Possess

stretched her hand to the back of her closet, groping blindly in the dark, and eventually landed on a doorknob. “A little help, please?”
    Matt gingerly stepped over her boot collection and squeezed in next to her. “Is that another door?”
    “These old houses are weird. There’s a room off my mom’s bedroom that connects through this closet.”
    Matt leaned his shoulder against the door. “Why don’t we just go through the door in your mom’s bedroom, then?”
    “Because she pushed a dresser in front of it after my dad died, smartass.”
    “Oh. Good reason.”
    Bridget twisted the doorknob and threw her weight against the hidden door. It opened a fraction of an inch, then stopped.
    “Something must be in front of it,” Matt said.
    “Push!” Bridget ordered. Matt crouched down and put his legs into it. There was a deep groan from the other side of the door, then the obstacle beyond gave way. The door flew open, and Bridget and Matt tumbled forward into the room.
    Bridget landed on top of him. “You’re heavier than you look,” Matt grunted.
    “Bite me.”
    “I just might.”
    Bridget rolled her eyes and pushed herself up, but Matt grabbed her on either side of her waist. Before she could protest, he yanked her back down on top of him.
    His kiss was stronger this time, less like he was afraid of breaking her.
    She kissed him back. Deep and hungry. She wanted to feel his lips and his tongue against hers. Needed them.
    She’d been afraid last time: afraid of what she might feel, afraid that she was doing it wrong. But something deep inside her ignited as Matt’s hand snaked up into her curly mess of hair, his fingers twirling her strands until they felt hopelessly entangled. With a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan, she pressed her body into his, feeling every angle and crevice of his frame. The soft spots and the hard spots.
    Matt slid his free hand under her T-shirt just at the small of her back, pulling her even closer. His lips moved down to her chin, then to the soft skin between her jaw and her neck. Bridget closed her eyes and moaned, a deep, aching sound that started as a dull rumbling in her belly before it escaped her lips. Her breaths came shallow and fast as she threw her head back. He took her hint and ran his lips over the sensitive flesh of her neck. It was like a million tiny explosions going off in her body all once, beginning at her lips and neck and extending downward, warming every inch of her body. Downward, until they mingled with something even more explosive deep within her.
    The familiar tingling ignited in the pit of her stomach. It spread faster this time, swamping her mind with its electricity, its power. It felt exactly like . . .
    Bridget rolled off Matt and scrambled to her feet. She felt like she was going to be sick.
    “What’s wrong?” Matt asked, his voice thick and raspy.
    “We, uh, we don’t have much time,” Bridget said. She turned her back and pretended to straighten her shirt so he couldn’t see her panic.
    She heard him sit up and clear his throat. “Bridge, are you sure you’re okay? I hope you’re not—”
    “I’m fine.” She turned to him with a faint smile. “Really.” Yeah, perfectly fine except apparently banishing demons and making out with you give me the same sick thrill. PERFECTLY FINE, MATT, THANK YOU!
    “Oh. Okay.” Matt got to his knees and looked around. “Where are we?”
    “My dad’s study.”
    “I thought his office was downstairs?”
    “It is.” Bridget stepped over a pile of books and hit the light switch near the other door that led into her parents’ bedroom. It was a small space overshadowed by a large window looking out on the backyard. Furnishings were minimal: a leather chair like you’d see in a coffeehouse, a low table, and a wardrobe knocked askew by the closet door. And books, piles and piles of books.
    “Downstairs is the office where he saw his private clients, the ones he had before he joined Darlington’s clinic. The police searched it after the murder, but no one thought about coming up here. This was his favorite room in the house, and after he died my mom couldn’t handle looking at it from her bedroom.”
    Matt ran a finger over the coffee table and held it up, covered in a layer of dust. “So no one’s been in here in months?”
    Bridget nodded. “Since about two weeks after the murder.”
    “And if your dad was hiding something, something important—”
    “This is where it