Page 22 of Possess Me

“Are you cold?”

I shake my head. The ocean air is cool, but even in short sleeves, I feel pleasantly warm. Like a winter fire is burning in my belly and spreading through my veins.

He pauses as we reach the back door, but he’s the first to speak. “You’ve been quiet.”

I smile up at him. “Just basking in the day.” It’s not a lie—brunch had been delightful. Talking with Syl and Jackson. Watching the kids in the surf.

But it’s not the whole truth, either.

Ever since we left the boat, a strange unease has been curling in my stomach. It’s not the food or the champagne. It’s something intangible, something I can’t quite put my finger on. I brush the feeling aside, chalking it up to overthinking. After all, this is supposed to be a weekend of relaxation and romance.

Stepping inside the house seems to ground me. We’ve barely spent any time here, and yet the creak of the floorboards seems so familiar. So welcoming.

As we enter, I look around this house that I already love. That already feels like mine. As if we’ve been coming here for years and years.

I reach for Damien, then sigh in relief when his hand immediately closes around mine. I look up, expecting a smile, but instead, I see darkness. Shadows on his face. A tightness in his jaw.

A shiver runs through me—that’s not Damien!—and I yank my hand free as I turn my head away, my gaze moving to the long shadows cast by the sun sneaking past the gaps in the curtains.

“Nikki?”

I hesitate, but when I turn my head to look at him, he’s Damien again. On the outside … and on the inside, too.

Relief washes through me, so powerful it makes me lightheaded.

“Baby, are you okay?”

I’ve bent over, my hands on my knees. Now, I straighten slowly, then put my fingers to my temples and shake my head. “Too many mimosas and too much sun, I guess.”

He moves closer, and I bask in the tenderness when he puts one hand on my hip, then strokes my hair with the other. “You should sit.”

“No. I just—I’m going to go change. Will you just get me a big glass of water and maybe a few ibuprofen?”

His gaze roams over me, as if he’s searching for secrets, but he nods, then turns toward the kitchen as I hurry into the bedroom, desperate to change into snuggly leggings and a tee. He’s Damien. He is, he is, he is.

I head first to the bathroom, then lean close to the mirror. “And you’re Nikki,” I whisper, meeting my own eyes, terrified that those words seem so strange.

I focus on the crucifix pendant. “Please,” I whisper. “What’s wrong with me?”

But instead of an answer, I feel a darkness well up inside me.

Rip it off. Just reach up and rip the damn neckless off.

The urge is right there, so potent I can feel it in my fingertips, but I don’t understand it. It’s a beautiful pendant, and it was owned by my favorite star.

Dammit, rip it off.

I reach up, then undo the clasp. I hold the pendant as the chain falls from my neck. Then I turn, intending to put the necklace into the small jewelry case I travel with.

But I don’t. Instead, I drop it into the cup that serves as a holder for my toothbrush.

I stare at the cup—that’s no place for such a lovely piece of jewelry. But I don’t retrieve it. Instead, I strip off my clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor as I head into the bedroom, trying not to think about how strange I feel.

No. Not strange.

Wrong.

I shiver, then close my eyes, trying to shake off this rawness. I rummage through the dresser into which I’d tossed the contents of my suitcase, then tug on my favorite leggings. I’m in the process of putting on the ratty concert tee I always travel with for lounging when I hear it—a soft, rhythmic thumping that seems to be coming from all around me.