Page 59 of Dangerous Obsession

“It’s no wonder.” Like a predator closing in on his prey, he stalked toward her and squatted in front of her. “I kept you up all night, and then you came in here and busted your ass all day.” His fingertip dragged across her cheek and tucked a curl behind her ear.

“I love you.”What the hell was that?!

What kind of doofus just blurts out three of the most important words you can ever say to another human?

“Is that right?” One corner of his sexy mouth lifted. “Well, that’s pretty convenient, because I love you, too.”

“You do?” she whispered. Her relief at knowing he felt the same way was so intense, a whisper was all she could manage.

“I am totally and completely in love with you, Marigold.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Cliffheardthreequickbeepsfrom the door alarm and popped up off the couch with an alertness born from his years in prison. Footsteps squeaked across the kitchen floor, then padded across the carpet and headed his way. He frantically looked around, snagged the heavy statue off the coffee table and raised it overhead.

“Whoa.” Greg rounded the corner, came to a quick stop, and held his hands out in front of him. “What the fuck, man?”

Cliff’s entire body nearly shut down with relief. His shoulders sagged, and the hand holding the statue fell to his side.Shit. He needed to keep it together and remember he wasn’t locked up anymore. He was no longer at the mercy of psychotic prisoners waiting to shiv a guy with a sharpened toothbrush or guards who took sadistic pleasure in having power over men locked away like animals.

“Where the hell have you been?” He set the statue back on the table. “It’s been over an hour since I told you to get your ass back here.”

“Relax, dude.” The kid walked past him, flipped his hoodie back, and flopped onto an upholstered chair.

“Son of a bitch.” Cliff could smell the pot on him and looked at his eyes. “That’s what took you so long—you stopped to get high.”

The kid could become a problem, but he just needed him for a few more days. After that, Greg could fall off the face of the earth for all he cared.

He reached for the remote, but Cliff grabbed it and shoved it in his back pocket.

“Hey!” Greg scowled.

“Don’t bother getting comfortable—you’re taking me to pick up my truck.” He started out of the room, but the kid sat like a lump.

“Fuck you, man.” Greg crossed his arms and pouted. “I’m not your damn chauffeur.”

Cliff stomped over, clenched a handful of the hoodie at the kid’s chest, and lifted him up out of the chair until only the toes of his sneakers touched the floor.

“Let go of me, man.” Greg clawed at his hand in an effort to escape his grasp.

Cliff pulled him close until his face was mere inches from the kid’s and gave him a glimpse of the devil he’d become in prison.

“Donotfuck with me.” Teeth ground together, he tightened his hold to the point of almost choking him, then opened his hand and let him drop.

Greg landed on the floor, scrambled backwards, and stared up at him. The fear in his eyes let Cliff know he’d made his point.

“Let’s go.” He picked up his duffle bag of belongings from where he’d set it on the floor next to the couch.

“You leaving or something?” The kid’s hopeful gaze dropped to the bag.

Cliff didn’t answer. He turned and headed to the kitchen. There were three morebeepswhen he opened the door leading out to the garage. “Don’t forget to set the alarm.” He sneered at him over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t want your mommy to worry, now, would you?”

They wove their way along the curving, tree-lined streets of the high-end neighborhood and headed toward the strip mall where the truck was parked. The almost forty-minute drive was longer than he’d expected and, other than occasional directional instructions, was made in blissful silence.

He sent a text to Artie Whitcomb, a guy he’d served time with who was released about six months ago. They’d met at one of the prison Bible meetings. Difference was, Artie legit took all of the preaching to heart. Before his release, he already had a job as a church janitor lined up that included a studio apartment. He’d told Cliff to look him up when he got out and offered to let him crash in his old camper for as long as he wanted. All Cliff needed now was his own wheels and he’d truly be free.

“Turn right at that light.” He checked the map on his phone and pointed toward a parking lot on the left. “Pull in there.”

Greg flipped on his blinker, got into the center lane, and waited for an opening in traffic before turning.

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