Possession

  Like a cop facing off at an armed suspect, he ordered, "Stop it. Right there."

  Put down the inappropriate thoughts and step away with your hands on your head, not on your cock.

  Huh. Wonder what Miranda rights would look like under that scenario ... You have the right to remain erect, but anything you do to yourself will be used against you in a court of conscience--

  Okay, he was losing it. And it was time to take everyone's advice and pull it together. He was going to have a five-minute TO followed by clean clothes and a good solid attempt to try to talk to Sissy again.

  Taking deep, easy breaths, he chilled himself out, willing his emotions back into the closet that they'd jumped free of--

  Knock. Knock.

  Jim lifted his head. "Yeah?"

  As the door opened a crack, light sliced through all the pitch-black. "Can I come in?"

  At the sound of Sissy's voice, Jim grabbed the covers and yanked them over his crotch. "Now's not a good time."

  "I just want to apologize."

  "Can I meet you in the kitchen?"

  "I'm really sorry, Jim," she said hoarsely.

  "Shit. Me, too."

  With a graceful shift, she peered around the door, and God, in that illumination streaming in from behind her, her blond hair looked like a halo. Momentarily struck by her presence, he rubbed his eyes, thinking maybe this was a dream. Maybe he'd fallen asleep quick, and his subconscious had presented this chance to make up.

  "I'm cold," she said in a small voice.

  "I'll give you a sweatshirt." He went to get up, and remembered the whole naked thing. "Actually ... ah, it's over there."

  As he gestured to the corner where the clean-clothes pile was, Sissy stepped inside and stayed where she was. "I wasn't..."

  She cleared her throat.

  Oh, right. This actually wasn't about any kind of body-heat issue. She didn't know how to properly take back what had happened out there--and yeah, he knew what that felt like.

  "You don't have to say it," he murmured.

  "Really?"

  "Nah."

  "Oh, good." She shut the door. "I'm glad."

  Jim frowned as he heard her closing in on the bed ... and then the mattress dipped under her slight weight. "What are you--"

  "I'm cold. I'm so ... cold, Jim. I just need ... to be warm."

  Jim felt his eyes bulge, but there was no time to react beyond that: Before he knew what was happening, she had stretched out next to him and curled up into his chest.

  "Just ... put your arms around me for a little bit. I need it so badly."

  Her voice was tortured, sadness and exhaustion cracking it. But this was a serious no-go.

  Holding his arms out to the sides as far as he could stretch them, he shook his head even though she couldn't see him. "Sissy ..." His voice was rough to his own ears. "You can't ... no, this isn't right."

  "Why?" Her voice deepened, reminding him yet again that she was not who she had been. "I'm not asking for sex."

  Jim recoiled, shocked by the candor. But he believed her on that one. The issue was him. Plus, oh, heeeeeey, he was naked.

  "Please," she said. "I feel lost. So lost, like I'm going to float away. And there's nothing holding me here ... just let me stay the night. I promise I won't bother you."

  Not likely on that one, he thought.

  Except he wasn't going to turn her away. He couldn't.

  Pushing himself to the far edge of the mattress, he mummied himself in the sheeting. "I'll..."

  What, he thought. Tell her he was going to keep his hands off of her? He didn't want her to know he'd even gone there for a second.

  "Come here," he muttered.

  Sissy came in close again, once more snuggling up against his chest, but this time she took it even further--she tucked her arms in between them, and put her head under his chin.

  The rough sigh she let out was such a commentary on where she was that he wanted to kick his own ass for getting tangled in the head for even a second about any attraction bullcrap.

  She was lost, and he was, for the time being, her imperfect anchor.

  Made him wish he were a better man; it really did.

  With some stiff herky-jerky, he adjusted himself to her position, but he didn't touch her and kept his hips way back. There was still a lot of skin exposed on his part, but she didn't seem to notice.

  He was all too aware of it.

  God, she was so small against him--not because she was short, but rather because he had, what, almost a hundred pounds on her?

  She smelled so good. Not fake perfume-y, just lovely, beautiful, fragile woman. And the fit with her was perfect, as if their bodies had been made for each other.

