Page 1 of Possessed (Darker Steamy Shorts #2)

ISLA

The noise scares me enough to make me almost spill my coffee, but I manage to set it on the counter without incident. Looking through the peephole, all I can see is a figure dressed in a dark suit, his head down, arms full of a long, sleek black box.

I hesitate, but I can hear the voices of other tenants in the apartment building talking and running up and down the stairs, so I figure that it's safe enough. Who tries to rob people at ten in the morning, anyway?

I crack the door open, and once I'm able to see my visitor better, I relax a touch. He's just a delivery man, albeit a fancily dressed one. "Yes?"

"Are you Isla Cross?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Sign here, please." He holds out a tablet and a stylus, and I take them, scrawling a messy signature across the screen. "Here."

"What's this?"

"No idea." The man shrugs. "I'm just paid to deliver it."

I close the door, setting the box on my kitchen table.

The box is heavy, sleek, and shining. When I gently pull the lid off, I gasp at what's inside—two dozen dark red roses, so dark that they could almost be black in the right light, with a cream ribbon wrapped around them.

Tucked inside the ribbon is a matching envelope, sealed with a wax stamp the same dark red as the roses in the shape of a dragon's head.

The entire setup must have been obscenely expensive, and I've never received anything like it.

"This must be a mistake," I mutter, pulling the ribbon away and picking up the envelope.

Cracking the beautiful seal feels like a waste, but I do it anyway, with a strange feeling of dread in my belly.

I have the oddest instinct just to throw all of it in the trash and forget about the flowers altogether, but I brush it off.

Inside the envelope, a thick piece of cardstock reads,

Ms. Cross,

I have recently acquired a debt of your father's that he cannot repay.

You will join me at the Smoke and Sage Bistro tomorrow night at 8 pm.

Show them this note, and they will escort you to me.

This is an instruction, not an invitation, but if you comply, we will be able to reach a settlement for what your father owes.

Do not speak to anyone about this arrangement, especially your father, or the deal is off.

I look forward to your attendance.

D. Vale

For a moment, all I can do is stare at the note.

I'm dumbstruck. The sheer arrogance of this man is enough to make me want to crumple up the note and toss it in the trash.

Instead, I stare at it, reading it again and again, trying to puzzle out what to do.

I don't know who this D. Vale is, but if he's demanding my presence at a restaurant to discuss my father's debt, then it can't be good.

It also means that this man knows where I live. That sends a shiver down my spine.

The last thing I want to do is keep this from my dad.

He's the only family I have left—my mother died when I was just a girl—and he's the one person whom I trust more than anyone else.

But I had no idea he was even in debt. He's worked in marine shipping logistics my entire life, boring but successful, and I've had little reason ever to question what he does for a living.

Knowing that he's in trouble and that he's kept it from me makes me feel a pang of sadness.

Well. It's just dinner. The feeling of dread has intensified, but if this mysterious D.Vale is willing to make a deal, then I have no reason not to hear him out. We're meeting in public, how dangerous can it possibly be?

It has amazingly stopped raining by the time the next night rolls around, and I don't have to take an umbrella with me when I leave the apartment.

It isn't completely dark yet, and I feel surprisingly self-conscious as I exit the building in my heels and black satin dress, which hugs me from my chest down to a few inches above my knees.

I'd agonized over what to wear; it was easy enough to look up the dress code for the restaurant, but not nearly as easy to choose what sort of energy I wanted to give off.

My choice ended up leaning sexier than I wanted, but my wardrobe options were limited.

I left my hair loose and wore no extra jewelry besides a simple gold chain with a single sapphire gem. It was important for me to look sophisticated, even if I felt like I was faking it. I'm not sophisticated. Tonight, I'm mostly just scared.

Before I can request an Uber, a black sedan with dark-tinted windows rolls up to the curb in front of me. My heart races. The back door opens, and a man in a dark suit beckons to me.

"Ms. Cross?" he asks.

I nod, moving closer. "Who are you?"

"Someone who works for Mr. Vale," he says shortly. "He sends his apologies that he couldn't pick you up himself."

I nod again, not knowing what to say. It's becoming clear that tonight, Mr. Vale is in full control, and I'm just along for the ride.

The man holds out his hand, and I take it, letting him help me into the car. I'm surprised by how soft the seats are, how luxurious everything is. The leather is buttery smooth, the tinted windows cut down on the light, and the car smells faintly of pine.

It isn't long before we reach the bistro.

The driver comes around to open the door and help me out, but I barely notice him.

My perception has narrowed down to just what's in front of me.

I have to focus on putting one foot in front of the other so I don't chicken out, call my dad, and tell him to handle his own nonsense.

But I've come this far, I might as well hear Mr. Vale out.

The driver leads me past the hostess stand, where I open my clutch and pull out the note that came with the roses, handing it over. The host’s eyes flick over it, and she nods, wordlessly motioning for me to follow her.

