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Mahoney remained by the back door and whistled. My dog came barreling inside, paws covered in mud.
“Sit!” I yelled and grabbed the towel meant for such an occasion. A cleaning wipe over the paws and then the floor involved me bent over, ass up in the air.
Mahoney whistled. “Talk about being cruel. Do you know how hard I’m having to resist slapping that thing?”
“Slap it and die.”
“Worth it.”Crack.
He slapped. I yelped and righted myself. “What are you doing?” And how could it feel so real? A hallucination didn’t have the power to hurt. But then again, neither did a ghost.
A smug smirk creased his rugged features. “I cannot be held responsible. You asked for it.”
“I did not ask you to hit me.”
“Bah. Barely. I went easy on you.”
“You will refrain from hitting me.”
“That’s not hitting. And let’s get one thing clear, I don’t beat on women.”
“My throbbing cheek begs to differ.” It did quiver, but not in pain. I’d enjoyed the tap, although I’d never admit it.
“Want me to kiss it better?”
I did. What did that say about me?
That I obviously needed to go to bed. Getting all horny because my imagination chose to subject me to chest-thumping alpha male misogynistic subjugation.
I kicked off my boots and tromped away from Mahoney to ready myself for bed. Knowing he didn’t exist didn’t make stripping in front of him easy. My fingers trembled as I undid the zipper and button for my jeans. I shoved my pants down. My T-shirt remained clean under my hoodie, so I just threw the red fabric onto the floor so I’d remember to wash it, and then took off the bra by undoing the clip and pulling off the straps through the armholes. My shirt never came off, and he noticed.
“Cheater. Or should I call you a tease?” he purred, and my nipples reacted, pushing noticeably at the fabric of my shirt.
I fled to the bathroom and brushed my teeth. Mahoney stood outside the door. Part of his reflection appeared on the edge of my mirror. Haunting me.
Yet he didn’t frighten me. Oddly enough, I felt safe in his presence. Comforted by an imaginary protector. Obviously, my mind struggled with the trauma I’d experienced and fabricated his spectral presence to deal with it. Who would have thought being jumped would mess with my head so much? Apparently, I wasn’t handling it as well as I’d thought.
“No nail polish?”
I glanced down at my bare toes. I’d not had a pedicure in ages. “Nope. Waste of time.”
“Says you. What am I supposed to admire when they’re up around my ears?”
“Mahoney!” I shouted in shock and realized it was the first time I’d used his name.
And, apparently, he didn’t like it. “It’s Junkdog.”
“I am not calling you Junkdog.”
His lips quirked. “Why not?”
“Because it’s dumb.” I remained blunt.
“Yeah. It is. I got it young and thought it was cool.”
“You’re not young anymore.”
He rolled his shoulders. “And yet, it stuck. How about you call me Killian?”
