Possess Me (12 page)

Michelle felt her world turn sideways as large, male hands gripped her shoulders, pulling her away from the woman and into his arms. He took her mouth with a low growl and she made a sound of approval, thinking this was so much better than she’d imagined—the dark taste of him, his rough fingers cupping her breasts, his erection pressed against the curve of her belly.

More than the physical embrace, she felt that familiar mental connection. The connection she hadn’t felt since they were young, when he had touched her and known what she was thinking, feeling. He’d known what she wanted then, and he knew what she wanted now.

His other hand slid down to the hem of her short, snug skirt, yanking so hard it rolled up around her waist, revealing her plain cotton briefs to his searching fingers.

He slipped them beneath the fabric and lower, between her thighs, groaning into her mouth when he’d found the wetness there. “Mimi. Baby, I want—”

“Your tip was big, but not big enough for this. Not that I’m not enjoying watching for a change, but you two might want to take this somewhere a little more private before the boss decides to poke his head in.”

Michelle pulled away from Ben’s embrace, noticing the stripper smirking as she leaned against the wall, watching them.

“Oh, shit.”

As though someone had pushed her under an ice-cold shower, Michelle had instantly sobered. Ben. She’d been kissing Ben. Topless, no less. He’d never let her hear the end of it. Oh, God, her friends—they were right outside. She’d backed away from him, retying her halter and lowering her skirt with shaking hands.

“Mimi, damn it, wait.”

Ben reached out as if to grab her and she stumbled, bumping against the stripper with a mumbled apology. She couldn’t look at either of them. “Don’t touch me. Ever again. I’m drunk. This never happened.”

That was the first and last time she’d kissed Benjamin Adair.

A few days later he’d passed by the patio restaurant where she’d been working for the summer, and, right in front of the amused and slightly horrified tourists, he turned his back and showed her his new strategically placed tattoo. She’d left for school a month later, vowing to never forgive him, and to do her best never to see him again.

The fogged window obscuring her vision drew her back to the present. She ran her forearm down the glass, wiping off the moisture, and felt a small pang of disappointment. And a relief she didn’t want to think about.

He was dressing again. How long had she been lost in her daydream? Long enough to miss his part in their strange ménage, apparently. He was leaving Rousseau cuffed to the bed with Allegra beside him, her expression determined. What was that girl up to now?

Ben kissed Allegra on the forehead and looked toward the window. Michelle slid closer to the wall, knowing he couldn’t possibly see her. It was dark outside, and the lights were all out, but she could swear he was looking straight at her.

Ben turned to leave and Michelle knew she should look away, give her friend privacy, but something kept her frozen in place.

Allegra was pleasuring Rousseau, kissing and caressing him, and Michelle could see the Loa inside him struggling against his own pleasure. The energy ebbed and flowed, Bone Daddy’s form superimposing over Rousseau’s as Allegra rode him.

Michelle didn’t question her arousal at the scene playing out before her eyes. She would worry if she
wasn’t
turned on by the sensual attack her friend was launching on the helpless Loa and the man he currently inhabited.

Allegra was beautiful, in spite of her scars.
Because
of them. And Rousseau obviously felt the same, if the intense ecstasy on his face was anything to go by.

She really should have taken that man she’d flirted with the other night up on his offer. She’d told Allegra she needed a new distraction. After tonight it would jump to number one on her priority list.

“Holy shit.”

Michelle pressed closer to the window, amazed at what she was seeing. As Allegra and Rousseau climaxed, their bodies arching off the bed with the power of it, the Loa slipped to the edge of the bed . . . then disappeared. Bone Daddy had left Rousseau? How? Why?

She studied the two lovers carefully, looking for any sign, any remnant of the spirit who’d been a continuous presence in Rousseau since Michelle had moved back. But she couldn’t see a thing.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” She watched them embrace, and recalled something she’d read from one of the books her mother had foisted on her.

Had she been so focused on keeping herself busy, on keeping Allegra away from Bone Daddy, that she hadn’t noticed her friend had fallen in love with Rousseau? That perhaps he’d fallen in love with her right back?

A strange tingle shot down her spine, pulling her gaze away from the couple’s first private moment together and down to the street below.

Ben.

He stood beneath the street lamp on the corner, heedless of the scattered groups walking by as he stared up at her window, watching her.

She didn’t move, didn’t blink. Some part of her was terrified he would come closer, knock on the door. Some part of her wanted to let him in. To ease the ache created by what she’d seen tonight, by him.

He smiled. A wide, wicked grin that was pure temptation. Pure Ben. She didn’t breathe again until he turned and walked slowly down the street, hands in his pockets.

Good. The last thing she needed was another run-in with Ben Adair. She turned away with a sigh, feeling the need for a cold shower, or maybe she’d practice her capoeira moves first so she could impress her teacher at tomorrow’s class. She had a feeling she would need to exhaust herself to get any sleep tonight.

When she dragged her sweaty body to the shower an hour later, the showerhead sputtered, spitting out boiling hot water despite how much she fiddled with the faucet. She had to laugh.

She
really
needed to move.

