Chapter 30
thirty
Where was he?
Naomi opened the cabin’s door and let the cold night air swirl in around her as she stared out into the darkness. Greta had left an hour ago, well after night had fallen, but Ghost still hadn’t returned.
The chill prickled her skin, but she ignored it. She should have been relieved to have the space, the quiet. Hadn’t she practically shoved him out the door this morning? Told him she needed room to breathe?
And yet.
Naomi stepped onto the porch, wrapping her arms—his arms, really, still draped in his flannel—around herself. The night was clear, stars pricking the vast Montana sky like tiny holes punched through black velvet. No sign of Ghost’s truck in the driveway. No silhouette trudging up the path.
“Where the hell are you?” she whispered.
A twinge of anxiety twisted through her belly. Maybe something had happened. Maybe he’d gotten into trouble. Maybe he’d decided she was more trouble than she was worth and just... left.
No. That last thought was unfair. Ghost wouldn’t abandon her, not after everything they’d been through. He might be emotionally stunted, but he wasn’t cruel.
She shivered, partly from the cold, partly from the memory of those hands that had pulled her from the clearing, that had held her through nightmares that still lurked at the edges of her consciousness.
The man was a walking contradiction—capable of lethal violence one moment and soul-crushing tenderness the next.
Naomi’s gaze drifted to the mountains, dark and impenetrable in the moonlight. Somewhere beyond those trees and ridges was the barn where they’d held her.
A branch snapped in the darkness, and Naomi froze, her heart leaping into her throat.
Her gaze darted to the tree line, searching for movement.
Cinder emerged from the shadows, her sleek black form materializing like smoke.
The dog paused at the bottom of the porch steps, regarding Naomi with those intelligent amber eyes.
“Where’s your person?” Naomi asked softly.
Cinder’s ears pricked forward, but she made no move to come closer. She never did. The dog maintained her distance from everyone except Ghost, as if she’d learned the same lessons he had about keeping the world at arm’s length.
Headlights swept across the yard as a truck rumbled up the drive. Naomi’s shoulders sagged with relief as Ghost’s black F-150 came to a stop. Cinder trotted over to meet him as he climbed out, his movements stiff, like a man carrying more than just physical weight.
She should go inside. Pretend she hadn’t been standing out here like some lovesick teenager waiting for her date to come home. But her feet remained rooted to the porch, her eyes tracking him as he stopped to scratch Cinder’s ear.
He spotted her and paused, hand still resting on Cinder’s head. Even in the darkness, she could feel the heat of his gaze.
“You’re late,” she said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.
Ghost approached slowly, stopping at the bottom of the steps. “Thought you wanted space.”
“I did.” She swallowed. “I do. I just—” She gestured vaguely at the darkness. “You didn’t say where you were going.”
His expression was unreadable in the shadows. “You worried?”
“No.” The lie tasted bitter on her tongue. “Maybe. A little.”
He climbed the steps, stopping when he reached her level. This close, she could see the exhaustion etched into his features, the tension in his jaw. Something had happened today. Something beyond her pushing him away.
“I was worried,” she admitted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “You were gone so long, and after everything that happened...” She shook her head, frustrated with her own inability to articulate the fear that had gnawed at her since he’d left. “I know it’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.” His voice was rough. “I should have told you where I was going.”
“I kicked you out, remember?” She attempted a smile, but it felt brittle on her face. “I’m the one who said I needed space.”
“And then I stayed away all day.” His jaw tightened. “I needed to think.”
The words sent a chill through her that had nothing to do with the night air. She’d pushed him away, and he’d needed to think. About what? About them? About whether this—whatever this was between them—was worth the trouble?
“About?” she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.
Ghost’s eyes held hers, the moonlight catching the silver in them. “About what happens next.”
Her stomach dropped. She’d spent the day thinking she needed independence, space to breathe, to prove she wasn’t broken by what had happened. Now that he was standing here, the thought of him walking away was a cliff’s edge she wasn’t prepared to face.
“And I wanted to get something,” he added and reached into his pocket, withdrawing a long box. “For you.”
She stared at the box, her heart suddenly in her throat. It was black velvet, long and narrow—the kind that usually held jewelry. A bracelet, maybe. Or a necklace.
“What?” she whispered in disbelief.
Ghost didn’t answer, just held the box out to her. His face remained impassive, but uncertainty flickered in his eyes. Vulnerability.
She reached out and accepted it with fingers that suddenly felt clumsy. The velvet was soft against her skin as she opened the lid.
Inside, nestled on black satin, lay a slender silver pendant on a delicate chain. A fox, its body curved into a graceful arc, with tiny gems for eyes that caught the moonlight and flashed amber.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, running her fingertip along the fox’s back.
He closed the distance between them and lifted the necklace out. “It’s to keep you safe. One press here…” He skimmed his thumb over a nearly invisible button behind the fox’s bushy tail. “And it sends a signal directly to me. No matter where you are, I’ll know you need help. I’ll be there.”
She stared at the pendant, her throat suddenly tight. The fox gleamed in the moonlight, beautiful and fierce. Not a panic button disguised as jewelry, but a promise made physical.
