Carpathian 18 - Dark Possesion

who never resorted to violence, who didn't believe in violence, who actually counseled against violence, wanted to beat the man into a bloody spot on the floor.
    It was utterly humiliating to be carried over his shoulder, her arms and legs dangling like spaghetti. She pounded on his broad back only to be further infuriated when he didn't even flinch. "Put me down, right now," she hissed, clutching the back of his shirt. "I mean it, Manolito. If someone saw me like this, I'd be so upset." The thought was completely mortifying.
    "No one is in the house," he assured her, not liking the distress in her voice. Anger was one thing, but not distress. "Riordan and Juliette must be with her sister and cousin in the rain forest. And since you asked so politely." Manolito set her on her feet and stepped back, a smooth, fluid glide, just in case she took a swipe at him.
    MaryAnn straightened her jacket and blouse with great dignity. "Was that display of machismo really necessary?" Sarcasm dripped. If she couldn't smack him like he deserved, she could take him down with words. She was very good at crossing verbal swords.
    Manolito stared down at her furious face. She was so achingly beautiful with her perfect coffee-and-cream skin, so soft he found himself brushing his fingers over her whenever he could get the chance. His . He tasted the word. Let it sink into his mind. She belonged to him. Had been made for him. She was his alone, and he would have her for all time.
    She'd given him back colors and emotions after hundreds of years without. And she had no clue what she was to him. She stood there in front of him, a small spitfire of a woman with her shiny midnight black curls and chocolate doe eyes, innocent and vulnerable. Need crawled through his body with savage, raking claws, merciless and dangerous, but something else was creeping into his heart. Something soft and gentle when he had long forgotten tender things.
    "It seemed an expedient way to get out of the early morning sun."
    "Your mama sure didn't teach you a thing about manners, did she?" She tried to maintain her anger, but it was nearly impossible when he was looking at her in that strange way—as if she was— everything . And fear was beginning to swamp her, the need to cry, because she could feel the resolution in his mind to leave, to go to ground. She couldn't go with him, and that meant she'd be left alone.
    He took a step toward her, obviously reading her dismay.
    MaryAnn held up a hand to stop him, because if he touched her, she didn't know how she'd react. She'd never, never even contemplated turning her body over to a man and allowing him to do anything he wanted, but Manolito could so easily make her want to do just that. He could make her want things she'd never dreamt of, and that scared her almost as much as the idea of being left there alone. ' '
    "Look at my boots," she said, to keep from crying, and sank down onto the chair to pull them off. "I loved these boots. They've always been my favorite."
    He knelt down in front of her, gently pushing her hands away to remove the boots himself. She looked down at the top of his head, his hair silky midnight black and falling in disarray around his face and shoulders. She couldn't stop herself from touching it as his fingers slid down her calf and sent shivers of awareness up her leg.
    He was only helping her remove her boots, yet somehow that small gesture seemed sexual. She tried to pull her foot away, but he circled her ankle with strong fingers and held her still. "Don't, MaryAnn. I have no choice but to go to ground. I do not want to leave you alone. It is the last thing that I want. If you continue to be so upset, you will leave me no other option than to convert you now and take you with me."
    He raised his head, his dark gaze meeting hers. Her heart jumped as his tongue touched his lips and his gaze dropped to her mouth.
    "Don't even think about it." Because she was thinking about it, and that just plain scared her to death.
    "Go take a shower. I will look after these boots for you," he instructed. "The hot water will relax you and help you to sleep."
    MaryAnn swallowed a protest and left him kneeling there on the floor, her boots in his hand. She didn't look back, wouldn't allow herself to look back, even though she was certain he would be gone when she came out.
    She turned the water on as hot as she could stand it, letting it pour over her sore, tired muscles while she cried. It was silly, really,