Chapter 36 Geneva
GENEVA
I ADJUST THE STRAP OF THE TRAVEL BAG BECAUSE IT’S DIGGING into my shoulder. Ghost glances at me in the dim light of the private hangar, his eyes scanning my face. I give him a wobbly smile before tugging at the unfamiliar blond wig and sliding my sunglasses up the bridge of my nose.
Ghost, his hair dyed a stark black and his distinctive scar covered with expertly applied makeup, holds our fake passports in one hand, his fingers resting lightly on mine.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod, swallowing the nerves gathered in my throat.
As we walk toward the sleek jet waiting to whisk us away to Miami—to Luis Dominguez—I remind myself that he’s the easier target.
Less guarded, and more accessible than the Planner, André Bisset, because Dominguez doesn’t report directly to the man pulling the strings.
The fear of capture, of paying for my crimes, has sweat clinging to my back despite the cool air of the hangar. Yet, there’s a fizzle of excitement too, a vibrancy to my senses as we climb the stairs.
“This is going to be fun,” Ghost says.
We step into the private jet. The space is inviting with its understated luxury, the cabin lights casting everything in a warm, inviting hue. Ghost slides into his role as my “husband” with an ease that’s disconcerting, his demeanor light and playful as he channels a newlywed on his honeymoon.
He winks at me. “Welcome aboard, my love.”
When the flight attendant approaches with a tray of champagne, he smiles at her, playing up our cover with a gusto that makes me grin with reluctant amusement.
I take the glass, my fingers curling around the delicate stem, and lift it to my lips.
It’s crisp and light, the kind of expensive indulgence that’s foreign but lovely.
Ghost takes a glass, turning to me, brushing his thumb over my shoulder. “To us,” he toasts, tapping the rim of his flute against mine.
I arch a brow, lowering my voice to a whisper. “Overdoing it just a bit, huh?”
He leans in, his breath warm against my ear. “You’d rather I act like an asshole?” His lips ghost along the shell of my ear as he pulls away, still grinning like the lovesick newlywed he’s pretending to be. “Drink up, Mrs. Monroe. I like watching you swallow, baby.”
I shake my head and take another sip. Then another. The champagne is smooth, the kind that goes down too easily, and before long, I’ve emptied my first glass. The flight attendant swoops in immediately, replacing it with a fresh pour, and Ghost watches, amused, as I accept.
“Nervous?” he murmurs.
I swallow a mouthful of champagne and nod. “Hell yes. Aren’t you?”
Ghost chuckles like I told him a joke. He leans back in his seat, stretching out as though he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“Nervous? Nope.” He lifts the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip before meeting my gaze again. “Excited? Fuck yeah. I know you are too.”
I glance at him over the rim of my glass. “Maybe.”
“God, you’re so sexy when you get that murderous look in your eyes.”
I pause mid-sip, my gaze darting to the flight attendant to verify she’s not close enough to hear my “husband” say outrageous shit. “Excuse me?”
Ghost grins, utterly unbothered. “You say you’re nervous, but I see the way your eyes light up when I talk about our plans.” He taps a finger against his temple. “I know you love the idea of what we’re going to do.”
“I don’t love it, but I can’t deny the satisfaction that I get from thinking about it.”
Ghost smirks. “Mm… satisfaction.”
I roll my eyes and sink deeper into my seat, letting the champagne do its job of relaxing me. Ghost, of course, remains perfectly at ease, like it’s a real vacation and not someone’s execution.
He watches me for a moment, then shifts closer, lowering his voice. “You know what your problem is?”
“Enlighten me.”
“You’re trying to hold on to something that doesn’t exist anymore.” He traces a lazy circle on my wrist, his fingers warm against my skin. “The woman who walked into that interview room all those months ago isn’t the same woman sitting next to me right now.”
“And who am I now?”
“You’re someone who isn’t alone anymore.”
I blink, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice.
Meanwhile my heart flutters rapidly in my chest, making it ache with emotion.
He’s speaking to the wounded child in me, the one who felt abandoned and alone.
And the woman who finally feels connected to something other than pain and misery. The one connected to him.
Ghost exhales, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s about to say. “What we have? It’s different from other couples.”
I let out a shaky breath and look away, staring out the plane window, pretending the blur of the city below is what has me feeling vulnerable. But Ghost doesn’t let me hide.
