Page 6 of Ghost (Cerberus Personal Security #1)

I shift slightly, and the movement makes me acutely aware of how ready I am.

Mason catches me watching him and offers a small smile that does dangerous things to my pulse. In the firelight, he looks like something out of a dark fairy tale—beautiful and dangerous and mine.

“Feel better?” he asks, moving closer.

“Much.” I stretch deliberately, knowing he’s watching. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We still have to figure out how to get you somewhere permanently safe.”

The reminder of the outside world, of the danger still lurking, should terrify me. Instead, all I can think is that leaving here means leaving him, and that thought is almost unbearable.

I don’t want safe. I want him.

Before I can respond, a new sound cuts through the storm’s howl. Faint but distinct.

Thump-thump-thump.

Helicopter blades.

Mason’s entire body goes rigid, every muscle coiled for action. His eyes meet mine across the room, and in them I see not just protectiveness, but something fierce and possessive that makes my heart race for entirely different reasons.

“Stay exactly where you are,” he commands, and my body responds to the authority in his voice even as?—

The sound grows louder. Closer.

And everything changes.

Mason stills. Completely.

The breath he takes is sharp, shallow. His entire body coils like a wire about to snap, and then—he moves.

Not the smooth, calculated movement I’ve come to expect. Not the steady-footed warrior I trust with my life.

This is different.

He stumbles toward the bathroom, like the floor’s shifting under him. Like, he doesn’t know where he is. I ignore his order and leap to my feet, knowing instinctively that he needs me .

By the time I reach him, he’s at the sink, sleeves shoved to his elbows, scrubbing his hands under scalding water. Over and over. Nails digging into his palms. Skin turning red.

Steam curls around his head like smoke. His eyes don’t see me. They don’t see anything.

He’s somewhere else. Somewhere bloody and loud and godawful.

I don’t think.

I just move.

My arms slide around his waist, careful but firm. I press my cheek to the thick heat of his back. He’s rigid, heart hammering through his spine, but he doesn’t push me away.

“You’re safe,” I whisper, anchoring my voice low and steady. “You’re home. Montana. Your cabin. The storm’s still outside. Nothing’s coming.”

He shakes once. Just once. A full-body tremor like a dam cracking behind his ribs.

I hold on tighter.

Because right now, he’s the one drowning.

And I need him to know he’s not alone.

I barely know this man. I shouldn’t be reaching out to someone lost in his nightmares, but somehow, it feels right.

As if comforting him is the most instinctive thing in the world.

Maybe it’s crazy.

Maybe it’s reckless.

But with Mason, it feels—right.

The moment my fingers touch his skin, electricity crackles between us. His heart thunders against my touch, its frantic rhythm gradually steadying as I hold him.

He stiffens at the contact, a tremor running through his powerful frame, but he doesn’t pull away. He allows the contact, though his muscles remain coiled tight.

“Feel my arms around you. Feel the solid floor beneath your feet. You’re here, not there.”

Wherever that is.

I reach forward, shutting off the tap, then gently dry his hands. He lets me.

“Talk to me,” I whisper.

A shudder runs through him. One hand comes up to cover mine, resting against his chest, his grip almost desperate. “Just—stay,” he manages, his voice rough. “I need to feel something real.”

“I’m here. I’m real.” I go still, letting him ground himself through the contact.

Gradually, his heartbeat slows. Then, carefully, he turns within the circle of my arms. His hands slide to my waist, drawing me close as my cheek finds his chest. The solid thud of his heart beneath my ear anchors us both to the present.

One hand cradles the back of my head, pressing me more firmly against him. His fingers tangle in my hair, grip tightening as the memories release their hold. The helicopter’s sound has faded, leaving only the storm’s howl and our shared breathing.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, the words rumbling through his chest against my cheek.

The praise slides through me like warm honey, melting my spine. Mason’s dominance feels natural, perfect, and protective rather than possessive and cruel. When he claims, he offers shelter in return. My body softens against him, offering submission as sanctuary.

When he finally looks down at me, his eyes are clear again, though shadows lurk in their depths. His hand cups my cheek, thumb tracing my bottom lip. The touch is feather-light, giving me every chance to pull away. Instead, I lean into his palm, offering myself as comfort.

Something shifts in his gaze as I yield to his touch. Those steel-gray eyes darken, and his pupils dilate until only a thin ring of color remains. The transformation steals my breath—the way his expression changes from vulnerable to predatory in the space of a heartbeat.

His thumb presses more firmly against my lip, and I can’t help but part them on a shaky exhale. The small surrender makes his nostrils flare, and his other hand tightens in my hair.

I should be terrified of this—of the raw hunger I see in his eyes, of the way his powerful body cages mine against the wall. Instead, I arch closer, seeking more of his heat, strength, and control.

The air between us crackles with tension, a silent understanding passing between us without a word spoken. I’m open to whatever comes next, ready to let this stranger lead me into uncharted territory.

For once, I want to let go—completely.

I lick the pad of his thumb. A whisper of contact.

A yes .

He growls low, a sound from deep in his chest. One arm wraps around me.

Pulls me flush. His thumb lingers before sliding along my jawline.

The tension between us winds tight like a coiled spring.

His other hand moves to the small of my back, drawing me closer until there’s hardly any space left between us.

My heart pounds. My breath catches.

And still, I don’t look away.

I want this.

God help me—I want everything.

I don’t think about it. Can’t think about it. Just rise on my toes and press my lips to his. Offering comfort. Seeking solace from him.