Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 140965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 705(@200wpm)___ 564(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 705(@200wpm)___ 564(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
“What list?” Her fingers were truly driving him crazy. They felt better than anything he could ever remember, yet they also wreaked havoc with his body—and his brain. He couldn’t think straight, which was why he had broken their connection.
“The list I was making of things you could charge for, so you would always know you had plenty of money. Things like just sitting there and allowing women to stare at you. You could charge more for actual touching, like this, the privilege of giving you a scalp massage.”
Laughter welled up. Real laughter. She was good for him. He hadn’t known he could want to laugh, let alone do it. The sound of it startled him. Deep. Raw. He laughed with conviction because this woman was treasure—pure gold. She thought he should be the one charging.
“You think it’s a privilege to give me a scalp massage?”
“Yes. Because you didn’t ask for it. You were reluctant to let me close to you. In any case, what is wrong with the women you were with, that they didn’t have their hands in your hair?”
“I wouldn’t let them. Modeling and all that. It went with the image, but I didn’t want their hands all over me.” Putting their hands in his hair had felt like the women were taking something from him. He couldn’t explain it to her, only that his sexual partners had felt grasping, trying to take the only thing he had left to him to earn a living—his looks. Later, when he had joined the GhostWalkers, habit had fed that weird revulsion. The feel of Shylah’s hands on him was completely singular and produced an entirely different emotion.
She didn’t reply but gave him a faint smile as she left him to get the coffee. He wanted to catch her wrist and pull her back to him, but he didn’t. He just watched her because he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
“Stop staring at me.”
“I’m trying to decide if I’m having hallucinations and you’re really an angel—or witch. Either one, I can’t tell yet.”
“Given my personality, come down on the side of witch. There’s very little angelic about me. You were in my mind, you know.”
He wanted to be in her mind again. He liked being there. He liked her in his mind. He hadn’t really known he was lonely until she’d filled him with her presence. Then, when she wasn’t there, he’d felt bereft.
“Shylah, I intend to find a way to save your life. I don’t want you getting too close to me, especially when the symptoms start manifesting themselves. Wear a mask when you’re close.”
“We already talked about this and I made myself clear,” she said, her voice quiet. “There’s no sugar, so you’re going to have to drink it black.”
“Black is perfect, and you’re not listening to me. I’m telling you I’m going to save your life. You just have to cooperate a little bit.”
She turned to face him, her eyes going a dark chocolate and drifting slowly over his face. Very slowly and deliberately, she put his cup down on the counter. One foot in front of the other, she crossed the room to him.
“Shylah.” He said her name cautiously. She was so close now he could see those freckles scattered like kisses across her face.
She put a knee to the bed and leaned in, one hand curling around the nape of his neck, the other curving over his shoulder. Her mouth found his. His stomach knotted with tension. Blood rushed in a hot path straight to his groin. His mind screamed a warning. Shouted at him, warring with his body. His hands came up to grasp her, whether to push her away or pull her closer, he wasn’t certain.
Her lips were soft. Sinful. Temptation itself. Her tongue licked along the seam of his mouth, then she poured into his mind and it was the most intimate thing he’d ever experienced.
I’m with you. Every step of the way. Open your mouth.
He obeyed, but he didn’t know why. It was wrong, and she was taking away her last protection. Then her tongue stroked along his, a delicate dance, a promise that he would never be alone again. He wouldn’t die alone. She would be right there with him. Everything about it was wrong and he knew that, but he couldn’t help himself. Every bit of iron will, every bit of discipline went right out the window.
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her like she was his and had been for years. Like he was a man dying and she was his greatest love. He felt like she was. Shylah Cosmos. His only little peony. His delicate flower. Dependable. Long-lived. She’d tied her fate to his. Now, if he wanted to save her, he was going to have to figure out how to save himself.