The inside of the bistro is dimly lit, with dark hardwood floors and walls decorated with black and white photos of various places in Seattle. I can smell garlic, seared meat, and expensive wine.

My guide stops at the last table, set against the wall in a dim corner.

It's hidden away enough that most of the other patrons won't be able to see us.

Sitting at the table is a man I immediately know to be D.

Vale. He looks up as we approach, and our eyes meet, sending a shock through me.

I stop walking, staring at him, dumbstruck.

He's wearing a dark suit, crisp and tailored, with a pale green button-up underneath.

In the low light, it's hard to tell the color of his eyes, but they're dark enough that they must be some deep shade of brown.

His skin is bronzed, his wide jaw dark with stubble, and his hair is cut short and neat, longer on top.

Mr. Vale's features look like they've been cast in stone—a powerful nose, heavy, dark brows, and a mouth that looks alarmingly soft amongst the rest of his harsh features.

Everything about him screams expensive, from the watch on his wrist to the way he sits with casual ease.

Time simply stops when he looks at me. My stomach had been churning with fear and anxiety about what the dinner would bring, but that feeling is immediately replaced with a heat so powerful that it takes me off guard.

I've felt attraction before, but never anything like this.

The intensity of it is almost overwhelming.

I feel dizzy, and I have to force myself to look away from him. It takes all of my energy to start walking again, following my guide over to the table. She pulls out my chair, and I sit, smoothing down my skirt.

"Here you are, sir," she says.

"Thank you." His voice is low, gravelly. "Would you bring a bottle of the house red?"

She nods, disappearing back into the restaurant.

I glance back over at him. He's still watching me. I swallow hard. "Mr. Vale, I presume?"

His expression doesn't change, "Call me Dante … Isla."

He doesn't wait for me to offer my first name, but simply uses it as if he has every right to. "Okay, Dante. I got your letter. What did you want from me?"

The wine arrives as he answers, and Dante waves the server away, pouring the glasses himself. "First, let's discuss what I hold over you, Isla. Are you and your father close?"

"Yes."

"So did he disclose to you what kind of trouble he's in?"

I fight back a wince. "No. He doesn't talk about work much."

"Then I'll keep this as surface-level as possible. Your father invested heavily in a startup shipping business, and the business owners disappeared with all the investors' money. He borrowed the money from some dangerous people, and with no way to pay it back, he was about to lose everything."

The urge to cry hits me, but I keep my composure, sipping the wine to hide my quivering lip. My poor father. "And I suppose you're the dangerous person he borrowed from?"

"No. Although make no mistake, Isla, I am dangerous. But I bought your father's debt because he has something I want. Something much rarer than money."

Dante stops, and as the silence stretches, I realize he's waiting for me to ask, "What?"

"You, Isla. I want you."

My jaw drops, but before I can ask him what he means, Dante continues speaking, pulling out a single sheet of paper from his pocket along with a pen.

He unfolds the contract, sliding it towards me.

"You will be my live-in assistant for three months.

Anything I ask, you do. I will never hear the word 'no' from your mouth.

And once those three months are up, your father's debt will be paid in full, and you'll be free to go. "

"I..." My head is spinning. What sort of person does this?

Who is so used to getting what they want that they can just order someone else to be at their beck and call for three entire months?

I want to say no. I want to throw my wine in his face, grab the contract, and tear it to shreds, then storm out of there.

But my dad is all I have left. If this is what it takes to keep him safe, I'll do it.

I have to do it.

I reach for the pen, my hands trembling, but Dante stops me, his hand clasping over mine. A jolt goes through me, heat flooding my body, my core throbbing. I look up into his eyes, feeling lost in them. His grip on my wrist tightens.

"I want to make sure you understand exactly what you're agreeing to," he says softly. "You will sign your life over to me, Isla. Once you sign, you're mine. You have to agree to that, right here and now."

My mouth is dry, and I lick my lips, nodding. "I understand. I agree."

"Good." Dante pulls back. "Sign on the line."

My hand still trembles as I write my name across the dotted line, and I push it back across the table towards Dante. He takes it, his eyes scanning the paper as if he expects me to have forged my own signature.

"The terms of this contract start tonight," he says. "I'll have your things moved to my house. You will stay with me. You'll begin work tomorrow, and we'll go from there."

"But..." I can barely keep up. "What..?"

Dante holds up a hand to silence me. "I'll answer any questions you have tomorrow. Tonight, we dine. The contract is signed, and you are mine."

"But—" I try again.

"Shh." Dante shakes his head. "You agreed to never tell me no. This is our first lesson in how things will be. Now, relax and enjoy your meal."

I sit back, reeling. This is not what I expected. But the contract is signed. And I'm already starting to wonder if it was worth it.