin and whose mouth you want all over your—nope.
Nope nope nope.
I shovel a forkful of steak into my mouth and pray it helps me think about literally anything else.
Spoiler alert:It doesn’t.
Chapter11
Owen
Cooking for Megan—tending to her needs—hits me in a place I didn’t even know existed.
I’ve lived a long time craving peace.Fighting for scraps of quiet in a town full of chaos.
But tonight?With her in my kitchen, eating the food I made with her fork scraping against my plate and her soft laughter bouncing off the walls?
It’s more than peace.
It’s downright homey.And fuck, I never knew how much I wanted that till now.
She insists on helping me clean, and though it goes against every bone in my body not to tell her to sit her fine ass down and relax, I let her.
Because watching her move through my kitchen like she belongs there—like she already fits into the rhythm of my life—does something to me.
She wipes crumbs off my table.
Loads my dishwasher.
Moves around like she’s done it a hundred times before.
And I can see it.
So damn clearly.
Her here.Every day.Barefoot, messy-haired, wearing one of my shirts and bitching about my too strong coffee.
The ache in my chest is immediate.Sharp.Desperate.
I haven’t even really kissed her yet.
Haven’t had more than a few teasing brushes of skin, a firm hand at her neck, that sinful moment when I told her good girls get dessert.
But now?
All I can think about is how she’ll taste.
How she’ll sound.
How fast she’ll fall apart in my hands once I finally stop holding back.
