GHOST: An Evil Dead MC Story (The Evil Dead MC Series Book 5) (12 page)

“Jess, you should get some sleep.”

She looked up at him with those big eyes, confused again. Then her gaze dropped to his mouth and apparently she’d thought better of that idea, deciding she didn’t want to sleep, because she moved in to take his mouth again.

He pushed her back.

“Jess, stop it. We can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

He shook his head. “Don’t. You know why.”

“Don’t you want me?”

Right, like that was the problem
. “You know that’s not it.”

“Then kiss me.”

“Jess.”

She curled further into him, that thigh of hers sliding back and forth across his crotch driving him to distraction. Fuck, did she even know what she was doing to him?
Of course she did.
“Brat, we can’t do this.”

His use of the nickname he’d always called her must have gotten to her.

“I’m not a child anymore, Ghost.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, no shit. That’s part of the problem.”

Her hands slid up his chest, cupping his neck, his jaw. “We’re both adults. We both want this. I know you want me.”

His hands clamped over her wrists, pulling her hands off him before he succumbed to her touch. “Jess, we can’t. Not you and me. That’s not what we have. We can’t ever go there.”

“Why not?”

“Because its you. I can’t go there with you and then…”

“And then what?”

He shook his head. He couldn’t have a fling with her. It couldn’t lead anywhere, how could it? Not with the life he led, not with the things he’d done. Things he knew the moment she found out, she’d be done with him. There was no way in hell, if she ever found that shit out, if he ever told her, and he knew damn well he’d eventually have to tell her, because it would eat at him, hell it was already eating at him, tearing him inside out. But when she found out, she’d leave. She walk out that door so fast, it’d make his head spin. And then where would he be? How could he have her, taste her, take everything she had to give and then let her go? He couldn’t. He wouldn’t be able to, he knew himself well enough to know that it would be the straw that broke him. After losing Tommy, after pulling away from her because he knew it was what was best for her, then to finally go there with her after all these years, only to have to let her go all over again? No way. He couldn’t do it.

It gave him the strength to push her back.

“Not gonna happen, brat. Now go to fucking sleep.” His voice came out harsher than he’d intended, probably because of all that pent up desire surging through his body. She looked hurt, but maybe that was for the best. Hurt and a little pissed. Yep, that would probably be enough to keep her from pulling this shit again. She’d be mortified in the morning, embarrassed she’d come on to him and he’d turned her down, rejected her flat. And that would be enough to keep her from trying this shit again.

And that was best for both of them.

She pulled away, moving across the bed, putting a good foot between them. She flounced onto her stomach, turning her face to the opposite wall, her back rigid. His eyes stayed on her. Hell, he hated having to hurt her like that, especially when it was all bullshit lies.
He wanted her
. Hell, he’d wanted her since she’d come of age, maybe even before that. But he couldn’t go there. Not with her. That was a line he couldn’t allow himself to cross. She trusted him, she always had. She’d always looked up to him with big eyes filled with worship. He’d seen it, right from the beginning. With Jess it was hard to miss. But his job had always been to protect her. A job he took seriously. And he’d do that now, even if it meant protecting her from himself.

He turned his head, his eyes to the ceiling. Fuck, it was gonna be a long night, and an even longer trip. They had another stop before they got home. Another night of this torture, trapped in a room with her, forced to keep his hands off her. His jaw tightened. And then what? What the fuck was he going to do with her when they got back home? Her mom was living in Daytona now, Death Head territory. He sure as hell couldn’t ship her off there. Not that Butcher would let him. Not with what she knew. Nope, Butcher would use her to make a deal with the DKs. A deal the club needed. Butcher wanted an alliance with them. Needed one to keep the Death Heads from pushing into both their territories. Hell, it was an alliance that benefited both clubs. It was just a matter of talking the DKs into seeing it that way that was the problem. But with the information Jessie had, it could make the difference.

Fuck, he was exhausted. He felt the long miles of road they’d traveled catching up with him, and his eyes slid closed. He’d worry about dealing with a pissed off Jess tomorrow. Tonight he just needed sleep.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Jessie felt the bed move and cracked one bloodshot eye open to see Ghost get up and go into the bathroom. When the door shut, she rolled to her back and squinted at the crack of light coming in the curtains, groaning as a hangover headache throbbed in her head. Swinging her legs over the side, she slowly sat up, her tongue thick with cottonmouth, and her body aching from yesterday’s long ride.

The sound of the toilet flushing carried through the door, drawing her eyes to it. A moment later, the door swung open and Ghost walked out. He stopped when he saw she was awake, his head coming up.

“Morning,” she whispered. She watched his eyes sweep down her and stop on her chest. She glanced down and realized the flannel shirt was unbuttoned and hung open, exposing a three-inch wide gap from her throat to her panties. She quickly pulled the plackets together and buttoned two buttons.

“Morning,” he said finally finding his voice.

She watched him move to the nightstand and pick up his cell phone, glancing at it. She stood and made to move toward the bathroom, but he caught her hand. She turned back to find him shoving his phone in his pocket, his eyes on her.

