Page 66 of Obsession

“Of course. You’d have to wait until I got you alone later to do anything about that.” I slam my lips together so I don’t do something stupid like beg.

I feel his hands anchored on my hips and he draws me closer to him. His erection presses up against my ass.

I’m not the only one turned on.

He unfastens the cuffs, turns me around to face him, then slides his hand along my jaw, his anger dialed back to a low simmer.

“Today’s lesson’s over, but we’re nowhere near done here. We have unfinished business, you and I. Understood?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Tomorrow morning, you’ll meet me here at seven a.m. You do not enter until I am here. You do not pick up a weapon until you have permission. You do not shoot a gun without my permission. And I’ll be sure to help you remember each rule.”

I nod again. Does that mean he’ll… turn this into what I think he will?

How will I focus when he’s doingthat?

I wish our lesson wasn’t over for the day, but I’m not sure how much more I can take. I’m already turned on beyond reason, so much I’m shaking.

People always say I’m intense. Some can’t handle my brand of intensity. They want me to play nice, to follow the rules. They like things like polite conversation and social norms. Not me, though. That’s never been who I am.

I once dated a guy who got angry with me when I wouldn’t let him pull out my chair or order dinner for me. I told him I take care of myself, and I’m not giving that up for a guy I hardly know. “You’re too intense,” he said when he dropped me back off at my apartment.

Too intense.

I held those words within me. I remembered them. And when I found myself alone, or wishing for some kind of companionship, I’d pull them up again.

Too intense.

I was too intense for anyone to ever love.

“Where’d you go just now?” Cain asks, his sapphire eyes boring into mine. “You sometimes go somewhere in your mind, like you’re dredging up memories. Where’d you go this time?”

There’s no need to hide the truth.

“I was just thinking that… until I met you, I’d never met anyone more intense than I am.”

A glimmer of a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. They’re almost… sad. No, not almost. “You think I’m intense?”

“So intense you make me forget to breathe.”

The flutter of breath on my forehead warns me he’s drawing closer. I close my eyes as his lips brush my skin. I look at him when he responds.

“You’re so intense, you make every cell in my body aware of your presence,” he whispers, and his anger lowers even more. “You shine so bright, it almost hurts to look at you, like I’m staring directly at a beam of light.” My throat tightens. He has to stop. He’s going to make me cry, and I do not cry. “You’re so beautiful, I feel as if I stare too long, I’ll turn to stone.”

“Stop.”

We stare at each other in silence for two full beats before he speaks again. “Why?”

I don’t know why. Words seem ludicrous when the feelings in your heart boil over. “I… Because we just met.” Because I’m uncomfortable with praise, it’s so foreign to me.

He shakes his head, and I don’t know why.

Slowly, so slowly I don’t realize what he’s doing at first, he threads his fingers through my hair. The feeling’s exquisite,sexy, relaxing, and comforting all at once. “When you touched the guns earlier, did you know right away which one fit in your palm? Did awareness strike you?”

The question surprises me almost as much as my answer. “Yes.”

“There was a certain comfort in the touch, wasn’t there? As if the others held power, but that one was designed just for you? Like someone waved a magic wand and crafted it to fit your palm?”

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