Ghostly Game (GhostWalkers #19) Read Online Christine Feehan

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: GhostWalkers Series by Christine Feehan
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Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
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“This might not be such a good idea.” She regarded him steadily under the veil of her thick reddish lashes.

“It’s the only sane idea,” he countered, because it was. The only way he could take another breath. Think another thought. Survive the next minute.

“I’m not going to be good at this,” she warned.

He urged her closer to him, just enough that her upper body rested against his. He felt the softness of her breasts against the heavy muscles of his chest. Her heartbeat accelerated. His clenched hard. He had to suppress a groan. Up close, her eyes were larger and even more gorgeous than he had first realized, surrounded by those long cherry-tipped lashes. The dusting of golden freckles and her full lips were temptation itself.

He slid the pad of his thumb over the soft curve of her bottom lip. So soft, like velvet. His gut clenched. His heart jerked in his chest. He knew if he kissed her, she would own him, but then she already did. He was tied to her in a way he didn’t understand, but every minute in her company only deepened that connection. He’d never had a reaction like this to anyone—this recognition. The awakening of his body and mind. Every nerve ending coming alive. The scorching flames leaping from cell to cell, spreading through him. Through her. Consuming them both. He knew it was both.

“Gideon.” This time she moaned his name. An ache, her lips moving erotically against his thumb. “We could be in trouble.”

“I don’t think we have a choice, Red.” He stroked caresses along the curve of her bottom lip. He didn’t have a choice, not when her tongue touched his skin, a sinful temptation that sent heat swirling into a fierce fist in the pit of his stomach.

His fingers tightened in her thick hair, and he lowered his mouth to hers. He was a rough man. He’d never known tenderness in his life. He was gentle with her. Tender even. He coaxed her with small kisses, nibbling at the corners of her mouth, tugging at her lower lip, nipping gently. Using his tongue along the seam of her lips. Tasting a hint of wild Spanish lavender.

Gideon nipped a little harder, a little more aggressively, at her lower lip, and she gasped, allowing him to take advantage. He slid his tongue into the scorching heat of her mouth, claiming her, tying them together irrevocably. She was pure fire, the flames roaring through him, branding him. He forced himself to hang on to control. It took more effort than he ever thought possible.

Her palms slid up his biceps and then around his neck, the fingers of one hand crushing his hair at his nape while the other hand found his skin. The touch felt like she burned her brand into his skin. She was already inside him. Now she was branded on the outside of him. He had to take care that she didn’t find her way into his mind as well. She was close there too. He felt her filling all the lonely places he’d had his entire life.

He lifted his head to look down at her. “I thought you said you weren’t good at this.”

Her lashes fluttered. Lifted. Her green gaze had gone sensual. A little dazed. Shocked even. Now she looked amused. Her lips curved into a smile. “I might have been wrong.”

His heart stuttered. He brushed a kiss over her smile. “We’d better stop while we’re ahead. Think of something to talk about. My brain is fried.”

Rory laughed softly, the laugh that reminded him so much of perfectly pitched chimes. Dropping her arms from his neck, she sat back in her chair but touched the black ink scrolling along one of his forearms. “Beautiful artwork. Birds. I especially love the Harpy Eagle. It’s gorgeous. You have quite a bit of art. Is it all various birds? From what I can see, it’s mostly black ink.”

“Not all. I don’t really do color on my tats, so most are various shades of black. I particularly like birds. I didn’t just choose my tattoos because I was drunk and I wanted to be inked. Each one means something to me.” He left it at that.

“I have three tattoos,” she admitted. “The one on my ankle I think is gorgeous and is my favorite. My name is Laurel, like the English laurel tree.” She pulled up the hem of her skirt and showed him her bare ankle.

Gideon’s breath hitched in his lungs. The tattoo was beautiful. One of the best he’d ever seen. Glossy green leaves and clusters of dark cherries coming off a tree branch. He’d seen that tattoo artist’s work only once before. He knew the woman who had it on her ankle. She was Rose Cannon, who was married to Kane—a fellow GhostWalker.



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