Page 54 of Dead Vengeance

Liam stops chewing, and a serious note comes into his eyes.

Maybe don’t flirt with the hot guy who is literally only here for ghost lessons…

“I did it… um. I like to cook,” I bumble out. “I like to bake, and it won’t get eaten otherwise. In a house full of ghosts and all that. After all, they’re not going to eat much, are they?”

“Oh.” He laughs again, embarrassed this time. “Yeah. Of course. Well, any time you want to bake and you need someone to help out…”

“I will think of you.”

He smiles again, head dipped. But a moment later, his gaze runs across the table, back to my hands. Point blank, he asks, “Are you married?”

His gaze flicks up, hopeful vulnerability written in every bright fleck of gold in his irises.

This is why we don’t flirt with men we like. Because that sends a signal to them that we like them.

My bad.

“I’m not married.” And that’s not flirting. That’s just stating facts. So it’s okay to say that.

But then I kind of can’t help but raise a suggestive eyebrow at him and add, “Did I give you the impression I was?”

Okay, that last bit was definitely flirting. Desired effect of cute smile achieved though, which feels a whole lot better than not flirting.

“It’s just that ring…”

“What? This?” My other hand dives for it, fumbling around, trying to pull it off my finger like it’s a noose around my neck. “No. No, this isn’t—no, not that kind of ring. This is just… It’s nice, right?”

He nods sharply.

“Only finger it fits on because this one…” I wave the other hand. “Has got a different ring. You see?”

“Yeah.” He laughs again when I slam the first ring down on the table like it’s a proposal.

“I’m not attached,” I basically yell at him. “I’m… married to my ghosts, at this stage. But I think…” The wild idea hits me almost as hard as the look in Liam’s eyes. That if I didn’t have a house full of ghosts, maybe then I could actually start seeing Liam. But that’s never going to happen, so I only mumble out, “If I could get rid of them, or, some of them…”

My brain lurches to catch up with my heart. It stutters entirely when he props his elbows on the table and leans forward, listening attentively. Like what I’m saying is important. For both of us. More important than just chatting about my ghost problem.

But, sadly, my brain does catch up. And a loud and logical voice in the back of my mind screams at me, ‘You don’t get to stop being a necromancer just because he has a pretty face.’

And it’s right.

That voice is so completely right.

“Then what?” asks Liam.

For a wild beat of an autumn morning, crisp sun and yellow leaves and soft light and Liam at my breakfast table, my desire overrules my head. “Then maybe we could do breakfast again.”

Liam’s teeth sink into his lip.

Logic. What’s logic?

Necromancy? What’s that?

This man is divine.

I want him here, in the sunshine, no shirt on, my boyfriend.

I want him here, in the sunshine, no shirt on, my breakfast.