Page 7 of Possess Me

Damien squeezes my hand, stepping closer. “You actually believe that house is haunted?”

“It does have that reputation.”

“I think gossip and tourism are the more likely source of those rumors. She was beaten almost to death in that house, and we know she’d had many arguments inside it with her husband. Surely, it’s that drama that fueled the haunted house stories. That and the vacation company that owned it for the last few decades pushing the Haunted Hollywood narrative.”

Dr. Hart grins. “Just because they pushed it doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

I can’t help but agree with Dr. Hart, but Damien just shakes his head. “At any rate,” he says, “it was a pleasure meeting you. Are you staying on the island for a while?”

Dr. Hart nods. “Since I was here for the auction, I thought I’d stay for a few days of relaxation. I have a room here at the Pavilion.”

“Enjoy that,” Damien says.

“We’ll be here for a few days as well,” I tell him. “Maybe we can have coffee one morning. I’d love to hear some of your ghost stories.”

He chuckles. “They’re not all ghosts, but I’d be happy to share. And yes, you can reach me here.”

“Us, too,” I say, though when I look at Damien’s face, I wish I’d kept quiet. I can’t quite read it, but I’m afraid I may have just interfered with his plans for a romantic weekend in our suite.

But if that’s the case, I’m sure Dr. Hart will understand if we wait on coffee until we’re back in Los Angeles.

We promise to touch base, then part ways, with Dr. Hart passing Damien his card before he steps back into the hotel. I watch as Syl and Jackson head toward the pier. As they fade from sight, Damien starts to walk in the same direction along Crescent Avenue. I tilt my head. “You have plans, Mr. Stark?”

He shrugs, looking almost boyish. “Just hoping to take an evening stroll with my wife.”

“In that case, Mr. Stark,” I say as I hook my arm through his, “lead the way.”

We walk in silence for a bit, enjoying the night and the simple pleasure of each other’s company. After a few blocks, he nods toward my feet. “You’re really okay walking in those?”

“I’m fine for now,” I say. “And while I’m enjoying this,” I say, then add a tinge of heat in my voice, “I should confess that I was looking forward to going back to our room.” I smile up at him. “This walk is probably great for my thighs and ass, but I had a different kind of workout in mind.”

“Did you?” His voice is low and a little growly in a way that has my body responding in all sorts of wonderful ways. And makes me all the more frustrated that we’re still going in the wrong direction.

“As far as I’m concerned,” he says, “your thighs and ass are already perfect.” He stops, then faces me, reaching around to squeeze the ass in question. “Yup. Perfect.”

“What are you up to, Mr. Stark?” I ask as our walk continues—in the wrong direction. I’m pretty sure I already know—the beach. Where else could we be going? And while I’m very fond of my dress, I’m more than willing to sacrifice its hem to a walk in the surf with Damien.

But just as I’m certain we’ll be veering off to the water, he turns in the opposite direction and starts leading me up a hill. That’s when I have to admit, if only to myself, that I haven’t a clue what my enigmatic husband has in mind.

Still, I’m not worried. Damien never fails to please. Because even if he does make a misstep, he makes up for it in the most delicious of ways.

I defer to the hilly terrain and take off my shoes with their impractical heels.

“You’re okay on the pavement?”

“This late? It’s cool enough.” I dance forward a bit, enjoying the way my skirt brushes my thighs, not sure if I’m buzzed on champagne or Damien.

Damien. Definitely Damien.

We’ve been married for over a decade and have three kids. And yet, I still feel like a girl in my twenties falling desperately, helplessly in love.

“Hey,” I say, taking his hand and tilting my face for a kiss.

“Hey, yourself,” he whispers, his soft kiss so full of heat that I want to melt right then.

We hold hands as he leads me into a neighborhood. “Have you checked in with Evelyn?” I ask, in a complete non-sequitur.

“I have,” he says. “The kids are having a grand time with Gran and Gramps.”