Christine Feehan - Dark Possession

MaryAnn straightened her jacket and blouse with great dignity. «Was that display of machismo really necessary?» Sarcasm dripped. If she couldn't smack him like he deserved, she could take him down with words. She was very good at crossing verbal swords.

Manolito stared down at her furious face. She was so achingly beautiful with her perfect coffee-and-cream skin, so soft he found himself brushing his fingers over her whenever he could get the chance. His. He tasted the word. Let it sink into his mind. She belonged to him. Had been made for him. She was his alone, and he would have her for all time.

She'd given him back colors and emotions after hundreds of years without. And she had no clue what she was to him. She stood there in front of him, a small spitfire of a woman with her shiny midnight black curls and chocolate doe eyes, innocent and vulnerable. Need crawled through his body with savage, raking claws, merciless and dangerous, but something else was creeping into his heart. Something soft and gentle when he had long forgotten tender things.

«It seemed an expedient way to get out of the early morning sun.»

«Your mama sure didn't teach you a thing about manners, did she?» She tried to maintain her anger, but it was nearly impossible when he was looking at her in that strange way-as if she was-everything. And fear was beginning to swamp her, the need to cry, because she could feel the resolution in his mind to leave, to go to ground. She couldn't go with him, and that meant she'd be left alone.

He took a step toward her, obviously reading her dismay.

MaryAnn held up a hand to stop him, because if he touched her, she didn't know how she'd react. She'd never, never even contemplated turning her body over to a man and allowing him to do anything he wanted, but Manolito could so easily make her want to do just that. He could make her want things she'd never dreamt of, and that scared her almost as much as the idea of being left there alone. ''

«Look at my boots,» she said, to keep from crying, and sank down onto the chair to pull them off. «I loved

these boots. They've always been my favorite.»

He knelt down in front of her, gently pushing her hands away to remove the boots himself. She looked down at the top of his head, his hair silky midnight black and falling in disarray around his face and shoulders. She couldn't stop herself from touching it as his fingers slid down her calf and sent shivers of awareness up her leg.

He was only helping her remove her boots, yet somehow that small gesture seemed sexual. She tried to pull her foot away, but he circled her ankle with strong fingers and held her still. «Don't, MaryAnn. I have no choice but to go to ground. I do not want to leave you alone. It is the last thing that I want. If you continue to be so upset, you will leave me no other option than to convert you now and take you with me.»

He raised his head, his dark gaze meeting hers. Her heart jumped as his tongue touched his lips and his gaze dropped to her mouth.

«Don't even think about it.» Because she was thinking about it, and that just plain scared her to death.

«Go take a shower. I will look after these boots for you,» he instructed. «The hot water will relax you and help you to sleep.»

MaryAnn swallowed a protest and left him kneeling there on the floor, her boots in his hand. She didn't look back, wouldn't allow herself to look back, even though she was certain he would be gone when she came out.

She turned the water on as hot as she could stand it, letting it pour over her sore, tired muscles while she cried. It was silly, really, but she couldn't help herself after everything that had happened. A relief valve, but still her heart felt heavy. The shampoo took the poof out of her hair, and the conditioner smoothed it once again. She emerged feeling-tired and lost and wanting Manolito more than she ever had, but she was determined not to cry anymore.

She wrapped a towel around her and went into the bedroom to find something to sleep in. Manolito sat in the chair by the window holding up her boots. They were clean and shiny and looked new. For a moment, she could only stare in shock, clutching the towel to her as joy burst through her. Fresh tears burned, happy tears this time, but she swallowed them and managed to nod casually toward the boots.

«You fixed them.»

«Of course. You love them.» He set the boots down and held up a pair of high-heel sparkling red shoes that went with a little slip of a dress that clung like a second skin to her every curve. «I love these.»

«You have good taste.»

«Put them on for me.»

Her eyebrow shot up. «Now? I'm in a towel and my hair is soaking wet.» She had the mass of curls wrapped up turban-style, and she was suddenly self-conscious. «They look great with a dress I have, but I'm not so certain what effect they'll have in a towel.»

«Right now.» His voice was low, compelling, that hypnotic, sexy rasp that tightened her nipples and made her ache with need.

She put her hand on his shoulder and slipped one heel on her foot, all the while watching his face. He looked mesmerized. Hungry. She slid the other red heel onto her foot and stepped away from him with confidence.

The heels made her legs look great. How could they not? Towel or not, she had a good figure, and he was definitely appreciating it. He made her feel like the sexiest woman alive.

He stood up, an easy casual ripple of muscles, his walk catlike as he advanced on her, nearly stopping her heart. His hand cupped her face, thumb sliding over her cheekbone. «You are so beautiful. I have no idea what I did to deserve you, but you take my breath away.»

He bent his head and kissed her. It was a gentle, lingering kiss, his breath warm and his mouth coaxing. He trailed kisses down the side of her face to her neck, nuzzling her, nipping with his teeth and teasing with his tongue. Her blood thundered in her ears as his hot, seductive mouth roamed down her throat to the curve of her breast. Liquid heat pulsed between her thighs.

Manolito tugged on the towel, and it dropped away from her body, leaving every inch of her bare to his hungry gaze. He stepped back to take in the sight of her, the expanse of satin skin and full, lush curves, achingly soft and inviting. His thumb brushed her sensitive nipple and she gasped in response. He drew a line from her chin to her navel. «I swear, MaryAnn, I have never seen a sight more beautiful in all my centuries of living.» Lust roughened his voice, but honesty turned it to velvet. He stepped back, his hand sliding down her arm until his fingers tangled with hers. He tugged so that she would take a step toward him.

Chapter Eight

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Manolito slid his hand over the curve of her hip, the pads of his fingers lingering lightly on her skin. MaryAnn's stomach muscles tightened. Small flames of arousal flickered over her thighs, spread up to her belly and teased her breasts. His eyes had grown hot and possessive, his mouth sensual, the edge of hunger sharper. She could barely catch her breath, her body craving his. Everywhere his gaze touched her, she felt it like a brand.

Was she seducing him? Or was he seducing her? She couldn't tell and didn't care. All that mattered was that he couldn't take his eyes from her. His body was hard and tight, the bulge in the front of his jeans impressive. Heat rolled off him in waves. And his touch was sheer magic, the pads of his fingers teasing at some wild creature inside of her, one that demanded to be free-one that physically responded to everything about him.

«I waited several lifetimes for you,» he confided, his gaze hot as he bent his head to her neck. His tongue teased her earlobe, swirled over her pulse. «I thought of you. What I would do with you. How many ways I would give you pleasure.»