The Taking (22 page)

She wanted to give in, to let him hold her, but somehow that would be giving up control, admitting that she was tottering on the edge of some kind of mental breakdown.

“Those who are dead are never gone,” he said calmly in her ear, his fingers caressing her back lightly.

Goose bumps traversed her arms like an electrical current racing along a wire. “Excuse me?”

“You believe that just as much as I do. Otherwise you wouldn’t work to restore cemeteries. You wouldn’t collect art that reflects the beauty given to assuage grief. The dead are always with us. Physically, in things like your sister’s stuffed monkey and in the photos we save, a tomb dedicated to them, or a journal. Spiritually, in that their lingering presence affects our behaviors and decisions, and sometimes, appears in the form of them pressing into our world, either as a ghost, or in our dreams.”

It was moments like this that she looked at Felix and marveled that there were men like him, and that she had never encountered a single one before. It was like somehow he crawled inside her head and made sense of her convoluted and mostly secret thoughts. It was thrilling, yet unnerving in its danger. She could fall for him very, very easily, and that was something she knew she just couldn’t do.

“I would agree with that, I suppose. I guess I never thought about it in exactly those terms, but yes, the dead are with us. Though I’m not sure what that has to do with me seeing a snake that didn’t exist.” Regan pulled back against his arms for release. “I want my nightgown.” She felt too exposed standing there in nothing but her panties.

He continued to hold her, making it impossible for her to leave him and get her clothes. “Regan. I think Camille is using you, in your dreams, to revisit this world she left so long ago.”

She stopped trying to back up and stared at him, her mind screaming that was impossible, insane, ridiculous. The other part of her, the one that had seen Camille, the one that believed her sister’s spirit was sometimes with her, felt the weight of the truth of Felix’s statement. It wasn’t logical by most standards, but something was going on in her house, in her dreams.

It was either Camille Comeaux or Regan was going mental, and if she had to chose, she hoped it was a nineteenth-century beauty reaching out from the dead, not her own mind cracking under pressure.

“How can she do that? I mean, I understand seeing her floating in the hallway, or the French doors opening, but how can she be in my dreams?”

“I don’t know,
cherie,
but it seems she is. The question is, are you comfortable with her being here, or do you want to try to rid the house of her?”

Geez, that seemed brutal. “I don’t think she’s malicious, Felix. Just angry at her loss, maybe confused that she’s dead.” Regan ran her fingers over his hard chest, musing. “I wonder how she died.”

Felix stiffened beneath her, and she looked up. His face looked pained. Regan dropped her hands immediately. She was touching him too tenderly and he clearly didn’t like it.

“Maybe she just wants me to see what happened to her. Maybe she wants comfort,” she said.

“I don’t know. But she is clearly a powerful spirit to manipulate your dreams and move objects. I think you should be careful.”

“And how exactly do I do that?” She was all for being careful. She didn’t relish the idea of being tomorrow’s news because she’d fallen off her balcony. “Eccentric Heiress Kills Herself in Midst of Divorce from High-Powered Attorney.” She could see it now.

That would be enough to make Regan come back as a haunt.

Feeling a little hysterical, she finally pulled away from him and snatched her nightgown off the floor.

“I’ll protect you,” he said, his voice even, serious, pale blue eyes glassy in the dim lamplight.

And she believed him.

Which scared her even more.

Regan looked wild-eyed and terrified again. Or maybe
still
. Felix had tried to calm her down, but he wasn’t sure how successful he’d been. “Let’s lie down,” he told her. “Have a glass of wine together.”

It took her a second to respond, her nightgown clutched in front of her, but finally she nodded. “Okay.” She turned her back and pulled her nightgown on over her head.

Felix didn’t bother to look away, even though she clearly wanted some privacy to dress. He watched her arms go up, showing off her creamy white back, her narrow waist, and the tight backside in her cotton panties. He wanted another taste of her, a longer, more exploratory foray into her sensuality, her body.

Whether by fate or choice, he had wound up here with her, and he was already in too deep to back out, despite the consequences.

“I’ll go get the wine,” he said. “Is it in the kitchen?”

She glanced over at the chest of drawers, where the empty glass still sat. “Actually, I don’t think I want a glass of wine. But I can go get you one if you want it” Moving over to the bureau, she lifted the glass and swiped her hand across the surface. “Damn it. I stained the marble. A hundred-plus years it sits in this room, and I’m here a week and I ruin it.”

“I’m sure there’s a way to clean it.” Though Felix wasn’t sure why she gave a shit. It was just a thing. A box of wood with a marble top, nothing more. Though truthfully he did know why she liked it. Regan wasn’t materialistic, she was sentimental.

Which meant Felix was the absolute worst man to have in her life.

But here he was.

“I’m spending the night,” he told her, shoving his jeans down and stepping out of them. “And I never do that”

She frowned, rubbing her fingers together where they must have gotten sticky from the spilled wine. “So what do you want, a cookie? Don’t stay if you don’t want to. I don’t need any favors.”

“Why? Why don’t you need favors?”

Slapping the wineglass down on the floor next to the bureau, she said, “Because favors from a man you’ve slept with come with a price. It’s code for ‘you owe me.’”

“But you would accept a favor from a friend at face value? Say the friend who spent the night with you, you would believe his favor was given freely?”

Regan stood back up. “Yes. But that’s different.”

“Why? Oh, I know why. Because your ex-husband was an asshole, and he did a number on you.”

“I don’t want to talk about my ex-husband. I want to talk about you. So why don’t you ever spend the night?”

