Crown of Ghosts (Lost Kings MC 19)

He moves past us and I pull out my keys.

“Sure thing. I’ll keep my eyes on my wristwatch from now on,” I say. No one’s gonna be handing me an award for my acting abilities any time soon.

He eyes Serena again. “Can I have your last name?”

“No,” she answers.

I choke back a laugh.

Hank doesn’t know what to do with her refusal.

“Monday morning, Grayson. Don’t be late,” he snaps, then scurries down the stairs like a rat after some cheese.

I unlock the door and push inside without another word.

“I’m so sorry, Gray. You did mention a curfew. I forgot. I didn’t mean to keep you out—”

I cut off her apology with a kiss. Wrapping my arms around her, I lift and pin her to the door. She gasps and curls her arms around my neck, dragging me closer and returning the kiss.

“Hey.” I draw back, studying her face. “I wasn’t trying to trick you into staying over. I really—”

She presses her finger to my lips. “I want to stay.”

“Good.” I set her down. “I am sorry, though. You shouldn’t have had to put up with that because of me.”

“I can handle some snarky comments.” She curls her fingers around my arm. “Get back here and kiss me again.”

Serena

“Thank you,” he whispers, dropping a kiss on my cheek.

“For?”

“Not getting rattled.” He presses another kiss to my jaw, closer to my neck, and I shiver. “Sticking up for me.”

“I was worried you’d be mad.”

“Nah. A good ol’ lady always sticks up for her man.” He tugs my turtleneck aside and kisses my throat. “But also knows when to back down and not make the situation worse.”

A shudder of fear rolls over me. What if his parole officer hadn’t believed us and took him to jail tonight?

Record scratch.

Did he refer to me as his ol’ lady? Feeling brave, I lift my chin. “What did you just call me?”

He blows out a breath. “I know you’re not old. It’s how the club—”

“I know,” I say quickly. No one’s ever called me that before.

His lips press against mine again. The pleasure of that endearment blends with the shivery sensation of his lips trailing across my jaw.

“May I?” He teases one finger under the thick strap of my dress.

Dear God, how can those two words be so hot?

I nod quickly.

“No, Serena. Say it. I want to hear the word.”

“Okay.”

He pulls away.

“What are you doing?”

He shrugs. A smile plays over his lips. “Okay didn’t sound very enthusiastic.”

“Do you want me to do cartwheels?”

He eases his big body closer, pressing one palm against the door next to the side of my face, and then the other, caging me in. I’m forced to tip my head to stare up at him.

Oh God. Smoldering eyes, staring down, devouring me. “No cartwheels, buttercup.” He returns to playing with the strap. “Yes or no?”

No one’s ever cared so much about what I wanted before. I’m way past turned on. I’m on fire for him.

I rest my palm against his cheek, forcing him to meet me eye-to-eye. “Yes, Gray.”

He rumbles, a happy sound of approval. “Turn around.”

Shivering, I turn and press my hands to the door.

His fingers brush my back, grasping the zipper and giving it a gentle tug. Why am I wearing so many damn layers tonight?

He doesn’t even slide the zipper halfway down before he mutters, “Fuck it,” and grabs me around the waist. He yanks me closer, and scoops me up.

“Gray!” I yelp. “Your shoulder. You can’t carry me.”

“The fuck I can’t,” he growls, pushing his way through another door.

Moonlight spills through the windows, illuminating the sparsely furnished bedroom. He gently sets me on the king-sized bed and steps back to stare at me.

Slowly, he slides his fingers under the straps of my dress and guides them all the way off my shoulders. The top of the dress pools at my waist, leaving me in my turtleneck, tights, and boots.

I cannot believe I wore a turtleneck on a date with the man I’ve been dying to jump.

Curling my fingers in the soft elastic band around the edge, I attempt to strip off the sweater, but Grayson stops me with a low, admonishing hum. “Easy. I want to do that.”

I hold my hands up over my head. One corner of my mouth quirks while I hold his gaze.

“I love your fire, Serena.”

Me, fiery? I like that he sees me that way. I haven’t always had the courage to speak up when I should.

He leans in and teases his fingers under the edge of my sweater. Heat flickers over my skin as he drags the sweater up, up, up, his knuckles grazing my sides. The sensation’s shivery, hot, and a little ticklish.

The sweater’s tight around my head, and for a moment, I can’t see a damn thing. Fear stirs in my stomach, then dissolves.