Ghost (Evil Dead MC 5)

She nodded, wondering where he was going. Perhaps it was club business. She watched his retreating back a moment before closing the door and climbing in the shower.

Twenty minutes later, she had a towel wrapped around her and was finishing applying her eye makeup in the mirror over the sink, when she heard the motel room door open and close. Setting the eyeliner on the counter, she opened the bathroom door to see Ghost tossing a plastic bag on the bed. His eyes lifted when the door opened, sweeping down her body to take in the towel.

“You’re back,” she said, clutching it around her.

He lifted his chin toward the bag. “Picked you up a change of clothes.”

Her mouth parted. She’d had no idea that his errand involved shopping, for her, no less. She frowned, her curiosity drawing her out of the bathroom toward the bag. She hesitated, torn between excitement to have some different clothes and fear over what he’d picked out. What the hell did men know about these things?

“You…got me clothes?” She stared at the bag like it contained a snake.

The corner of his mouth pulled up. “You did need some, right?”

Her eyes lifted to his, and she bit her lip, nodding. “Yes.”

“We should bandage your scrape before you put ‘em on.” He lifted his chin to the bag.

Her eyes moved to the first-aid kit. “Right.”

“Sit,” he gestured toward the bed and moved to dig out a large square bandage.

She sat and carefully lifted the edge of the towel higher at the side of her hip, embarrassingly aware that she was completely naked underneath. He squatted down in front of her, their eyes level, connecting momentarily before his fell to her hip. She leaned to the opposite side so he would have better access.

“Looks better. Ointment seems to be working.”

She nodded, her voice deserting her as his hand slid gently up her thigh as he examined it, the light touch sending tingles skittering across her skin.

Did he even have a clue how much his slightest touch affected her?

His eyes briefly connected with hers before he pressed the large square bandage over the spot. He used a tender touch to press around the adhesive edges, securing it in place.

She watched as his palm softly cupped the bandage and applied light pressure.

“You gonna be able to stand sliding pants on over it?”

Her eyes connected with his. “I think it’ll be fine.”

He nodded, reached for the bag and handed it to her. Then he stood. “Go get dressed then, brat. Guys are already at the diner. We hurry, we’ll have time to eat before they’re ready to roll out.”

She stood, but then stared at him as if in a trance.

He nodded toward the bathroom. “As much as I’m enjoyin’ the sight of you in nothin’ but a towel, we need to get a move on.”

She blinked.

Right. He was waiting for her to move, and here she stood like a complete moron.

Nodding, she hurried to the bathroom, closing the door. Then she tore into the bag, setting the items down beside the sink. She pulled out a pair of low-rider jeans. They were a no-name brand, but she was surprised to find when she glanced at the tag that they were the correct size. Then she pulled out the rest, one black tank top, one white tank and two pairs of lace panties, one black and one red.

She stared at the lacy scraps of fabric in her hand and couldn’t help but wonder what had gone through his mind as he’d picked these out.

She shook her head telling herself not to read anything into it and hurried to dress.

Fifteen minutes later they pulled up at a tiny brick storefront diner down on Fortieth Street. The sign read Pearl’s. There was already a line of shiny black bikes parked at the curb, their chrome pipes gleaming in the early morning light. Ghost backed into a spot and shut his bike off.

As Jessie slowly climbed off, the muscles in her thighs and ass screamed in pain, reminding her of the hours of abuse they’d taken on the long ride yesterday. Between that and the still dull hangover headache, she whimpered.

Ghost looked over at her as he stood unbuckling his helmet; his white teeth flashed with his grin, but his eyes remained hidden behind dark shades. “You sore, brat?”