Grave Things

by Lindsay Mead

  Ian hesitated, leaving his mouth perched above hers with his lips slightly parted. The delay was agonizing. Unable to withstand another second without it, Viola closed the short distance and wrapped her lips around his. Ian's mouth was so soft and pliable against hers that she fought the desire to moan.

  Snaking a muscled arm around her, Ian pressed her body to his. His kiss deepened as his tongue tentatively asked for permission. She opened a little for him, letting just enough of his tongue into her mouth as to tease the yearning already tingling inside her. With their bodies flush against one another, Viola felt every glorious inch of him. She wanted more.

  Ruckus shouts and applause thundered in her ears, and someone patted her hard on the back. It felt like a bucket of ice water. They broke their kiss and glanced around. The music had stopped, apparently making them the entertainment.

  Embarrassed, Viola ran a finger along her lip to check for smeared lipstick. Ian chuckled, color staining his cheeks, and held tight to her waist. Their sheepish reactions spurred on the patrons, causing them to cheer louder.

  Ian shrugged in defeat and signaled to the bartender. "Another round on me!"

  The crowd erupted again and rushed the bar. As the dance floor emptied, Viola and Ian remained where they were. She peered up at him, confused by the grand gesture.

  "What?" He pretended to be offended. "You think you're the only one who's always wanted to do that?"

  8

  Viola displayed her palms, revealing her crosses to the crowd. Most were drunk with unfocused eyes, flushed cheeks, and drinks in hand. Ian was among them, watching with amusement. At this point, only the true weekend warriors remained.

  "Are those real tattoos?" one guy with mussed hair asked.

  Another reached out and grabbed her fingers. He hauled her hand closer, squinting at the black cross. Those around him also leaned in.

  "Yes," was her simple—but untrue—answer.

  "Bet that hurt like hell," someone mumbled.

  Actually, it hadn't.

  "All right, you boys wanna make a wager or what?" She withdrew her hand, keeping both her palms vertical and in full view of the crowd. "I bet you ten dollars each that I can blow your minds, simply by twisting my wrists."

  "No way," scoffed the mussed-hair guy.

  "How?" asked another.

  "The explanation isn't part of the trick." She shook her head. "I blow your minds, or I pay you each ten. That simple."

  "Fine," announced one large, bearded man. He slapped a ten-dollar bill onto the table. "I've seen all of those TV magic shows; no way are you gonna surprise me."

  That decided it for the others. They quickly produced their own wagers and, in less than a minute, there was a stack of bills in front of her. Easy money.

  "I'll bet a hundred," Ian chimed in from the back. He nudged his way to the front and dropped the money on top of the pile. As the others gasped, Ian grinned wickedly at her. "Though, I have no doubt you can blow my mind."

  Despite herself, the lame one-liner combined with his enticing smirk rekindled that spark of desire deep in her core. Heat flooded her cheeks and she couldn't help grinning like a schoolgirl with a crush. To shake it off, Viola focused on the crowd.

  "Keep your eyes on my palms." Dramatically, she folded her hands into fists.

  The patrons fell as quiet as the dead, their gazes unblinking. Closing her eyes, Viola rolled her forearms until her knuckles were pointed toward the floor. There was nothing else she needed to do. The crosses would be inverted all on their own. She opened her eyes and leveled them all with a severe stare.

  No one dared breathe; one or two appeared wary. Viola had them—so to speak—in the palm of her hands. She straightened her fingers and revealed the holy symbols. Still upright, the top of the crosses were now painted along the heel of her palms. The crowd jerked away, reeling in disbelief, and cried out. Ian laughed as mussed-hair and bearded guy prodded her palms with their thick fingers.

  "How did you do that?" they asked at once.

  "I can't tell you. If you start doing it, then I'll have to rely on my other party tricks." Vi dropped her hands in mock resignation. "And I don't want to make anyone shit their pants in fear."

  "I almost did," murmured someone from the crowd.

  "Last call!" shouted the bartender, causing the patrons to groan in unison.

  Grinning, Viola began collecting her cash. She waved goodbye to the others as she straightened and folded the bills together. Ian shuffled through the dispersing group to reach her side.