“You don’t have to wear it,” he added when she didn’t speak. “But after what happened...” His words trailed off, the unfinished sentence hanging between them.
After what happened. After she’d been taken, drugged, beaten. After he’d found her carrying two terrified girls through the rain and mud. After everything, he was still trying to protect her.
“Help me put it on?” she asked, turning and lifting her hair away from her neck.
His fingers brushed against her skin as he fastened the clasp, sending a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold. The fox settled just below the hollow of her throat, cool against her skin.
She turned back to him, one hand rising to touch the pendant. “Thank you.”
Ghost nodded once, his eyes fixed on the fox now resting against her collarbone. Something shifted in his expression—a softening around the edges, a vulnerability he rarely allowed anyone to see. “It suits you.”
Heat crept up from the caress of his gaze, filling her cheeks. “I don’t know about that. I’ve always been more rabbit than fox.”
He caught her hand before it could flutter up to cover the pendant.
“No, you haven’t. They called you ‘Rabbit’ because they wanted you small.
Wanted you scared. But you’re not. You’re sharp and fast and brave as hell.
You’re cunning and beautiful and slyly dangerous.
” He slid his hand up her arm to cup her cheek.
“You’re a fox, Fury. You always have been. ”
His words struck something deep inside her, something raw and vulnerable. No one had ever seen her that way before—not as the scared little rabbit her community had nicknamed her, but as someone fierce and capable.
Naomi leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, her heart hammering against her ribs. But when his hand slid into her hair, when he pulled her closer with a low sound of need, something inside her broke free.
She deepened the kiss, her hands fisting in his shirt, dragging him closer.
The fox pendant pressed between them, warming against her skin.
Ghost backed her against the cabin wall, his body hard and unyielding against hers, and the contrast of the cold wood at her back and his heat at her front sent a shiver racing through her.
“Inside,” she gasped against his mouth. “Now.”
He pulled back just enough to search her face, his gray eyes dark with want but cautious. “Your ribs—”
“Will be fine,” she said, tugging him toward the door. “I’m not made of glass, Owen.”
The sound of his name seemed to break something loose in him. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her through the door, kicking it shut behind them. The fox pendant swung against her throat as he moved, a cool reminder of his promise.
“Tell me if I hurt you,” he said, his voice a low rasp against her ear as he set her down in the bedroom.
“I will,” she promised, but she wasn’t thinking about pain. She was thinking about his hands, how they’d felt on her skin when he’d helped her undress for the shower, clinical and careful. How they might feel now, with no barriers between them.
Ghost’s eyes darkened as he backed her toward the bed. “You sure about this?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” She’d taken to wearing his flannels as nightshirts over the last few days, and she’d slipped into another one tonight—her favorite, soft and faded blue with buttons worn smooth from too many washes.
She reached up to undo those buttons, but he caught her wrists, stopping her.
“No,” he said, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that made her stomach flip. “Let me.”
The command in his tone sent heat pooling between her thighs. This was new—this edge of control, of dominance. She’d glimpsed it before, in the truck on Main Street, but now there was nothing to hold him back.
He released her wrists and reached for the top button of the flannel, flicking it open almost painfully slowly. One by one, he exposed her skin to the cool air of the cabin, his gaze following his hands like he was unwrapping something precious.
When the last button came undone, he pushed the shirt from her shoulders, leaving her in nothing but her underwear. The fox pendant glinted between her breasts, catching the light as her chest rose and fell with quickening breaths.
“Look at you,” he murmured, running a finger from her collarbone down the valley between her breasts. “So fucking beautiful.”
She shivered at his touch, at the raw hunger in his eyes. She reached for him, wanting to feel his skin against hers, but he caught her hands again.
“Not yet,” he said. “I want to look at you first.”
He circled her, his gaze traveling over her body with such intensity she could almost feel it like a physical touch. When he stopped behind her, his breath warm against her neck, she closed her eyes, waiting.
His hands skimmed her sides, barely touching, from her hips to just below her breasts.
“I’ve thought about this since that day in the truck,” he said, his lips brushing her ear. “Thought about all the ways I want to touch you.”
She leaned back against him, feeling the solid wall of his chest, still fully clothed while she stood nearly naked.
The imbalance should have made her feel vulnerable, but instead, it thrilled her.
Ghost in control was a revelation—all that dangerous power harnessed and focused entirely on her pleasure.
“Tell me,” she whispered.
His hands slid up to cup her breasts, thumbs grazing her nipples, drawing a gasp from her lips as they tightened into hard peaks.
“I want to touch every inch of you,” he murmured, his voice a dark promise against her skin.
“Want to taste you. Make you come apart in my hands, with my mouth. Want to hear you scream my name.”
The raw need in his voice made her knees weak. His hands moved with deliberate slowness, exploring her body like he was memorizing every curve, every sensitive spot. When one hand dipped lower, fingers skimming the waistband of her underwear, she pressed back against him, silently begging.
“Tell me what you want, Fury,” he commanded, his other hand sliding up to wrap loosely around her throat, thumb stroking over her racing pulse.
“You,” she breathed. “I want you.”