  "Thank you," she whispered.

  Jim squeezed his eyes shut. Then he gently put an arm around her, holding her very loosely. As she shuddered and inched in still closer, he realized that she wasn't the only one who needed warmth. He did, too.

  Had for a long time, actually.

  After a while, Sissy's breathing became deep and even, and with her safe, he let himself follow her lead. The war was still going on; Devina was out there and so was the soul; time was passing.

  But in this room ... there was peace--and he was hard-pressed to say that he and Sissy didn't deserve it, at least for a little while.

  Chapter

  Twenty-three

  Talk about your one-eighties.

  As Cait sat at her desk and stared out at the overcast, gloomy morning, she was a shadow of yesterday's productive artist: She'd been sitting here, staring at a blank page for well over an hour. And this was after she'd slept through her alarm, and then wasted another twenty minutes just lying in bed and enjoying the aching stiffness that lingered in her legs ... and various other places--

  Riiiiiing. Riiiiing.

  Cait slammed her hand over her cell phone, grabbing it and turning the thing over. Local area code. Local exchange. This could be--

  "Hello?" she said breathlessly.

  "Hi, this is Cindy over at..."

  As Cindy from Cindy's Alterations and More informed her that the suit, pants, and two skirts she'd had taken in were ready, Cait wanted to scream. Instead, she led with, "Oh, thank you. Yes, I'll be over to pick them up today, or tomorrow at the latest."

  Hanging up, she knew that waiting for a maybe-never phone call from Duke was not helping her workload. But it was impossible not to jump anytime that phone rang--which had been, like, twelve times. For whatever reason, anyone she'd dialed recently or contracted for work was getting back to her this morning.

  Not Duke, though.

  And perhaps it was a good idea to point out to herself that he might never call. Given that she'd only left him, what, seven hours ago, it was way too early to give up hope, but still. He wouldn't have been the first man to take a number in postcoital bliss, only to have his head clear later and realize the woman wasn't his type.

  He hadn't even written her digits down.

  Riiiiiiing. Riiiiinnng.

  This time Cait didn't bother to check her screen. It was probably her accountant calling about taxes. Or a neighbor telling her they were putting on a back porch and going to be working right next to her office for the next twelve weeks. Or Flo from Progressive. The frickin' gecko from GEICO.

  "Hello."

  "I thought about you all night long."

  Bolting to attention, Cait gripped her phone as the rough male voice shot into her ear and went right through her body.

  "Hello?" Duke said.

  Oh, right, she was supposed to purr something in exchange. "Ah, hi."

  Wow. She was a real Angelina Jolie over here.

  "I want to see you."

  Boom. No preamble, no sweet talk, and no awkwardness: Clearly the man talked in the same way he had sex. And what do you know, she responded the same way she had at the club: Instant. Arousal.

  "Where?" Two could play the straight-up game.

  "I have the night off. Dinner--th
e Riverside Diner. Six."

  Cait started to smile so wide her cheeks hurt. "Dinner, huh?"

  "I have fairly good table manners. And I figure, since what we're doing isn't your style, it might make you feel more comfortable."

  The words were gruff, and the thoughtfulness a surprise--and probably because of both, she was especially touched.

  "I'd love that."

  "Good." There was a pause. "Don't wear a bra."

  "Why," she breathed.

  "Why do you think."

  Cait closed her eyes and swayed, images of his head down at her breasts, his mouth sucking and licking, hitting her hard. "Okay."

  "I want you under me again," he growled.

  That was his good-bye.

  As she hung up on her end, she actually fanned herself with her hand, something she'd assumed people only did in TV commercials and bad sitcoms. And then she couldn't hold it in. Bursting up from her workstation, she ran around her house like a crazy person, making a bizarre kind of eeeee noise as she completed the circuit back to her desk.

  At which point there might have been some pirouetting.

  Putting her hands over her mouth, she immediately started wondering what she should wear. She needed to go to the dry cleaner's--there was a low-cut blouse that she could throw on. And maybe she could hit Talbots at the mall and see if they were having a sale. A new pair of slacks would be nice...