  "How did you make out?" He set down two fresh glasses and filled them with their bottle of whiskey—or was that their second?

  "With your wager, I'd guess somewhere around two-hundred bucks. Although, the money isn't American, so I really have no idea." Stuffing the folded bills into her clutch, she faked a gasp. "Or they could have gypped me!"

  "Those sneaky bastards." Ian handed her a drink. "Though you're pretty sneaky yourself…Party trick?"

  "Don't judge, being an exorcist pays shit."

  "Not this time, it doesn't." He leaned closer. "You'll be well compensated for getting me out of this mess."

  "Here's to good paying clients." She lifted her glass.

  "And to dangerous women who rescue said clients from their messes." He clinked his glass against hers, then downed the whiskey.

  "Dangerous women." Viola smiled, bringing the glass to her lips, and inhaled the harsh scent. "I like that."

  She heard Ian's glass thunk against the table as she finished her own. Closing her eyes, she savored the whiskey's burn. Ian took the glass from her hand, letting his fingers trail along her palm, and discarded it on the table. "You wanna get out of here?"

  Lust rolled off him in appetizing waves. Her heartbeat quickened, and her breath became shallow under his intense gaze. Was it a good idea to sleep with a client? Maybe she was too buzzed to care—because if he was offering, she was definitely taking.

  "Yeah," she whispered breathlessly.

  Ian grabbed her hand and started for the door.

  "Wait." Vi tugged herself free, then jogged back to their table. As Ian watched her curiously, she snatched the half-empty whiskey bottle. "No sense in wasting perfectly good booze."

  Laughing, Ian snaked a hand around her waist. Feeling his body heat against her made Viola giddy as they hurried toward the exit. It was clichéd, but it actually felt like it was her first time. Ian wasn't just a hot body who she'd dragged into the supply room of a club. Different from those men, Ian looked at her like she fascinated him. The others only saw her as a wild ride, not that she begrudged them for that. Vi hadn't wanted anything else—hell, she didn't want anything more than that now. But with Ian, she couldn't sneak off in the morning or disappear into a crowd when the fun was over. Viola had a feeling that saving his soul wasn't going to be a quick fix. So, whatever was about to happen between them was going to be more than a messy romp, and that was likely the culprit for the strange, excited jitters rolling through her.

  Outside, she was surprised to see Ian's limo and driver waiting at the curb for them. He nodded to Ian, then opened the car door. Vi hesitated and asked the driver, "How did you find us?"

  "It's my job to be exactly where Mr. Grave needs me, exactly when he needs me there," he responded without blinking.

  "Pretty cool, right?" Ian whispered in her ear.

  "Uh." She ducked into the car. "Or creepy."

  Viola slid across the leather seats to make room for Ian. She noticed that the partition between them and the driver was closed. How very slick. No Prince Charming, Ian clearly took girls home enough that he and his driver had a system in place to avoid awkwardness.

  "This was a lot of fun," she said as the car pulled away from the curb.

  "It was." Ian gently touched her fingers. When she didn't pull away, he lifted her hand to his lips. "It was the most fun I've had in a very long time."

  Vi bit her lip as his mouth trailed softly against her skin, unfu
rling a heavy wanting inside her. "How is that possible?"

  "What do you mean?" He lowered her hand but didn't let go.

  "A classically handsome guy like you with that accent, your money—and that was the most fun you'd had in a long time?"

  "Oh, I used to party hard but these days I mostly work." His thumb slowly caressed her hand in the most wonderful way. "Even still, hanging out with you easily topped every lavish party that I've attended."

  "I bet you say that to all the girls," she offhandedly said, not used to this kind of attention.

  Ian fixed her with a stare, his tone unwaveringly serious. "No, I don't say that to all the girls."

  Vi's heart tripped on itself. It'd been years since someone looked at her that way or said such intense things. Back then—leading to the demise of her innocence—she'd fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. Apparently, as an adult, she was still a sucker.