“How’s your hip?” he asked, lifting his chin toward it.

“It’s fine,” she replied, her eyes cast down, embarrassed that she’d gotten drunk last night. Mortified that not only had she come on to him, but that he’d rejected her attempt.

“Let me see.”

“It’s fine.”

His brows rose, and his voice deepened. “Let me see."

She exhaled a breath and gave in, knowing he’d insist anyway. Turning, she pulled the tail of the shirt up, exposing the scrape.

“Satisfied?” she bit out in a sharp voice.

Ignoring her snarky attitude, he dipped his head and examined the wound. She also dipped to look, bringing their heads close together. When she did, his eyes lifted and connected with hers. And for a long moment neither said anything, they just stared at each other.

Finally Ghost broke the spell, straightening.

“Were you wanting to take a shower?”

“I’d planned on it, yes. If that’s okay with you?” she ground out. God, why were these antagonistic words just jumping out of her mouth? Because she was hung-over and more likely because she was embarrassed and humiliated over what had happened between them last night. Or correction, what
hadn’t
happened. She watched his jaw tick as he appeared to hold back a retort.

“That’s fine with me, brat. I was just going to suggest we coat it in ointment again first to protect it from the water.
That okay with you?
”

“Fine,” she snapped.

“Fine,” he snapped back, lifting his chin toward the bed. “Sit down.”

She flounced down on the bed like a recalcitrant child, crossing her arms and sticking out her chin. She was fully aware she was being a bitch, but something in her couldn’t help it. She could cut the tension smoldering between them with a knife, and she knew it was sexual tension. And damn him for not admitting it.

He moved to the dresser to get another packet of ointment out of the first-aid kit. Then he walked back over and squatted down in front of her, tearing it open. Squeezing some out, he smeared it over her skin, covering the wound completely.

His touch was gentle, even though she knew he had to be a little irked with her right now. And with the tender way he ministered to her wound, another little piece of her heart became his. It took her right back to when she was a child and he would wipe her tears and tell her she was okay.

Damn him. Why did she have to be so attracted to him and yet he seemed to be able to put her aside, to walk away from any desire he might feel for her? Was it just that easy for him?

“That should help.” His eyes trailed up her body to her face before he slowly rose.

She nodded. “Thanks.” Then she moved to the bathroom, closing the door and leaning back against it, closing her eyes. Oh God. Could he see what he did to her written on her face? Could he tell how her pulse quickened whenever he looked at her like that? How her breathing accelerated?

Was it obvious how she felt about him? Mortification washed over her knowing he didn’t return the feeling. Yes, he’d kissed her last night, touched her, but then he’d stopped, pushed her away actually. So he couldn’t possibly feel what she felt. How pathetic could she be? She’d practically thrown herself at him last night.

Pushing away from the door, she turned the shower on. She couldn’t think about that now, not with her head pounding like it was. She crossed to the door, opened it a crack to call out to Ghost, “Hey, are there anymore painkillers in that kit?”

A moment later, he was passing a packet to her along with the cup she’d used last night.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, brat. Headache?”

“Yes, a doozy.”

He nodded, as if that explained her foul mood. “I’m gonna run out for a couple minutes while you’re in the shower. When I get back, we’ll grab some breakfast, okay?”

She nodded, wondering where he was going. Perhaps it was club business. She watched his retreating back a moment before closing the door and climbing in the shower.

Twenty minutes later, she had a towel wrapped around her and was finishing applying her eye makeup in the mirror over the sink, when she heard the motel room door open and close. Setting the eyeliner on the counter, she opened the bathroom door to see Ghost tossing a plastic bag on the bed. His eyes lifted when the door opened, sweeping down her body to take in the towel.

“You’re back,” she said, clutching it around her.

He lifted his chin toward the bag. “Picked you up a change of clothes.”

Her mouth parted. She’d had no idea that his errand involved shopping, for
her
, no less. She frowned, her curiosity drawing her out of the bathroom toward the bag. She hesitated, torn between excitement to have some different clothes and fear over what he’d picked out. What the hell did men know about these things?

“You…got me clothes?” She stared at the bag like it contained a snake.

The corner of his mouth pulled up. “You
did
need some, right?”

Her eyes lifted to his, and she bit her lip, nodding. “Yes.”

“We should bandage your scrape before you put ‘em on.” He lifted his chin to the bag.

Her eyes moved to the first-aid kit. “Right.”

“Sit,” he gestured toward the bed and moved to dig out a large square bandage.

She sat and carefully lifted the edge of the towel higher at the side of her hip, embarrassingly aware that she was completely naked underneath. He squatted down in front of her, their eyes level, connecting momentarily before his fell to her hip. She leaned to the opposite side so he would have better access.

“Looks better. Ointment seems to be working.”

She nodded, her voice deserting her as his hand slid gently up her thigh as he examined it, the light touch sending tingles skittering across her skin.

Did he even have a clue how much his slightest touch affected her?