Shit. Regan had effectively turned that right around on him. Felix moved toward the bed, grabbing all the bedding he’d hurled to the floor when she’d been panicking. “Spending the night leads to expectations that I can’t meet.”

“But you’re willing to risk it with me?”

Tossing the mess of sheets and blankets back onto the bed, he kept his back to her. “You and me, we’re both damaged. So neither one of us has any expectations.”

“Why the hell does your tattoo spell out ‘GREED’?’ she asked, horror mingling with curiosity in her voice.

Felix whirled around and saw her stricken expression. It made him turn back to the bed again in shame. He’d forgotten about his tattoo, his own personal branding. There was a story he told everyone, and then there was the truth. For some reason, he found himself giving Regan the truth. “I used to be greedy. I wanted money, power, material possessions. And I got them. But it wasn’t worth what it cost my soul. So this is to remind me that my greed is behind me.”

“I see,” she said.

He sensed her moving up to him, and then her fingers were fluttering across his skin, tracing the letters. Felix stood still, enjoying her touch, yet unable to shake the shame of who he was, what he had done.

“Maybe I should get a tattoo,” she whispered, her breath tickling his shoulder. “Only mine would read ‘Stop Being a Doormat.’”

Felix laughed, turning to take her into his arms. “I don’t think anyone who leaves Alcroft and fights through a divorce is a doormat.”

“Do you know him?” Regan asked, head tilting slightly.

“Yes.” Felix left it at that, cursing the fact that he’d brought the demon’s name into what they were doing here, together. “Now get in bed.” He pushed her so that she lost her balance and fell backward onto the mattress and crumpled covers.

“Ah!” she yelped, before launching a pillow at him. “Jerk.”

Glad to see she was grinning, Felix just smirked. “And don’t you forget it.”

Her smile turned tender then disappeared altogether as she lay on the bed looking up at him. She whispered, “I think you’re nicer than you’d like to admit.”

Felix lost his grin as well at her words. He wanted to scoff, to protest, to tell her the truth, that he had never been a good man, that he tried to find ways to be decent in this life he had to live, but that in no way was he a man of quality.

But he didn’t want that look on her face to alter. For once, he just wanted to close his eyes and believe that he could be worthy of the love or at least affection of a wonderful woman.

Climbing onto the bed, he ran his hand up her leg, her thigh, drifting over the front of her panties. “Is this nice?”

Her breathing had already altered, becoming more audible, her eyes widening as she watched him. “Yes.”

“I can make it even nicer.” Felix leaned forward and brushed his lips over her panties, taking in the scent of her arousal.

Then he jerked the cotton to the side to expose her to his view. She was slick with desire already, her dark curls dewy. Skimming his thumbs down either side of her, Felix flicked his tongue over her swollen clitoris. Regan gave a soft moan and her fingers made their way into his hair.

His cock swelled at her reaction and at the taste of her, so elemental, so sensual. He knew he was good at this, knew that he could please a woman, and he enjoyed that. But he had never needed to know he could satisfy a woman as much as he did with Regan. It mattered. And that scared him at the same time it thrilled him.

Moving his tongue first slowly, then faster, Felix listened to Regan responding, to her increased moans, her rapid breathing. He felt her body tighten, shifting restlessly beneath his touch, felt her fingers dig deeper, her back arching as he licked and sucked at her. Her flesh grew warmer, her body damper, her cries louder.

Felix felt his own body stiffen, his grip on her thighs tighter as he reveled in her pleasure. He wanted to shift up and plunge his erection into her, but he wanted to have her shatter on his mouth more.

When he sucked her clitoris, she did, calling out his name in such a raw voice it made a chill rush over his hot body. Slowing his tongue down over her slick folds, Felix pulled back as her orgasm petered out, intent to replace his tongue with his cock inside her warm and wet body.

Only Regan stopped him by reaching down and closing a hand around his cock, putting her other hand on his chest to prevent his forward motion.

“No?” he asked, disappointed in more ways than he could describe. But it had been a long and emotional night. Maybe she just wanted to go to sleep. He couldn’t be selfish and withhold that from her simply so he could get his rocks off.

But sleep wasn’t what Regan had in mind. She had sat up and was moving forward, her mouth open ...

Felix stared down at her in shock as she touched his cock with her lips in a small kiss. No woman had done that, done this, in over a hundred years. They always took. They never gave. And it wasn’t right to ask. But Regan’s lips were separating, head lowering, as her hot, smooth mouth slid over the length of him.

Felix closed his eyes and gritted his teeth at the agony of pleasure. Damn it, it felt so good, better than he remembered, all-consuming. But he had to force himself to say, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

She looked up at him, her eyes glossy with desire, her lips wrapped around his cock, shiny and damp, her hair falling in her eyes. She pulled back just enough to say, “Oh, I want to. Trust me.”

That alone almost sent him careening over the edge. The look in her eye matched the conviction in her voice, and Felix was stunned. She meant it. She wanted to suck him, and that was the hottest damn thing he’d ever experienced. Despite his curse, somehow this woman wanted to give him pleasure instead of just taking it.

So he put his hands on the back of her head lightly and watched her as she took him into her mouth over and over, her mouth slicking him, the sensation hot and tight and explosive. Felix felt the edges of his control starting to splinter, both his physical and emotional barriers disintegrating. He should stop her, it, this ... everything between them, but he couldn’t.

It might be selfish, but just once, he wanted to share, to feel that bond of intimacy, to be one, instead of two separate people moving through life alone.

He wanted to fall in love, and be loved.

Knowing he was going to lose it, Felix pulled out and pushed at Regan’s shoulder.

“I wanted to ...” she started to say.

But Felix shook his head. He couldn’t finish that way, or he might never recover.