Celeste Files: Unjust by Kristine Mason Page A

this.”
    He caught up with her in the bedroom. “I do.”
    “Fine. Do you want a divorce?”
    “Hell, no. Do you?” he asked, his dark-brown eyes filled with hurt and irritation.
    “Of course not. But I’m sick of having to apologize all the time.”
    “I’ve never asked you to. I know being haunted, or not being able to control your trances, isn’t something you want.” He took several steps forward. “Sounds like I’m the one who should be apologizing. I get angry because I don’t know how to help you. For months, I’ve woken up every morning wondering if today will be the day when my wife falls into a trance. Now I’m afraid to fall asleep because a ghost might attack you during the night. Not to sound chauvinistic, but I’m the man. It’s hard to feel manly when I can’t keep you safe.”
    John wasn’t the type of man who thought women were helpless and couldn’t take care of themselves. Last Christmas he’d bought her a tool box, filled with what she’d need to fix the little things around their condo, and had showed her how to use the tools. But John was also a born protector. He’d made a career out of seeking justice for victims and their families. She admired and respected him for that, and she loved him for admitting a major source of his issues with her—his manly ego had taken a hit.
    “You’re not less of a man because you can’t control what happens to me,” she said. “If we’re going to be honest, I’ve been thinking about how life would be for you, if you had a normal wife.”
    “I don’t want another woman.” He grabbed her by the arms and pulled her against his naked body. “Don’t ever think that. Damn it, Celeste, from the moment I saw you at your dad’s diner, I wanted you. Now I need you,” he said, then shoved a hand through her hair and kissed her.
    On a groan she sank into the kiss. Twined her arms around his neck and pressed her body closer until they were flush. She understood the difference between want and need, and needed him, too. Not as a bodyguard, sperm donor or ATM machine. Their emotional connection ran deep, and she couldn’t picture herself being with anyone else but John. He grounded her. His touch, his voice, just the sight of him calmed and soothed her. She’d wanted to have sex before they’d gone to the beach, not just for a selfish reminder that she was among the living, and not to make a baby, but because she loved him. Because she craved having his hands on her body, the heat of his bare skin against hers.
    “I love you,” he said, breaking the kiss and dragging his lips along her neck.
    She ran her fingers through his hair as he dipped his head lower. “I love you, too,” she said, then drew in a breath when he captured a nipple. With one hand on her rear, the other massaging her breast, he sucked and tugged, drew the sensitive peak into his mouth. Her body ached for him. Desire settled deep in her belly. She spread her legs slightly, kept her fingers speared through his short hair and gave his head a tiny nudge.
    He smiled against her breast and looked up at her. Without a word, he moved her a few steps back until she reached the dresser, then he went to his knees and peppered open-mouthed kisses along her stomach. When he reached her sex, he swept his tongue along her and raised her foot to his shoulder. Now completely open and exposed, she leaned against the dresser. “More,” she encouraged.
    When he sank his fingers into her heat, her legs weakened. Holding onto the dresser with both hands, she watched as he simultaneously pumped his fingers deep and flicked his tongue along her clit. He was so damned sexy. She couldn’t wait for him to be inside her. As she stared at his mouth and fingers, she also pictured his hard length. Imagined him filling her, becoming one with him.
    Her inner thighs began to tremble, while the first signs of an orgasm teased her sex. He slid his fingers from her and replaced them with his mouth.