Page 18 of Obsession

I hoist myself up on the metal platform of the Toyota. I want to get into the cab before he notes how small I am compared to this thing and decides to do something drastic and chauvinistic like touch me and help me in.

He’s your boss,I remind myself. Your ridiculously hot, very scary, very dominant alpha male boss who just joked about…

No, wait. Not boss.Not boss.

Business associate or…something.

Whatever.

I hop in so quickly I manage to smash my shins on the unyielding metal step. Fuck, that’ll bruise. I don’t wince or say a word but silently slide onto the passenger seat. He, naturally, swings himself in with one smooth motion like this truck was custom-built to accommodate him.

I take a quick look at the clothes in my hands. Some kinda faded khaki pants that could be men’s or women’s, but there’s an adjustable waistband and elastic to help them fit. A small black tank top, pair of socks, pair of boots.

He stares down at the boots. “Those are the smallest size we had, but something tells me you’ll still have to stuff them.”

“I’m notthatsmall.”

It’s a stupid thing to say when I’m sitting next to a man so big he could double in Green Giant ads. His hands are three times the size of mine, his arms bigger than my thighs, andthosearen’t even the most intimidating things about him. Normal humans are composed of skin and tissue and strung together with muscle. Cain defies normal human body structure, because every inch of him seems to be nothing but raw, corded muscle. If we broke down, I feel as if he could hitch this truck to his shoulders and haul us home without breaking a sweat.

“I’d guess you’re five feet tall, just over a hundred pounds.”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to ask a woman her weight?”

I sigh. Exactly one-ten the last time I checked.

“I’m not asking. My point is, you’re small. Pointless trying to argue.”

He revs the engine, and heat pulses low between my legs. If this truck proposed to me, I’d accept.Gah.

“It can come in handy, you know,” I say in protest.

“What can?”

“Being small.”

He shifts in his seat and mutters to himself, “Could be a fuckin’ issue, too.”

“Not like I can help it.”

He doesn’t respond but launches straight into giving me more details about his sister. “Things to know. Skylar has the shittiest taste in boyfriends and won’t ever bring them to meet me for dinner or anything before she dates them.”

“Does that surprise you?”

He pauses, flicking on his directionals before he takes a turn, then cruises back up to a breakneck speed. I guess not only does he not have a use for the police, but he obviously seems to think they can’t touch him.

“No.”

“If I had a brother like you, I don’t think I’d bring my skinny little boyfriends home to roast marshmallows by your bonfire either.”

A glimmer of something like amusement flits across his face, but he quickly goes back to the scary mask.

He grunts. “Especially the kinds of assholes she dates.”

“Okay, so this is important information to note if I’m going to help you with this investigation. Little sis dates assholes.”

He nods. We’ve left the shore and are heading into the heart of the city. I love Salem, with its aged houses and history. As we leave the shore, we draw closer to the historical parts of Salem—the Witch House, other museums, and the House of the Seven Gables.

“Skylar wrote to me when I was stationed in Europe and didn’t travel much. Didn’t like coming home, didn’t prioritize it.”

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