I knew better than to leave an unlocked computer sitting around.
“Here you are,” I said, enjoying how she startled—then stared at me. I could never get sick of her reactions.
“Th—thanks,” she squeaked. Scrunching her mouth, I saw the thoughts in her head. She was getting mad at herself for losing her composure with me. I offered the toilet paper, and she took it with steady hands. She was forcing the steel back into her veins, and that was something I both appreciated... and hated.
Leaning on the counter, I tucked some loose hair behind one ear. “I'm glad the key was useful. And sorry I didn't answer when you knocked.”
“Don't apologize,” she insisted. Clutching the toilet paper, she dared to look from my carved stomach to my glinting eyes. “Has Kite always been like this?”
“Like what?”
“Irresponsible.” She chewed the edge of her lip. “Thoughtless.”
Lifting an eyebrow, I studied her body language. She was shifting ever so slightly from one foot to the next. Something has happened. But what? “What did he do?” I asked softly.
Her glossy lips puckered, then smoothed into a line. “Jacob, you told me not to lie to you. So how about I don't, and we just don't talk about this, instead?”
The hairs on my neck prickled. “I can't help you if you don't talk to me, Marina.”
Dark eyes swayed until she was looking out the window. The city outside was coming to life, cars filling the streets. “This isn't something anyone can help with.”
The desire in my gut tugged me towards her. It didn't take much to lean forward and put my hands on her shoulders, but dammit, it was a mile fall straight down. If this woman was manipulating me into worrying about her, she was a master at it.
“I can try,” I whispered. “You just have to trust me.”
Marina switched from uncertainty to brutal sympathy. I didn't want her to look at me with such pity ever, ever again. “Jacob, I don't trust you at all.”
A knot grew in my throat. My whole plan required that she did trust me. I needed that from Marina.
Under my hands, her sweater was soft as dandelion seeds. My thumbs brushed her throat, the only patch of skin I could reach. Choking her would have been easy. Why couldn't this whole situation be as simple as one quick, fast jerk of my arms? “Why don't you trust me?”
“Why would I?” she asked, a cynical smile blooming. “You and your friend are the same. You're both murderers. You can kill anybody, and I'm not stupid enough to think that doesn't mean me, too.”
Inhaling slowly, my attempt to gather my thoughts only served to cloud me. Marina's scent—that chocolate and cinnamon and spice—danced in my skull. “We won't kill you. We agreed to work with you.”
Her expression was so bitter I could taste it. “So you can lie to me, but I can't lie to you.”
Marina's accusations should have upset me.
But stared down by the first woman who'd ever dared to call me out...
I was getting excited.
My fingers squeezed a fraction tighter; she went ramrod straight. “If you knew all along that I—that we—might plan to kill you, why would you ever do all of this?” I bent closer, unable to see my own eyes but knowing they were rumbling like a salted sea. “Why give us so many chances to murder you in your sleep or as you stand here—right here—inside my kitchen? Why aren't you afraid?”
Marina didn't move. She was a living statue, wicked tantalization given form.
When she spoke, the vein on her neck thrummed. “Nothing you do can hurt me.” Her tongue glided over her bottom lip. “I've already lost everything. I don't have a thing left to care about except revenge. Trust and fear... they don't even cross my mind.” And then she laughed, and it was the harshest of sounds. “I'm not afraid because you're holding a ghost, Jacob.”
My guts twisted, her words drilling in. Marina wasn't a corpse yet, but she believed she might as well be. This woman thought she had nothing left to lose.
In my grip, she was solid and warm. We were pressed together, the air molecules between us all that kept our lips from touching. I sensed every breath that left her lungs, saw every tiny shift of her chest as it rose.
She watched me with an energy I had no word for. It was patient, a candle flame ready to snuff out or set the world ablaze. How could someone with such heat think they were as good as dead already?
My hands coiled in her sweater until I saw her mouth twitch. The memory of my dream infected me. She'd been so sensual... so enticing...
But reality was far better.
“If you were a ghost,” I said flatly, “I couldn't do this.”
Hunching low, I pulled her to me and captured her lips. I wasn't gentle, the kiss was meant to show her my point: Ghosts don't feel, ghosts don't whimper, and ghosts don't fucking bleed.
She was breaking down my barriers—wrecking my mental walls.
Marina wasn't a ghost, she was a drug.