  When she didn't respond, Ian leaned closer. She tilted her head as he neared. Her body humming with anticipation, every fiber of her wanted him. His nose trailed along her cheek until his lips hovered inches from hers. It felt like he was asking her without actually asking, as though he didn't dare assume anything.

  He wouldn't have been wrong if he had. Vi parted her lips and when he kissed her, she couldn't help the moan that escaped. His mouth was so full, perfectly forming to her own. The way he kissed was entirely unique to her. He wasn't overly excessive and rushed, as the other men had been. Ian took his time, enjoyed each caress of their lips. The slowness of it drove her crazy in all the right ways.

  His hand found the slit in her dress and slid up her bare thigh, his touch leaving a hot trail along her skin. Viola's body acted of its own accord and her legs parted. His sensual kisses didn't cease as he obliged by gliding his fingers toward her panties. The faintest graze of his knuckle against her area caused Vi's breathing to hitch and her own hand went to his chest.

  She felt along his shirt, her fingers tracing the hard muscles beneath. An animalistic groan rumbled through Ian's chest and vibrated against her mouth, but his fingers tentatively lingered along the seam of her panties. Vi turned her hips toward him, her body asking for more. That was all he needed. His fingers deftly slipped under the lacy fabric.

  Slick and ready for him, her sensitive folds throbbed under the embrace of his calloused fingers. Ian's hand became persistent, gently coercing her body into accepting the delicious invasion. Each caress opened Viola, both in body and in soul. Her breathing became ragged against his mouth and Ian's own steady pant made his chest heave under her palm.

  As his hand was filled to the brim with her sex, a pressure began to build between her thighs. The many miles and minutes passed in an erotic haze. All she knew was the feel of Ian's fingers, the flexing of his arm, and the presence of his body. Viola leaned into his shoulder, as her uneven breaths blended with carnal moans. She gripped his jacket in an attempt to ride the mounting bliss and met his eyes. His gaze was half-lidded and pure liquid. They were consumed by their lust, swimming in it, and completely separate from the world.

  The pressure was becoming too much. Viola felt herself near the edge, ready to spill over with each rock of his hand. But she didn't want to go alone; she wanted Ian to fall into ecstasy with her. Softly, so as not to lose her own momentum, Vi reached for his belt.

  Ian stilled.

  She nearly whimpered from the shock of it as his hand held her sex firmly and brought her down gently. Her eyelids fluttered. Viola wanted to ask why he'd stopped but it was disorienting, like ascending from a dream. His stare warm, Ian watched her every breath and seemed entranced by the flush in her skin.

  "I want you." His husky voice sent a new wave of need through her. "Would you like to come to my room?"

  She grinned at how proper he was. "Yes."

  Taking her hand, Ian opened the car door and guided her out. She hadn't even realized they'd already arrived. He smiled as they jogged, hand in hand, for the house. Again, it struck how new and raw this felt—like young lovers caught up in a summer fling.

  The second they were inside the mansion, Vi felt the grating throb of evil. Fortunately, it was faint. Thank God for the numbing qualities of alcohol.

  They hurried together through the quiet house. Viola was practically giggling as Ian led her down a darkened hallway and into his bedroom. He shut the door behind them, then yanked her against it. She was pinned by his greedy eyes dragging up her body. He pressed his hips into hers and let her feel his full desire. Vi sharply inhaled as her body ached in response.

  Seeming to feed on her lewd hunger, Ian hovered his mouth over hers. Their lips barely touched, and it was wonderful torment. Teasingly, his tongue darted out to tickle her lower lip. Viola gripped his jacket. Why were they still wearing clothes?

  She pushed him away. "Take off your coat."

  Smirking, as though he'd won something, Ian pulled the jacket from his shoulders. Viola admired the flexing muscles beneath his shirt. She remembered the whiskey bottle still in her hand. Not taking her eyes off him, she yanked out the cork and swallowed a mouthful.

  "You are really something." His gaze devoured her in kind as he tossed his jacket onto an armchair.

