Possess Me Please (7 page)

“There is nothing
happening
between us.”

Unfortunately.

He closed the distance between them, bent down, took her face between his hands, and brought his lips within an inch of her own. “Keep telling yourself that, Izzy.”

Her breath caught, as she waited for his lips to take hers once again.

Instead, he turned and slipped out the door.

Frustration and anger engulfed her. Frustration because he didn’t kiss her again, and anger because she wanted him to.

My name’s Isabelle, not Izzy.
Although, she was finding that she was starting to like it when he called her by the nickname. The tone of his gravelly, deep voice curling around her name—the full-length version or shortened one, didn’t matter which—was enough to send butterflies of anticipation dancing in her tummy. He was overwhelming. What was wrong with her, reacting like that to someone she barely knew in such a wanton way?

She decided to take a quick shower and change clothes before heading down to dinner. Hopefully, the water would help cool her overactive hormones. She had planned to rest, but that was out of the question now. Thanks to Cyrus, her body was humming with energy.

* * * *

Cyrus stripped off his clothes and turned the knob marked
Cold
. He stepped under the freezing spray of the shower, barely flinching at the sting against his skin, and stood under the water for a long time, refusing to relieve himself of his horniness with his own hand.

He had gone too long without a body, and when he came for the first time in this one, it would be inside a woman, even if it killed him to wait.

Not just any woman.
He wanted to come inside Izzy.

He gritted his teeth against the aching throb in his groin. In the end, despite the cold, his willpower was what finally succeeded in encouraging his erection to subside…for the time being.

Chapter Six

Dinner was an awkward event for Isabelle. By the time she’d made it to the dining room, Cyrus was already standing on the far side of the room, wine glass in hand, talking to Scarlet.

He took her breath away, dressed in all black—jeans that hugged his perfect thighs and ass, boots, and a silk shirt that showcased his wide shoulders and muscled chest. She imagined the six-pack-abs under that shirt. She hadn’t seen them, but she’d felt them when she’d been draped over him earlier.

She closed her eyes to calm her traitorous body, and when she opened them, his unsettling gaze rested upon her, watching her as if he could read every one of her thoughts.

Her cheeks flamed hot from embarrassment. If he were able to read her thoughts right now, she’d wither up and die. A part of her wished she could read his, though, or…

Maybe not. She was a jumbled, confused mess inside, and wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted at the moment.

Scarlett poured some dark wine into a glass and brought it to Isabelle. “This is the most delightful wine. You’ll love it. It is sweet, with just a pinch of spice for kick.”

“Thank you, Scarlett.”

Needing something to distract her attention away from Cyrus, Isabelle took the glass with shaky fingers and drank it down...
Damn
. It was the best wine she’d ever tasted.

“Oh! That is wonderful.”

What did you expect? A five-dollar bottle from the liquor store around the corner?
The woman was loaded, and she could afford the best of everything.

But Scarlett didn’t strike her as one of those rich people who enjoyed rubbing their wealth under everyone else’s nose. She seemed like a warm, caring, genuine lovely person. Isabelle had had a lot of wealthy clients over the years, and while she could honestly say most of them had been pleasant, none had Scarlett’s personality. And none came close to wearing the amount of makeup Scarlett wore. Yet, that particular attribute—one that would appear gaudy on most—only added to her character.

Cyrus swaggered over to them with the wine and refilled Isabelle’s glass. She thanked him and went to stand by the sideboard—made of marble and wood, of course—to examine the picture that hung above it. Not normally much of a drinker, tonight she would make an exception. She wasn’t going anywhere, and she had every right to indulge on occasion.

She didn’t miss the way Cyrus’s gaze rested on her as she studied the painting on the wall. Nor did she miss the smirk on his beautiful lips, the one that told her he knew she was aware of him and trying hard to ignore him. He made her uncomfortable in a way that would be good if they were sleeping together. She couldn’t deny she was attracted to him, or that he made the room feel smaller simply by being in it.