“
Bonjou,
BEN! WE NEVER SEE YOU UP AND ABOUT SO EARLY.
And certainly not on a Saturday. What’s the special occasion, little one?”

Ben chuckled at Mambo Toussaint’s bright welcome when she answered his knock at her door. He would always be the
little one
to her. Other than his mother and another woman who was currently driving him bonkers, she was his favorite female. But unlike the other two,
she
spoiled him rotten. “I haven’t been to your house in a while, and since when does a man need a reason to visit the most beautiful woman in the Crescent City?”

“I thought
I
was the most beautiful woman in New Orleans, Benjamin.”

Elise Adair appeared over Mambo Toussaint’s shoulder, a dogeared book in hand.
Love Spells
. Ben bit the inside of his cheek. His mother had never been subtle.

“I should have known. Where one Mama is . . .”

“The other’s nearby,” the older women said in unison, all of them laughing together at the familiar saying. The two had been best friends long before Ben was born.

The lives they led when apart couldn’t have been more different. His mother was a pampered housewife to a wealthy business-man, with a house in Europe and a Louisiana mansion.

Annemarie Toussaint was a mambo, a voodoo priestess, who’d never missed a day of work. A woman who’d raised a child on her own, not to mention any stray that needed her help.

To any onlooker, their friendship would be unusual, but he knew The Mamas were opposite sides of the same coin, the gifts they shared, their secrets and their heartaches, kept them bound tightly to each other.

“You’re both too lovely to choose from. I’m an innocent victim of circumstance.”

Mambo Toussaint threw back her head, hair wrapped as it always was in one of her brightly patterned scarves, and guffawed. She stepped inside and pulled him close behind her, past the homey, crowded kitchen and into the living room.

He’d loved this house when he was a child. The statues of saints and images of colorful icons that hung on the walls, the smells of Cajun spices and rose oil permeating the air. It was a warm house, full of magic and music and laughter. He hadn’t had to keep his clothes clean or his shoes on, and he could talk as loud as he liked.

His mother squeezed his arm before going to fold herself elegantly onto the quilt-covered couch, and he noticed her bare feet. He had a feeling his mother liked it for the same reasons. Pristine mansions with furniture that hadn’t been created to sit on got old after a while.

She tilted her head in his direction, her straight, silvery blonde bob sliding forward with the movement. “Something’s wrong. I’m sure half the female population of Louisiana is bound for disappointment, but I would think you’d be relieved that Celestin is free of his father’s debt with the Loa. Not to mention that sweet Allegra’s injury being healed.”

“Do you know how disconcerting it is to have your mother know things before you tell her?”

She wrinkled her nose at Ben. “Don’t change the subject, Benjamin. I wasn’t looking. Michelle told Annemarie a few days ago. Though how she found out when we all know Café Bwe’s been closed for several days now, and no one’s heard one peep from the lovebirds . . .” Elise shrugged casually, though she was watching her son with an interested glimmer in her eyes.

Ben knew how Michelle had found out. He’d felt her watching, knew she’d seen him with Allegra and Rousseau, that she’d seen him on the street below. The little voyeur.

It had taken all of his willpower to turn and walk away without banging her door down and finding a way to touch her. If he could just get his hands on her, he’d know if what Allegra had said was true. Was
he
Michelle’s secret fantasy?

He had to find out. He’d spent the last few days climbing the walls, his happiness for Rousseau and Allegra muted by his own frustration.

Michelle Toussaint.

He couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t in love with her. At the age of five, he’d looked at the giggling three-year-old talking to herself in the garden and lost his heart.

Everything about her drew him in; her cocoa curls, her large, strikingly green eyes, her feistiness. And when she took his hand, he could see that he wasn’t alone in the world, that someone other than his mother had gifts similar to his own.

Ben had always been able to sense what people were thinking and feeling, but with Michelle, he could also see what she saw. With one touch he knew she hadn’t been talking to herself at all, but to a young man in strange clothing, the rosebush still visible through his head. A ghost.

They’d been inseparable after that. Ben, Michelle, and Gabriel, her twin brother. Though Gabe had no abilities, he’d still joined them on their adventures, sticking close to his sister’s side. Ben had been sure they would always be friends.

Things had changed after Michelle’s father decided to return to Italy, taking his son, but
not
his daughter, with him—Michelle had been devastated. Nothing he did could console her. At ten years old he couldn’t understand why she pushed him away. At thirty-six he was still chasing after her.

He looked down at the two women sitting patiently on the sofa. The Mamas had always known how he felt about Michelle.

When she left for college in Texas, then moved to New York, deciding not to come back home, he’d gone a little crazy. Not that he’d ever been a saint, but for a while there, he knew his mother was worried he might have lost his way.

Four years ago she’d come back home, and he’d held out the hope that they could renew their friendship. But she avoided him, and when she couldn’t, when their families got together for annual crawfish boils or birthdays, she made sure he never got the chance to touch her. And Ben had been forced to accept that.

But not anymore.

He sat on the small footstool at Mambo Toussaint’s feet, and took her hand. “I need a reading. And a little help from the both of you.”

The priestess shared a look with his mother. “It’s about damn time.”