Page 8 of Obsession

Again.

He won’t let me stay now. I know he won’t. Only a fool would.

“You were saying?” His eyes spark at me like flashes of flint.

“I can fight,” I say through gritted teeth, my voice shaking.

“Of course you can.” He spits out the words like venom. I feel momentarily vindicated. He doesn’t wonder if I can fight. “Thatwas never in question.”

Wasn’t it? Did he bait me? If he did, I leapt to it like a goddamn fish to a worm-covered hook. His admission that I can fight takes a bit of the wind out of my sails.

If I wasn’t fully restrained under him, I could reach out and touch that rugged stubble along his jaw. There’s a silvery scar near his left eye I didn’t notice before, weirdly similar to mine. Huh.

“You listen.” His voice is a deadly purr, like the growl of a mountain lion warning its prey. He lowers his face to mine so we’re only inches apart. I can’t believe I thought he had an ounce of softness in him just moments ago. He’s nothing but hard lines and angles, as flexible as steel. A bead of sweat runs down the side of his face, but his eyes are cold as ice. “Do noteverdo that again.”

“Do what?” My voice is barely a whisper.

He leans in closer, the muscles along his neck taut. He bares his teeth, his voice no more than a growl. “Try to fight me.”

He doesn’t even sayfight me,buttry.

Ouch.

Okay, so I’m getting off with a warning? If he wanted to throw me off his property, he wouldn’t use the word “again.”

Would he?

He’s got me in an expert submission hold, more skilled than most I’ve fought before.

I came here to suggest a business proposal and he’s served me humble pie.

Good one, Vi. I stifle a sigh.

“Tell me you won’t ever even think about fighting me again, Miss Price.”

“I won’t fight you.” My voice is clogged with emotion. I don’t concede often, and when I do, it’s under duress, just like this. I don’t make any promises beyond that, though.

There are many,manythings I could do that don’t fall under the umbrella of “fighting.”

“Why are you here?”

“You’re still on top of me.”

“I’m aware.” He doesn’t budge.

I won’t sugarcoat things. I won’t pretend I’m here for any reason other than my true purpose. I draw in a breath and hold his gaze, unblinking, my tone of voice firm and confident despite my compromised position.

“I need you to help me find the people who killed my parents.”

Still holding me beneath him, he gives me one short nod before he releases me. I get to my feet, shaking a little, and fruitlessly try to hold the flapping fabric against my breasts. My hands shake.

He reaches for the hem of his tee and yanks it up over his head before he tosses it in my direction.

Numbly, I catch it mid-air. It’s soft and warm and smells like him, spicy and virile and all male.

I look at him and blink.

“Put it on.”

---