His impressive frame towered over her. He intimidated her. Not in a frightening sort of way, but in a pushing-the-limits-of-her-control sort of way. Her body reacted to him whether she wanted it to or not. His presence commanded attention, and she wanted to give it to him. Even if it was in the form of straddling his thighs and sinking over his thickness.

She cleared her throat and hoped he’d magically disappear, but those cool, sexy eyes continued roaming over her as if she were the one on the menu tonight. Why did she have to wear the blue dress this evening? She’d been right about it. It made her feel feminine and sexy. That, along with the wine and Cyrus’s casual, flagrant perusal, made her lightheaded.  Staring at the picture on the wall for five minutes now, if someone asked her to describe it, she wouldn’t be able to. Her brain was preoccupied with Cyrus.

The object of her frustration stepped up close behind her. His breath, spicy from the wine, fanned over her cheek and neck, warming her skin. “So, Izzy, tell me something. How are you able to allow spirits into your body and live to tell about it?”

She spun around to face him, startled by the question. He talked as though he was aware that it was something that shouldn’t be possible. Who in the hell was he exactly? She narrowed her eyes, her mind now more focused on the inner man than the outer. He knew a lot more than he was letting on.

Two could play this game. “How is it that you even know I shouldn’t live to tell about it?”

The sly grin that slowly tipped his lips up at the corners told her he’d meant to throw out the bait—bait that she’d willingly taken like a fish after a worm on a hook. “I know about a lot of things, Izzy.”

She gritted her teeth, refusing to tell him to stop calling her Izzy anymore. He did it to get under her skin, and it was working, but there was no need to let him in on the secret.

He slowly swirled the remaining liquid around in his glass as he waited for her response.

Isabelle noticed their hostess was missing. “Where’s Scarlett?”

“She went to tell the chef we are ready for dinner. So you see, there’s no reason to avoid my question, since we are alone.”

How was it that she’d missed Scarlett’s retreat? “It’s just something I can do,” she mumbled.

“No. I don’t think it’s just
something
, but I agree that it is something only you can do.”

When she caught a hint of movement in his eyes, Isabelle’s breath left her with a whoosh. It was almost as if something—or someone—was inside his body with him, a shadow that, for a split second, blotted out the gray of his irises.

She stared for several moments and decided it had been her imagination. “Again, Cyrus, how would you know?”

“You aren’t going to make this easy, are you, Izzy?”

“Because you’ve been so easy on
me
? Besides,” she said with a shrug, “why should I? You haven’t exactly given me a reason why I should explain anything to you. In fact, if I remember correctly, you all but called me a scammer.”

He laughed, the rich, deep baritone curling her toes. “Let’s say I have studied souls and their existence extensively.”

“Why?”

“It is of great interest to me, and I know no human has ever been capable of doing what you did tonight.”

She raised a brow at him. What did he mean by
human
? “Oh, but there are other nonhuman things that can, I suppose?”

Now it was his turn to shrug. His broad shoulders gave way more emphasis to his gesture than her smaller ones had. “You have an ability that many people doubt. Most wouldn’t believe it even after witnessing you do it. Is it such a stretch of the imagination to believe there are things you don’t believe in that might actually exist?”

“What? Like monsters or vampires or demons? Is that what you mean by
things
?”

He shrugged again. “And would you put these monsters and vampires and
demons
all in the same category?”

She thought about that for a moment. “If you are asking me if I think them all to be evil, I guess I’d have to say that, if they did exist, then, no, I wouldn’t put them all in the same category. There are all kinds of people—smart, dumb, rich, poor, happy, sad, good, and bad. I would have to assume the same would be true for any other species or kind of being.”

* * * *

His brows rose at her answer. She surprised him again, being the first person who had not automatically deemed all demons the devil’s spawn. Few people threw him off guard, but she was managing to do so at every turn. Izzy was a unique woman, and he found he liked her more with each passing minute. “You still didn’t answer my question. How do you survive being possessed unscathed?”

“I told you. I have an anchoring potion that protects my soul. I can invite spirits in to use my body for a short time to communicate with loved ones. I don’t do it for the spirits. I do it to provide closure and comfort to the living.”