  A quick check of the clock had her cursing. Ten o'clock.

  Damn it. She was already out of time for the morning--

  God, the way he'd moved inside of her, those massive shoulders bunching up above her, his body surging, his eyes glowing.

  And that voice of his.

  Sitting back down, she put her head in her hands. She couldn't believe she was going to get to have that again in, what, eight hours. Well, maybe nine and a half, depending on how long dinner took.

  Made fast food really damned appealing.

  Arby's, anyone?

  As her phone went off again, she accepted the call immediately, hoping it was him dialing back just so they could have the same conversation all over again. "Hello?"

  "Are you still speaking to me?"

  Cait winced. "Oh, G.B., hi."

  As the first half of the night came back to her, the guilt rolled in along with a shiver of the fear, as if her insides were switching railroad tracks.

  "I'm so sorry, Cait. Oh, my God, I couldn't believe I got tied up like that..."

  With his heartfelt explanation of everything washing over her, she scrambled for what she was going to say when he asked her out again. Originally, she'd been really happy that he'd invited her to the theater, but now? It was as if the road in front of her had a curve in it, and her new direction was away from him, not toward him.

  "... lunch?"

  "What?" she said, coming back to attention.

  "I just wanted to know if you'd be free for lunch downtown? I'm back at the theater today, rehearsing for Rent--and I really want to make it up to you."

  "Well, I have a class to teach at eleven." And if she didn't get her butt in gear, she was going to be late. "It gets out at one. I could be downtown by one thirty--I'm not sure if that fits into your schedule?"

  "I'll make it work. Come to the theater--and this time I can get you back no problem, because it's just a rehearsal, not a performance."

  "Okay, thanks. I'll see you then--"

  "Cait. I can hear the hesitation in your voice. I swear, last night was a fluke. That's not who I am--I didn't flake out on you on purpose."

  Well ... he was right about the pause, but way off-track on the "why" behind it. Dear Lord, how did this work? Did she tell him that she'd seen someone else last night?

  "Seen" as in "had sex on the floor in the back of a club with him."

  At what juncture did she tell G.B. she was seeing somebody else? Was she even dating Duke? Maybe it was just a two-nighter.

  What a mess.

  "I know," G.B. muttered. "It's not at all how I thought the night was going to go."

  Shoot, she'd spoken out loud. "No, no, I meant ..." Better to do this in person, she thought. "I'd love to have lunch with you, and I really do understand about last evening. I'll see you after class?"

  The relief in his voice was palpable. "See you then, Cait. And thanks again for being so cool."

  Jim woke up alone.

  As his eyes opened, the first thing he did was look for Sissy, but she was gone as if she had never been. Rolling over, he could still smell her in the sheets, however, just the faintest hint of sweet female skin lingering where she had lain next to him.

  Getting out of bed, he pulled on some clothes, took a pit stop in the bathroom, and then went down to her room. The door was ajar, but he knocked on the jamb anyway. When there was no answer, he put his head in. The bed was made, with no sign of her having been in there.

  He hit the stairs, descending quickly--

  Jim stopped dead on the grandfather clock's landing. Food. He smelled ... real food. Like the homemade stuff his mother had made all those years ago.

  "What the hell?" Adrian said from the top of the stairs. "Is that ... breakfast?"

  "I think so. I certainly didn't make it."

  "Duh." The other angel limped around the balustrade and joined him to finish the trip down. "When I smelled smoke last night, I figured you were trying to bake."

  Yeah, not hardly.

  The pair of them strode for the kitchen, and the closer they got, the more the nuances came out. Cinnamon. Eggs. Coffee.

  "Wow," Adrian said as they came into the room.

  Sissy was working over the stove like she knew what she was doing, whisking something that looked like scrambled eggs in a bowl and then pouring the mix into a pan that sizzled. Three plates had been set out on the little table in the middle of the room, mismatched silverware was lined up, and mugs sat like flags at the upper right corners of the settings.

  "Oh, my God, toast," Adrian said as he barged ahead and parked it in one of the chairs. Without waiting for an invitation, he reached for the stack of what had been bread, but was now golden brown crunch just waiting for butter. "I didn't know we had a toaster--how the hell did you pull this off?"

