Ghosted (Team Zero #3) by Rina Kent

One wrist is bandaged as usual. A few more details of his tattoos peek out, swirling around his wrist and ghosting to the back of his hand, but I can’t get a full image.

If only he wore short sleeves like Shadow.

I clamp my lips shut because I’ve been checking him out. Like really checking him the hell out. There’s definitely something wrong with me. I don’t do attraction, especially to men like Julian.

He’s practically the fucking mafia, dammit. The mafia that took Zoe.

Julian squints at Shadow’s hand on my shoulder. Heat rises to my cheeks. No idea why, but the sombre look in his eyes strikes a chord deep inside me. The need to wiggle free overwhelms me.

Which is so damn stupid.

There’s no reason why I wouldn’t want another man to touch me in Julian’s presence.

“Mist is asking for you,” he says to Shadow, gaze still flickering to where his friend’s hand rests on my shoulder.

Shadow rolls his eyes. Interesting. He and Mist along with the mysterious Ghost rule this place. But I’ve noticed that he doesn’t particularly like her. Good to know the redhead witch ticks off even her closest circle.

Shadow gives me another glance over, like he’s trying to remember something, then he shakes his head and jumps out of the window.

He’s weird, but somehow, he doesn’t strike me as the threatening weird. Just the level of strange I would expect in this place. But there’s also a lurking danger in him that I would rather not be on the receiving end of.

Then, I realise, too late, that with Shadow leaving, it’s only me and Julian.

Shit. I did everything in my might to not be alone with him.

It’s cowardly, but I would rather be a coward than lose myself to him.

A heavy, long silence pulses between us. Julian watches me with an unreadable expression that unnerves the hell out of me.

The room becomes stuffy under his scrutinising gaze. My breathing deepens, and I become aware of the soft sheet beneath me, the tame masculine scent surrounding me, and my chipped nails clutch the sides of the pillow. Scar will kill me for ruining the French-manicured art she did for me.

It’s unexplainable how Julian’s mere presence brings out these foreign sensations from within me. Even when I avoid him. Now that we’re all alone, my mind drifts to the last time we were one-on-one in a closed room.

The way his strong hand grabbed my throat. His body heat entrapping mine. His finger slipping between my parting lips.

Tingles creep up my spine just thinking about it.

Stop, you idiot.

I stagger to my feet and try to bypass Julian, all without making eye contact. I will be safer far away from him.

He clutches my wrist, and the tingles intensify. The skin that his long, lean fingers touch ignites in a thousand fires. No idea why he keeps grabbing me, but it’s doing a hell worse than it’s supposed to.

“Let me go,” I attempt to say in a loud tone, but it ends up as a whisper.

God. I’m such a mess around this man.

“You’re staying here from now on.” His words drift in that clear, composed tone, his voice deep and slightly raspy.

My stomach tightens out of freaking nowhere. Then, his words register. My temper flares. “Says who?”

“Says Mist.” He pulls me back so I’m staring up at him.

His proximity causes a chill to draw down my spine, but my temper is stronger.

“Mist can’t send me to death and then lock me up. I’m not her damn slave.”

He pauses for a mere second, then his jaw clenches. “You need protection.”

“I can take care of myself. Thank you, but no thank you.” I wriggle away from his hold.

This time, he snatches my arm and yanks me back with so much force, my reflexes shoot. I attempt to right-cross him, but he catches my fist mid-air. The depth of his brown eyes gleams with recognition. The golden rings almost sparkling.

Oh. Shit.

His lips quirk up in rare amusement, but there’s something else underneath that I can’t identify. “Was that a right cross, Firefly? Are you a boxer?”

“Self-defence classes,” I blurt without missing a beat. “I told you, women should be able to defend themselves.”

“Do self-defence classes teach women to twist, duck and roll in a professional stance?”

“They do.” I push away from him. It’s better to keep a distance from this man.

Wait. He’s seen me roll.

My jaw almost drops to the floor. “You’re the one who saved me?”

He says nothing, but I’m sure it was him. I scarcely remember the sensation of his hard chest and the relief. Why the hell would I feel safe in the arms of a mobster?

I seriously can’t understand myself anymore.

“What are you really doing here, Firefly?” he asks instead of answering my question – again. It’s become a pattern with him. “If you’re not one of President Joe’s people, then what are you?”

My pulse rises, but I manage in a cool tone. “I’m a barmaid.”

“Then be a barmaid somewhere else.” The intensity of his gaze nears drawing holes in my face. “This isn’t the place for you.”

“I’ll be the one to decide that, thank you very much.”

“Listen to me well, Firefly.” He leans closer, invading my personal space and reaches for my wrist. The moment his skin touches mine, I’m at that delirium state again. The need to get close takes over every particle of me.