His fingers trail up my arm, over my shoulder, until he cups the side of my face, turning me back to him. “I know what it’s like,” he murmurs. “To be alone for so long, you don’t know how to be anything else.”
I close my eyes, my pulse pounding in my throat.
“I’m here.” His words are softer now, something reverent in them. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
I open my eyes, locking onto his. Ghost holds me there, his fingers firm against my skin, his expression unreadable except for the quiet intensity in his gaze.
“You can let yourself love this, Geneva. You can let yourself love me.”
The air between us thickens, charged with something that isn’t just attraction. It’s something deeper, something irreversible.
Ghost watches me, patient but not passive. His fingers stay where they are, holding my chin like he’s daring me to take that final step. But I’m still afraid of what he makes me feel.
I lift my hand, my fingers tracing the edge of his jaw before curling against the back of his neck, pulling him closer until our lips are barely a breath apart. His pulse thrums beneath my fingertips, matching the erratic beat of my own.
My lips crash against his, and the second they do, Ghost groans, a deep, guttural sound that sends a shiver down my spine. His fingers tighten in my hair, his other hand gripping my waist, pulling me into his lap like he can’t stand even an inch of distance.
The kiss is searing, nothing soft or careful about it. He tastes like control and recklessness, like everything I shouldn’t want but do.
Ghost breaks away first, his breathing ragged, his forehead pressed against mine. “You don’t get to fucking run from this.” His fingers flex against my waist. “You hear me?”
I swallow, nodding once.
His lips brush mine again, softer this time. “Say it.”
I tighten my grip on him, nails digging into his skin. “I won’t run.”
Something shifts in his expression. “Good girl,” he murmurs.
Ghost doesn’t give me time to think. Doesn’t give me space to second-guess. He claims my mouth in a kiss so deep, so consuming, I swear I feel myself unraveling.
He kisses me like I belong to him. Like I always have.
A deep sound vibrates in his chest as he shifts beneath me, his hands gliding down my back, pressing me closer. My fingers thread through his hair, pulling, desperate for more. And fuck, he gives it to me.
His teeth scrape against my lower lip before he bites down, just enough to sting, to send a jolt of heat straight to my pussy. I moan into his mouth, and he takes this opportunity to slip his tongue past my lips, deepening the kiss with a hunger that borders on madness.
He slides his hands beneath my shirt, rough palms branding my skin, igniting every nerve ending he touches. My body arches instinctively, pressing into him, demanding more. Ghost obliges, dragging his lips down my throat, sucking, biting, leaving marks that feel like possession.
I gasp his name, and he groans, a needy sound that makes me dizzy.
“I need you,” I whisper, voice wrecked, broken. “Ghost—”
He cuts me off with another bruising kiss, his hands gripping my hips, grinding me against him, letting me feel exactly how badly he needs me too.
“You fucking have me,” he growls against my lips. “You always have.”
The raw intensity in his voice shatters something in me. Breaks down every wall, every last defense I’ve tried to hold on to. Because this thing between us isn’t some fleeting, reckless indulgence. It’s need. It’s connection. It’s everything.
I grip his face, forcing him to meet my gaze. His eyes are wild, burning.
With desire. Devotion. Love.
Deranged but undeniable.
I kiss him, pouring every ounce of my desperate need into it. Ghost devours me, his mouth dominating mine like he’s imprinting himself into my very existence. And maybe he is. Maybe he already has. Because I don’t know where I end and he begins anymore.
The thought should terrify me. It should send me spiraling, scrambling for the walls I used to cling to, the ones that kept me safe. And alone.
But they don’t exist anymore. Not with him. Not with the way he touches me. Like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. Like I belong to him. Like he loves me more than life itself.
The truth slams into me, sinking into my bones, wrapping around my ribs until I can’t deny it anymore.
I love him too.
The way he pulls me in, the way he sees me, the way he makes me feel like I’m something more than just the shattered pieces of a woman left behind after tragedy. I love him for all of it.
But I don’t say it.
I can’t.
Because saying it makes it real. Saying it means admitting there’s something to lose, something that can be taken away.
And I don’t know if I can survive that.
So instead, I let him kiss me. Let him consume me. Let him have me in every way that doesn’t require words.
And when he whispers my name like a prayer against my lips, I hope he understands.
I hope he feels it.
Because right now, that’s the only way I know how to tell him. It’s the only way I know how to love him.