Page 48 of Ghosted

“Bossy.”

“Careful.”

“Oh, I like when you say that.” I turn my wrist slightly, not enough to break her hold, just enough that my thumb brushes the inside of hers. “Sounds better from you.”

Her jaw tightens. “You’re not as charming as you think you are.”

“I know.” I smile. “That’s why it’s annoying when it works anyway.”

“It’s not working.”

“No?” I glance at her hand still wrapped around my wrist. “Then what are we calling this?”

Alice looks down like she forgot she was touching me.

She lets go.

Slowly.

Not fast enough to prove anything.

“Me stopping you from being an asshole,” she says.

“Sweetheart, that’s ambitious as fuck.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart.”

“What do you want me to call you?”

“Gone.”

I grin. “That’s not a name.”

“It can be yours.”

Fuck.

I really do like her mouth.

I shouldn’t. I don’t want to. Liking her makes this messy, and messy is supposed to be Jagger’s thing. I’m here to poke, press, and see what bleeds. I am not here to enjoy the way Alice Aster glares at me like she might bite if I move too close.

Which, naturally, makes me want to move closer.

I nod toward the photo beside her hand. “Isn’t that the whole point of photography?”

Alice’s eyes stay on mine. “What?”

“You point that little camera at people, take what you want from them, then hang it up for strangers to stare at.” I smile. “Sounds pretty fucking invasive when you say it honestly.”

Her fingers tighten near the print. “I choose what my work becomes.”

“Sure.” I lean in a little, voice dropping. “But what happens when the thing you’re looking at decides it wants to look back?”

Her grip tightens on the edge of the table this time instead of my wrist, like she learned too late that touching me gave away more than she wanted.

Smart.

Still too late.