Decadent

RUN, ALLY! Stop staring at him and run. He's evil. Don't let him touch you! But as the forbidding figure moved through the mist toward her, Ally couldn't run. His physical domination of everything surrounding him in the ancient cemetery seemed to hold her like a net. She'd heard the tales about the Wolverton legend and the ghost that haunted The Willows, an elegant old mansion. According to folklore, the estate had been stolen from the Wolvertons nearly a hundred years ago, and Micha Wolverton had been killed trying to reclaim it. His dying vow had been to be reunited with the spirit of his beloved wife, who'd taken her life for reasons no one would speak of, except in whispers. But Ally had never put much stock in the fantasy. She didn't believe in ghosts. Until now-- She didn't understand what was happening. The figure had just materialized out of the mist, his body solidifying right before her eyes. His face was familiar...so familiar. She stepped back as he approached. "Don't be afraid," he murmured. His voice wasn't what she had expected. It didn't sound as if it were coming from beyond the grave. It was deep and sensual. Commanding. "Who are you?" she managed. "You should know. You summoned me." "No, I didn't." Two minutes ago, she'd been crouching behind a moss-covered crypt, spying on the mansion that had once been The Willows, but was now Club Casablanca. And then this-- If he was Micha, he might be angry that she was trespassing on his property. "I'll go," she said. "I won't come back. I promise." "You're not going anywhere." Words snagged in her throat. "Wh-why not? What do you want?" "If I wanted something, Ally, I'd take it. This is about need." She tried to back away, but her feet were useless. "And you need something from me?" "Good guess." His tone burned with irony. "I need lips, soft and surrendered, a body limp with desire." "My lips, my bod--?" "Only yours." "Why? Why me?" This couldn't be Micha. He had wanted only one woman, Rose, and he had died trying to return to her. "Because you want that, too," he said. Wanted what? A ghost of her own? She'd always found the legend impossibly romantic. How could he have known that? How could he know anything about her? Besides, she'd sworn off inappropriate men, and what could be more inappropriate than a ghost? She shook her head again, still not willing to admit the truth. But her pounding heart wouldn't play along. The mere thought of his kiss, his touch, terrified her. This wildness, it was fear, wasn't it? When his fingertips touched her cheek, she flinched, expecting his flesh to be cold, lifeless. It was anything but that. His skin was smooth and hot, gentle, yet demanding. And while his dark brown eyes were filled with mystery and wonder, there was a sensitivity about them that threatened to disarm her if she gazed too deeply. "These lips are mine," he said. In truth, it was just that. She couldn't stop him...and didn't want to. "I've come back to claim them," he whispered as his mouth descended onto hers and his powerful arms encircled her body. If he were to touch her breasts, he would know how hard her heart was beating. She realized that as the promised kiss became a reality. His mouth ravished hers. Not gentle or tender, he kissed her with dark, whispering force, his lips moving over hers, claiming, then taking, brushing and licking, softening her mouth until it could do nothing but respond to him. With a sigh of resignation, she surrendered to his advances. His hand stole up her body and stroked her breasts. Beneath her clothing, her nipples responded, tightening as he brushed them with his thForster, Suzanne is the author of 'Decadent', published 2006 under ISBN 9780373792924 and ISBN 0373792921.