  Viola walked over to him. She couldn't wait to have his hands on her, to feel the weight of him around her. It was like her whole body yearned for him. As she reached for him, his hands slid along her hips and down her backside. He lifted, her black dress spilling over his arms, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

  His chin rested at the top of her cleavage as he peered into her eyes. Viola ran her finger across his temple while he moved to the bed. For a brief moment their desires hung in the air and what passed between them went a little deeper. It was more than lust; something softer, something…cherished. Ian paused at the bed's edge, content to stay as they were.

  From the corner of her eyes, Vi caught their reflection. The image in the large mirror was almost absurd—a wealthy businessman and an exorcist. He was classic, refined. She was a dazzle of bright inks, blonde streaks, and with a whiskey bottle hanging at her bare thigh.

  Ian turned her away from the mirror, forcing her attention to him. He dropped onto the bed and cradled Viola in his lap. His hands moved slowly along her thighs, up the back of her dress, and softly caressed every inch he could touch. Leaning into Ian, Vi placed her lips on his.

  Viola jerked her head up, gasping for air and failing. Her eyes widened in panic. Ian's eyebrows came together as he opened his mouth—

  Something wrapped around Viola and yanked her away.

  9

  Viola flew through the air, then slammed into the mirror. Pain blossomed across her back as the glass splintered from the impact. The something held her there. Ian watched in horror at Vi struggling to breathe, pawing at the invisible force around her neck.

  Breaking from his stupor, Ian scrambled for the phone by his bed. "I need the priest in my room now!"

  A droning sound buzzed in her ears like white noise until it broke through the fog of alcohol. Then it was a hundred voices all shouting at her at once, none of them standing out. Viola couldn't breathe, couldn't hear her own thoughts. The pressure holding her aloft increased, sending cracks snaking out from her body.

  Abandonarlo! One voice suddenly emerged above the rest. It was heavily accented and firm in its tone. Nos! Nos!

  It was so loud she'd have screamed, if it were possible. In a whoosh, the strange force swept from the room. Viola fell several feet to the floor. She crumpled in a heap, gasping in large gulps.

  The voices were gone.

  Ian leapt over the bed, landing at her side. He touched her injured back, then cupped her face with his bloodied hands—his eyes too wide and his color gone. No doubt, so was his buzz. Her's sure-as-shit was.

  "I'm okay," she barely whispered.

  "No, you're not." Ian scowled. "You're sliced up pretty good."

  Twisting, she glanced at the mirror. Blood smeared the glass and large sh
ards were scattered on the floor. Yup, the dress was probably ruined, too.

  The bedroom door swung open. Ailbeart and Aaron rushed in. Ian jumped to his feet, letting Aaron get to her.

  "Ailbeart, call Dr. Wilson," Ian ordered.

  The valet nodded and went to make the call. Aaron rushed across the room, but—seeing Viola disheveled on the floor—halted in his tracks. His eyes quickly moved from the spilled whiskey bottle, to the rumpled comforter, to the broken mirror, and finally to Ian's bloody hands. Vi knew immediately what he was thinking. She opened her mouth to explain but choked on the rawness in her throat.

  "You son-of-a-bitch." Aaron swung, his fist connecting hard with Ian's mouth.

  Ian stumbled from the impact and Aaron kept on him. The priest sent a punch toward his stomach, but Ian blocked. Grabbing Aaron's shirt to stop the onslaught, Ian slammed him into the wall and held him there. "It wasn't me!"

  "Tell me you didn't hurt her," Aaron raged, a vein bulging in his neck.

  "I wouldn't." Gripping him firmly, Ian stared him in the eyes. "Never."

  "Aaron, he didn't," Viola croaked.

  Glancing at her, Aaron's chest heaved. She knew his heart was pounding. Her stepbrother might have been a slight man, a quiet man—but he had strong protective instincts. Thank God he wasn't carrying his gun right then.

  "Something else did it," Ian insisted softly. "It threw her against the mirror and held her there."

  Reluctantly calming himself, Aaron studied Ian. But his head shot back suddenly, his face curling in pain. Aaron pressed a hand to his temple and sucked a breath through his teeth. Viola knew that look; God was getting loud.

  "I'm sorry," Aaron mumbled. "I jumped to conclusions."

  "It's all right." Ian finally released the priest and backed away. "I'd have done the same."