His eyes briefly connected with hers before he pressed the large square bandage over the spot. He used a tender touch to press around the adhesive edges, securing it in place.

She watched as his palm softly cupped the bandage and applied light pressure.

“You gonna be able to stand sliding pants on over it?”

Her eyes connected with his. “I think it’ll be fine.”

He nodded, reached for the bag and handed it to her. Then he stood. “Go get dressed then, brat. Guys are already at the diner. We hurry, we’ll have time to eat before they’re ready to roll out.”

She stood, but then stared at him as if in a trance.

He nodded toward the bathroom. “As much as I’m enjoyin’ the sight of you in nothin’ but a towel, we need to get a move on.”

She blinked.

Right. He was waiting for her to move, and here she stood like a complete moron.

Nodding, she hurried to the bathroom, closing the door. Then she tore into the bag, setting the items down beside the sink. She pulled out a pair of low-rider jeans. They were a no-name brand, but she was surprised to find when she glanced at the tag that they were the correct size. Then she pulled out the rest, one black tank top, one white tank and two pairs of lace panties, one black and one red.

She stared at the lacy scraps of fabric in her hand and couldn’t help but wonder what had gone through his mind as he’d picked these out.

She shook her head telling herself not to read anything into it and hurried to dress.

Fifteen minutes later they pulled up at a tiny brick storefront diner down on Fortieth Street. The sign read Pearl’s. There was already a line of shiny black bikes parked at the curb, their chrome pipes gleaming in the early morning light. Ghost backed into a spot and shut his bike off.

As Jessie slowly climbed off, the muscles in her thighs and ass screamed in pain, reminding her of the hours of abuse they’d taken on the long ride yesterday. Between that and the still dull hangover headache, she whimpered.

Ghost looked over at her as he stood unbuckling his helmet; his white teeth flashed with his grin, but his eyes remained hidden behind dark shades. “You sore, brat?”

She couldn’t help but run her hands over her ass. “Yeah, a little.”

He took her helmet from her and hung it on his handgrip, along with his. “How’s your head?”

She pulled her riding glasses off, immediately squinting into the glaring sun. “Beating like a drum. It’d be helpful if it wasn’t so bright out here.”

He grinned and took her hand, stepping up onto the sidewalk and leading her toward the door. “Maybe you’ll feel better with some food in your stomach.”

As they moved toward the door, she saw one of his club brothers standing at a nearby car parked at the end of the line of bikes. The hood was up, and he was tinkering under it. Two young pretty girls stood by watching. It was obvious to Jessie that it was their car. The man had a beard and black wraparound glasses that made him look like a member of ZZTop. Full sleeves of tattoos decorated both arms. He glanced over and nodded to Ghost, who gave him a chin lift as they walked by.

Then Ghost was holding the door open for her, and she stepped inside.

It was a small place with a cozy down home feel. The floors were linoleum, the ceilings were pressed tin, and vinyl-coated green-checkered cloths covered the tables. Jessie couldn’t help smiling. It was a greasy spoon with
old-school cool
. She loved the place already and murmured, “This place is totally sweet!”

The corner of Ghost’s mouth pulled up at her remark as he led her to some tables in the back that his leather-clad brothers had taken up. The men looked up at they approached.

She recognized faces from the run and from the Omaha Clubhouse last night. As they walked up she noticed a couple of the patches. Some read Louisiana, some Alabama, and some Nebraska.

Ghost glanced around the table, his eyes skating over every man. “A bunch of badasses,” he paused, his eyes landing on the last man, “and their friend, Sandman.”

The men at the table chuckled at Ghost’s joke.

The man he teased slumped his shoulders. “Aw, come on, man. Why you gotta be like that?”

Ghost’s eyes moved from Sandman to the man in the chair in front of them and greeted him by name. “Blood.”

Jessie watched the man as he twisted to look over his shoulder. He was a good-looking man with dark hair and a close beard. But it was his eyes that were stunning. The kind that could make you feel rooted to the floor, the kind that could see into yours all the way down to your soul. Those eyes skated past Ghost to her, and then ran down over her body slowly. “Heard you had some new pussy. This her?”

Before she realized what she was doing, she slapped him. Crack, right across the face.

The table suddenly got deadly quiet.

He rose to his feet, staring down at her. “Is that all you got, pussycat?”

“Blood,” Shades growled in a warning tone.

Suddenly she felt a hand clamp around her upper arm, and Ghost pulled her behind him as he stepped nose to nose with the man.

“We gonna have a problem, Blood?”

The corner of Blood’s mouth pulled up in what she supposed could pass for a grin. “Nope. I like a woman with spunk and sass.”

Ghost nodded with a brow raised. “Good to know. Cause she’s got plenty of that.”

And then Blood’s teeth flashed as his smile widened at Ghost. A second later those eyes shifted from him to her. “Sorry, sweetness. No offense meant.” And then he was pulling his chair out and waving her into it with a flourish.

She stared at him suspiciously as if he might just pull it out from under her to have her land on the floor on her ass.

His brow arched. “What? Chivalry isn’t dead.”