He wondered if she knew about Havoc spirits. Even with her anchoring potion, she might not come out alive if one of them ever got hold of her. “You do realize that there are always exceptions to everything?”

Her brows dipped toward her nose. “I’m not quite sure what you mean.”

“Let’s say your potion works ninety percent of the time. What about the other ten, when it doesn’t?”

She shivered, and her skin paled.

Cyrus pulled a chair out from the table just in time for her to sink onto it before her butt hit the floor.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she said.

It was clear she had suffered a nasty encounter at some point. Whichever spirit had hurt her, it better be damned glad he hadn’t been around at the time. He would have ripped it to shreds for daring to touch her.

When he put his hand on her shoulder, she stiffened at his touch. “I’m sorry, Izzy,” he said. “Let me get you some more wine.”

She didn’t refuse, and by the time she had swallowed a couple more sips, Scarlett was back with a man pushing a huge tray laden with food. Once the food was laid out on the table and uncovered, Cyrus thought Isabelle looked much better as her skin returned to its normal soft pink glow.

* * * *

Isabelle had never seen such an elaborate spread of food. The main dish was a colossal roast surrounded by baby red potatoes, carrots, onions, and green peppers. There were rolls that she was sure were made from scratch, and various side dishes served on gorgeous silver plates. The aromas made her belly grumble and her mouth water.

She was relieved Cyrus hadn’t inquired any further about her ability over dinner. When he’d asked her about the other ten percent, her mind had done an instant backflip to Stephen. She didn’t want to have that conversation with Cyrus. Hell, she didn’t want the memory, but she had no magic wand to remove it from her brain.

Scarlett seemed happy and relaxed, and Isabelle was glad the woman was finally able to feel guilt-free about moving on without Harry. By the time dinner was over and the chef had brought in scrumptious looking chocolate cake for dessert, the fog in her brain told her she’d had way too much wine. The giddiness and uninhibited wildness with which she wanted Cyrus was eating away at her self-control.

She stared at him, unashamedly perusing him, not trying to hide her actions in the least. He gazed back just as boldly, and her body screamed in silent invitation.

After dessert and coffee, Isabelle decided it would be best if she excused herself and went to her room before she made a fool of herself and jumped Cyrus.

She scooted her chair back and eased upright. “Thank you, Scarlett. Dinner was exquisite, and you were wonderful company.”

“No. Thank you, dear. It’s been a long time since I’ve had guests. I enjoyed it.”

Cyrus thanked Scarlett as well and insisted on walking Izzy to her room, even though she was adamant about being more than capable of making her own way. He guided her through the foyer and up the stairs to her door. Before she could go in and effectively shut him out, he pulled her around to face him, and she melted against him.

His mouth slanted over hers. This wasn’t a rough, demanding kiss like the previous one, but a slow, possessive exploration of senses. The hint of wine and chocolate on his tongue enhanced his erotic sensuality, and he flowed through her, claiming her, branding her. He was the only man she’d kissed who evoked such intensity of feeling with a mere mating of mouths. While the wine helped free her inhibitions, it wasn’t the only thing drawing her to Cyrus. There was something about him—his essence, his smell, his touch—that coaxed every wanton cell inside her to life.

She wanted him—drunk, sober, or otherwise.

All reason fled her foggy mind. At the same time, her body strained closer, begging for his touch. She moaned, and he deepened the kiss, pushing her back against the door and pinning her to the unyielding surface with his hard body. His hands rested on either side of her head, effectively imprisoning her. Not that she planned on going anywhere anytime soon.

His erection nudged her stomach, leaving no doubt that he wanted the same thing as she did, and she pushed back against him. A low growl rasped from his throat, and he cupped one breast and gently rolled the hardened tip of the nipple between his thumb and index finger. The soft fabric of her dress heightened the sensation.

She fit his hand perfectly. He covered her other breast, kneading them both gently, scraping his fingers back and forth over the peaks that begged for his touch. He took his mouth from hers and nibbled his way down her neck, raining kisses over her collarbone before sucking one nipple right through the fabric.