  Sissy glanced over her shoulder, meeting Jim's eyes only briefly before looking away. "The oven. Under the broiler. That's how we did it at summer camp."

  "Can I help myself?" the other angel said, in the process of buttering things up.

  "Please do. I like mine with cinnamon sugar on top." Sissy turned around with the pan. "I hope this is okay? I'm not a sunny-side-up person. Uncooked yolks are nasty."

  There was a pause, as if she were waiting for Jim to sit down.

  He wanted a cigarette more than he needed breakfast, but he wasn't going to be rude. "This is great. Thanks."

  A second later, she served Ad first, using a wooden spoon to shuffle some fluffy onto the angel's plate. Then she was close by, doing the same for Jim.

  She'd had a shower; he could smell the shampoo he himself used, and the ends of her hair were damp. And the fact that she was in the same clothes she'd worn the day before made him decide they needed to take care of her wardrobe today.

  "Thanks," he said again as he picked up his fork.

  Light. Hot. Delicious. A real break from the crap he'd been throwing down his gut lately. And yet even as he ate like the starved man he was, it was impossible not to think of how they'd spent the night, lying together in that bed of his. He knew she had to be remembering it, too--she was stiff and awkward as she moved over to her own plate and then put the pan in the sink.

  Lot of clinking as silverware met china, the sounds of the meal loud in his ears, making the silence between the three of them a tangible fourth party.

  Adrian ate most of the toast, all of his eggs, and drank two cups of coffee along the way. And then he folded his napkin and hefted himself to his feet. "I'm going to shower and then head out."

  Jim frowned. "Where you going?"
>
  "Out."

  "Where?"

  "Out."

  As the guy turned away, Jim's first impulse was to throw out a shitload of hell-no-you-pull-that-with-me, but then he caught sight of the way Sissy was fidgeting in her chair.

  Was it possible Adrian had actually grown some tact and was giving them a little space?

  "I was hoping to talk," Sissy said softly as they were left alone.

  Will miracles never cease.

  "Excuse me?"

  "Sorry. Just thinking about my roommate--the one with the hollow leg."

  "Is that why he limps?"

  Jim lifted his brows. "You've never heard that expression before?"

  "It's a saying?"

  "He's just really hungry."

  "Oh."

  Sissy got up and went back for the coffee machine, pouring more of the strong java she'd made for them all. And as she moved around, he found his eyes running up and down her, measuring her shoulders, her hips, her legs. Hard to see anything underneath those baggy clothes of his, but he'd felt enough of it that he could extrapolate--

  Rubbing his temples, he thought ... man, he had to stop this shit.

  "More coffee for you?" As she pivoted around to him, her mug in one hand, the pot in the other, he pulled it together.

  "Yeah. Thanks."

  He held out his mug and watched the steam rise as she topped him off. Then she was back in her chair.

  Lot of silence.

  "So, I didn't think this kitchen worked at all." He nodded as he glanced around, noticing that the countertops didn't look quite so dingy, and neither did the floor. Clearly, she'd tidied up a little as well. "I thought it was nothing but a dust-catching relic. Like the rest of this place."

  "I went through the cupboards and the drawers. I found pretty much everything anyone would need."

  "Where'd you get all the food stuff?"

  "I borrowed a motorcycle out back--"

  Jim coughed coffee all over the place. "Wha--?"

  "Oh, shoot, sorry," Sissy said, bolting up for--oh, hey, they had paper towels, too. "Here, I got it."

  "No, it's okay."

  Taking control of the Bounty picker-upper, he tried to get her to stop patting him down: She was so close to his chest, to his body, her scent getting in his nose, his brain, all kinds of wires being crossed. Especially as he thought of her on one of their Harleys.

  "I didn't know the bikes were off-limits."

  He cleared his throat. "They aren't. I'm just, you know, surprised."

  She lowered herself back into her chair. "I wasn't sure what else to do. I came down here, and there was nothing to eat ... and I was going to take the Explorer, but I couldn't find the keys. The Harley had its in the ignition."