Play with the Phantom (Midnight, #2)

by Amanda Richardson

I am an eldest daughter, after all. We overthink. We measure. We try to get things right, even when no one is watching. Even when no one else cares.

What if she carried me on her skin? Not just in the way she smells. But deeper.

My mind spins with the idea—of her waking up, getting ready, spraying this perfume on her pulse points. Unknowingly rubbing me into her wrists, her throat, her collarbones.

And every time she touches her wrist, every time she catches a whiff of that sweet, familiar scent, she’ll be wearing me. Carrying me. Marking herself as mine.

“Let me take care of you the way you deserve to be taken care of.”

“You’re impossible.” I tilt my head, my voice dipping lower. “I’m inevitable.”

“You’re mine,” he hisses, cracked and reverent, every syllable seeping into my bones. “My perfect little angel. That’s my girl.”

“I think I’m the man who’d die for her. I think I’m the man who wouldn’t trade her for a promotion or a calendar full of conference calls. I’d never even think of letting let her settle for less than what she fucking deserves. And just so we’re clear—neither of us deserve her—but I’m the only one who’d burn this whole fucking world to the ground just to keep her.”