Phantom Game (GhostWalkers 18)

Both of her hands framed his face, her touch delicate, like the wings of a butterfly. So gentle, but he felt them like a brand.

“I see you, Jonas. All of you. Into you. The heart and soul of you. Who and what you are. The good and bad. Everything. You can’t hide anything from me, not with Middlemist Red connecting the two of us. I can’t hide anything from you. So hear me when I say it would be impossible for you to turn into a cold-blooded murderer or tip over into insanity. You are always in control. Always. I have watched you closely. You strategize. You use your brain. You don’t kill mindlessly or easily. You regret every life you have to take. You think you don’t have compassion, but it’s that wellspring of compassion in you that makes you hurt all the time. At first, in your memories of Oliver, all I could see was the battle because, yes, it seemed brutal and vicious, but then I realized you were doing your best to subdue him, not kill him. You only defended yourself, blocking his blows and trying to land those that wouldn’t actually damage him too severely.”

“Camellia . . .” He wanted to protest, but she was right. He had done that, but it was Oliver. He’d done everything he could to save him.

Oliver had known what he was doing. In the end, Oliver had given him no choice, at one point coming in close, knife in hand, gripping Jonas to him and whispering that Jonas had to kill him. No one else could do it and it had to be done. It was the only way to save him. He’d said, “If you love me, Jonas, do it. Kill me now before I kill someone I love.” That had nearly broken him.

Camellia’s thumb brushed along his wet cheek, that sliding caress that turned his heart upside down. “I’m in love with you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I’m not in the least afraid. I just have to know you’re willing to risk everything to be with me because you love me that much.”

Jonas stared down into her upturned face. He couldn’t imagine loving her more. The emotion was overwhelming. Risking his life was one thing. Risking hers was another altogether.

“Jonas, you have to trust someone.”

“I trusted Oliver and he trusted me. I let him down, Camellia. I could do the same thing to you.” His father hadn’t saved his mother, and he hadn’t been able to save his father or Oliver.

“But you didn’t let him down,” Camellia pointed out. “You saved Oliver. You found the strength to do what needed to be done. As for your father, he made his choice, and that was to go with your mother. Jonas, you have to make a choice. You have to decide whether we’re worth the risk. I believe in us. Either you do or you don’t. But you have to be all in. All the way.”

There it was. His woman. Making her demands. Camellia was no shrinking violet. She was magnificent. And she was his. The connection between them was as real as the emotions he had for her. Nothing was ever black and white, the way he wanted the world to be. Issues always came in various shades, depending on the angle viewed. He wanted to spend the rest of his life looking at the world through the angles Camellia did.

He caught her chin and lifted it to him. “I’m choosing you. I love you, Camellia. You already know that. If you’re brave enough to take me on, then I’ll fight for us for the rest of our lives.”

He brought his mouth to hers and instantly lit a fire. The embers had to have been smoldering all along, because the moment her lips parted, it was as though he’d touched a match to a stick of dynamite. They both went up in flames.

He caught at the hem of her shirt. “Arms up, Camellia. This has to go.”

She obeyed him, arms in the air, her eyes on his. He dragged her tee over her head and tossed it onto the nearest chair. He slipped his arms around her to find the fastening of her bra.

“We could go inside, Jonas. I do have a bed,” she enticed. Her voice was breathy, a little ragged even, but there was that edge of humor he loved.

Her bra slipped into his hand, and he tossed it onto the chair, releasing her breasts into the open air. She was so beautiful to him.

“Out here, honey. Let me have you out here, where I can breathe.” The last thing he wanted to do was be inside four walls. He wanted her in his arms out in the open, surrounded by the fragrance of the exotic flowers with the cool breeze blowing on their bodies.