Page 1 of Possess Me

1

A gentle ocean breeze ruffles my hair, and I draw a deep breath as I stand on this balcony at the Pavilion Hotel and gaze out over the stretch of the Pacific that separates Catalina Island from the California coastline. The expanse is dotted with boats, their lights twinkling like stars against the deepening twilight that’s painting the water in a glow of orange and red and purple that will soon fade into an inky black.

It’s breathtaking. The kind of view that can blot out the chaos of the real world, and I draw in a breath, certain that this weekend will be spectacular.

Behind me, the double doors to the Grand Ballroom are closed, but even so, I can hear laughter, clinking glasses, and the low hum of hundreds of conversations. I start to turn back to join the party, certain that Damien must be wondering where I’ve gotten off to, but my movement is stopped by two large hands curving against my waist.

His breath competes with the wind, and the heat of it tickles the back of my ear. My nipples tighten as a familiar electrical sensation shoots through me, awakening every cell before pooling between my legs in a sizzle of heat and longing.

I stifle a moan as his chest presses against my back, his cock hard against my rear.

A sigh of pure need escapes me, but I lift my chin and whisper, “Careful. My husband is the jealous type.”

Those strong hands slide up, cupping my breasts, his thumbs teasing my nipples, hard against the fitted bodice of my slinky formal gown. “Is he?”

I try to respond but can only manage a moan as pure electricity zings from my breasts to my core. “Very jealous,” I manage to whisper, barely getting the words out.

“Then he’s a fool for leaving a woman as lovely as you alone for even a second.”

I close my eyes. My husband, Damien Stark, is a long way from a fool.

“Still,” I murmur. “If he catches us, I’ll surely be punished.”

His lips brush the back of my ear as he whispers. “Would you like that?” His hand slips through the slit of my skirt, sliding up to cup my sex over the thin bit of silk that makes up my tiny thong.

“Would you like me to spank you?” His voice is hot. Rough. “To take you to the edge. To lead you right to that precipice but never take you over?”

“Please,” I murmur, but I don’t know if I’m begging him to continue or to stop.

Continue.

The truth cuts through me, as ripe as my need. There are over a thousand people behind those unlocked doors. People who could walk out at any time, and yet all I want is for him to bend me over, push up my skirt, and take me right here, right now, with the last rays of the sun still shimmering like fire spread on the water.

“I know,” he whispers. “I want it, too. But I think perhaps we should take a rain check.” I whimper as he removes his hand and tidies my skirt, then turns me toward him. “Besides, we wouldn’t want your husband to catch us.” His dual-colored eyes twinkle with mischief. “He’s the jealous type.”

“He is,” I say as he pulls me close, then captures my mouth in the kind of kiss that sends heat swirling through me, along with the promise of future pleasures to come. I sigh when he pulls away, still craving his touch but knowing that it will have to wait.

“You’re a tease,” I say, letting myself bask in the glow of this enticing game and this gorgeous man. His raven-black hair with just a dab of gray at his temples. That sculpted jaw, with a roguish hint of stubble. And those eyes—one amber, the other black—that mark him as someone exceptional.

He holds out his hand. “I think it’s time we join the party, Mrs. Stark.”

“Anything you say, Mr. Stark.”

I step toward the doors, then change my mind and tug him to a stop. “Have I told you today how much I love you?”

“You tell me with every glance. With every touch. With every kiss.” He strokes my hair, hanging in loose waves around my face. “And your love is a miracle I never thought I could deserve. And I never tire of hearing the words.”

“In that case,” I say, “I love you.”

He cups my cheek, his expression as tender as I’ve ever seen it. “I love you, too, Nikki Fairchild.”

I lift my chin. “Nikki Fairchild Stark, thank you very much.”

“And thank god for that.”

We share a smile before he tugs open the door, and we trade the last remnants of twilight for the hum of opulence that fills the huge ballroom. The subtle glow of crystal chandeliers. The tuxedo-clad waitstaff moving through the room with trays of crystal flutes bubbling with champagne. The string quartet tucked into a corner and playing a soft, elegant arrangement.

The Pavilion Hotel is a spectacular venue, and its Grand Ballroom is the pièce de résistance. Marble floors gleam beneath the sparkling chandelier. Lush arrangements of white roses spill from silver vases. And the aroma of delectable appetizers dances on the air.