“Thank you.”
Dr. Corbin steps forward then, her timing impeccable. “Victor, I’m glad you had a chance to speak with Geneva. She’s the best example of what this department can achieve.”
“Undoubtedly,” Stanton says, his gaze flicking to me one last time. “Dr. Andrews, it’s been a pleasure. I look forward to seeing how your work continues to evolve.”
“And I appreciate your support.”
As he turns and disappears into the crowd, I release a breath. Dr. Corbin gives me an encouraging pat on the arm. “He likes you,” she says with a grin. “That’s a good thing for us.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
As we move on to the next introduction, my thoughts return to Ghost. Throughout every handshake and every polite laugh, I can’t help but search for him. My gaze darts to the corners of the room, to the shadows that the light doesn’t quite reach. He’s nowhere to be seen.
Eventually, I hit my limit for socialization. I offer a gracious smile to Dr. Corbin. “If you don’t mind, I need to step out for a moment. Just to catch my breath.”
She waves me off with an understanding nod. “Of course. Take all the time you need. These things can be overwhelming.”
I weave through the crowd, my heels clicking against the marble floor as I slip past clusters of guests. The hotel venue is beautifully decorated, but I don’t appreciate it enough to stop, so I continue heading toward the balcony.
The cool night air washes over me when I step outside, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the enormous ballroom. For a moment, I simply close my eyes and breathe, letting the stress in my shoulders fade.
“Nice speech, Doc.”
CHAPTER 43
GENEVA
I whirl around, my breath caught on a scream that doesn’t come. At first, I almost don’t recognize Ghost, even this close to him. The transformation to his appearance is unnerving, but it’s still him. The intensity in his eyes is unmistakable.
“What are you doing here?” I flick my gaze toward the terrace doors, my pulse spiking. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“And yet, here I am.” He straightens, stepping away from the railing. His tailored suit blends perfectly with the upscale crowd inside, but the cold edge in his smirk is what sets him apart. “You made me a star tonight. It felt rude not to attend.”
“That wasn’t about you,” I snap, my heart racing. “It was simply an opportunity to elevate my career.”
“You’re a pretty little liar.”
I fold my arms and pin him with a glare. “You need to leave.”
He steps closer, invading my space, and the scent of him, underlined by magnolia, envelops me. Why is every facet of this man a mind-fuck?
I try to push past Ghost, but he yanks me into his embrace, closing his arms around me. The contact is heady. The warmth of his body, the strength of his arms, and the way his muscles flex beneath my touch. It’s all too much.
“Don’t,” I whisper, my throat dry. “We shouldn’t be seen together.”
“Let them watch.”
He slowly drags his fingers down my back. The skin-on-skin contact has a shiver running through me before I can stop it. Memories from last night resurface, and it takes every ounce of my self-control to shove them aside. Dealing with Ghost requires absolute concentration.
He presses a kiss to the side of my neck, his lips lingering on my pulse. “That was a great speech, Doc. I especially enjoyed the part about my inability to form attachments of an emotional nature.”
“You’re a psychopath,” I say. “That’s irrefutable.”
“Is it now?”
“You don’t feel things, Ghost. You manipulate. You control. That’s all this is.”
“And yet,” he says, his lips curling into a faint smile, “here I am, holding you, needing you, wanting you in a way that I don’t understand. Explain that, Dr. Andrews.”
I don’t have an answer. But I can’t deny what this conversation is doing to me, how it’s altering my brain chemistry. What is it about a man wanting you with absolute certainty that removes all inhibitions?
At my continued silence, Ghost lifts his head to stare down at me. His gaze darkens when it meets mine, the heat in his eyes undeniable.
So is the fury.
It radiates from him, crackling in the night air, prickling my skin. I’ve seen Ghost angry, but this isn’t the cold, calculated rage I’m used to. This is something volatile and raw, something that’s dangerously close to pain.
I must’ve hurt him with my clinical analysis. My remorse is immediate, but I can’t voice it to him. That’ll only encourage him to stay. It’s one thing to interact with Ghost in the privacy of my apartment, and another to speak to a serial killer with a room full of people only a few feet away.
“You don’t want to believe me,” he says. His voice is a soft, seductive whisper, coiling around me. Weakening me. “Because if you admit that I can feel, that I can want, then you’ll have to admit something too.”
“Nothing you say will change the fact that you’re a psychopath.”
His smirk returns. “You’ve known that from the beginning. Yet you still let me fuck you.”
I stiffen in his embrace, heat flooding my face.
“And you enjoyed it.” His lips brush mine, the contact featherlight. “There was no pretending, no going through the motions. You came so hard for me.”
I swallow hard, unable to speak.
“So, why are you lying to yourself, Geneva?” He uses his thumb to caress my lower lip, the movement slow and tantalizing. “Is it because if I can love, then what does that make me? What does that make us?”
His words shatter what little composure I have left. The fear, the desire, and the impossible truth of what’s between us overwhelms me until the only defense I have left is to lie.
“This isn’t love,” I finally manage, my voice trembling. “It’s obsession.”
His eyes narrow, the smirk fading from his lips. “Is that what you really believe?”
“Yes.” The word comes out too quickly, too defensive.
He shifts his hand from my cheek to the back of my neck, his fingers threading through my hair. He pulls me to him and his lips crash against mine, hard and unrelenting.
For a moment, I can’t breathe. His kiss is punishing, a crude expression of his anger and need. But ultimately, it’s a challenge. Ghost is forcing me to confront every lie I’ve told.
About him.
About myself.
About us.
He tightens his hand at the back of my neck, his fingers tugging painfully on my hair, anchoring me to him, ensuring there’s no escape. The heat of his mouth sears me, his lips moving against mine with a desperation that steals my thoughts and replaces them with nothing but him. He kisses me like he’s trying to consume me.
I press my hands against his chest, intending to shove him away, but I hesitate. Then my fingers curl into his shirt instead, betraying me, holding on to him as if letting go isn’t an option.
When his tongue brushes against the seam of my lips, I sigh. He takes advantage, deepening the kiss, his tongue conquering mine. As if he’s memorizing the way I taste, the way I respond to him.
It’s too much, too intense, but I can’t stop. My head tilts instinctively, giving him better access, and he takes it, his teeth grazing my lower lip before sucking it into his mouth. The heady contrast of pain and pleasure sends a shiver through me, and I hate how much I want more.