Page 75 of Obsession

Staring at my naked body in the mirror, I see the marks left all over my body, courtesy of Hunter’s mouth and hands. I refuse to feel ashamed because I’m not. I had the best sex of my life, and I’ll never forget it. The only thing to do at this point is to enjoy the next six hours in Paris, and when we land in Los Angeles, Hunter will become Mr. Middleton once again.

My dangerous boss.

My smile is forced as I look at myself in the mirror. “Keep it together, Megan. You knew what you were doing. If you want to keep your job, you’re going to get your shit together and not treat this like it's anything more than just a one-night stand. It could never be anything more.”

As long as I keep it professional, Mr. Middleton has no reason to fire me and I’ll get to cherish the memory of this one weekend with a handsome man in the most romantic city in the world.

The hot shower does help some, and when I come out, there’s a cup of coffee waiting for me from the cafe downstairs. Hunter is reading an American newspaper, already dressed in a casual dress shirt and pants that probably cost him my entire year’s salary.

“I booked you a massage after we eat,” he turns the page of the newspaper.

“Oh,” I wince as I sit down. “My butt.”

He looks over the top of the newspaper to study me. “I’ve never heard a woman complain so much after sleeping with me.”

I glare at him, picking up my coffee. “How would you know? I doubt you keep them around long enough to find out.”

“That’s true.”

His two-word answer reminds me that this was a one-time thing. Casual is what he does.

Wake up, Cinderella.

“Where’s my ibuprofen?” I get up and shuffle toward my bag. “Oh fuck, my back.”

“Maybe we should get you that massage first,” he offers, clearly pleased with his bed acrobatics.

An hour later, I’m lying on a comfortable massage table with a woman named Francine, giving me the first massage I’ve ever had in my life. She’s releasing knots in my muscles that I didn’t even know existed. I enjoy listening to her chatter in French about her methodology as I doze off, pleasantly content.

“I forgive you,” I tell Hunter when I walk into the café next door after my massage, where he’s been waiting for me.

He raises a brow. “I’m sure, however, some context would be nice.”

“For nearly breaking my back,” I sink into the seat across from him, beaming.

He gives me an amused look. “You do know that every time you say that, you’re giving me a compliment?”

I shrug, feeling all loose and fluid again. “Francine fixed every part of me. I feel like a new woman. Your feelings are insignificant to me right now. I have been reborn.”

I add the last part with a dramatic gesture to myself, and Hunter’s lips quirk up. “Good to know. Order some breakfast now, or at this point, I guess it’s lunch. I was waiting for you.”

“You waited?” I give him a surprised look. “I was in there for over an hour.”

He doesn’t respond, sipping his coffee, unaffected. “This place has a very nice selection of pastries. Your roommate likes croissants, doesn’t she? You should get a dozen to bring home.”

I blink at him. “What?”

“And get some souvenirs, too,” he adds. “For both of you.”

It takes me a long minute to digest his words, and I repeat my question loudly in an attempt to get clarification. “What?”

“Did Francine damage your hearing?”

“No – I mean,” I stare at him. “Why do you want me to get souvenirs?”

“You went to Paris. You should be able to brag about it. You walked into the most famous art galleries in the world. You should have something to remember from your trip.”

For a moment, I feel like he’s patting himself on the back for taking the poor girl to Paris, but then I realize that isn’t it at all. I sink back into the bistro chair and look at him. “Can I ask you something?”

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