Page 15 of Obsessed

"I hate you," I say with a waver. "I fucking hate you." As I say it, I feel myself melting at the need to be in hisarms.

He pulls me against hischest.

"I hate you," I say again. His mouth covers mine. The pajamas someone has dressed me in, someone other than Blake, fall away. And just like that I submit to him. I push the hatred, the shame and the guilt away and drop naked and willing into hisgrasp.

His body is rigid with anger or hurt or betrayal, possibly a mix of everything. He carries me not to the bed but to the recess in the wall where he deftly binds me to the hooks. My arms are stretched up high above my head and my legs are spread wide. It's a position that generally sends a thrill of anticipation through me, but the dramatic shift in his mood sends a thread of fear instead. He knows I ran. I could have brought down his whole damn world and he knowsit.

I can feel the heat of him behind me. He paces back and forth like a furious animal. He steps behind me and pulls at my hair, bringing back a horrid flashback of the terrifying moments in the abandoned building. Kane has pulled my hair numerous times but this time isdifferent.

I hold my breath fearful that he is going to hurt me or kill me. His mouth comes next to my ear. "You betrayed me, Sweet Sin. All I've ever wanted is to pleaseyou."

He releases my hair. Then in contrast to the wave of anger rolling off of him, he gently strokes my back. He growls and pulls his hand away. He paces again and stops in front of the wall. His arm pulls back and makes a fist of the battered, bruised hand. I sob as he plows it into the wall. His agonized groan fills the room as he holds the hand againsthim.

I'm crying uncontrollably as I make a futile attempt to get free of my bindings. He catches his breath and returns to me. Gooseflesh covers my naked skin as his warm breath drifts over myshoulder.

"I could have sent you off that first night," he says under his breath. He releases my feet and hands. I rub my wrists as I turn to face him. He is a masterpiece even in anger. His blue eyes look like glass as he stares unflinchingly atme.

I can hardly think over the pounding of my ownheart.

He steps toward me and tangles his free hand in my hair to bring my face to his. His mouth slams over mine and he kisses me as if this is the last moment on earth for both of us. Then, as abruptly as he grabs me, he releases me. He turns on his heels and walks out the door, slamming it shut sharply behindhim.

Standing in the small recess in the bedroom wall, I lick the salt of my tears off mylips.

15

Maddox

The tennis ballbounces off the clean white wall. I catch it on the return. Being rich is a bore when the bank account is a fake. Especially when you're sitting around waiting. Waiting and not fucking knowing if any of your efforts are going to pay off. Rick Haverton's penthouse apartment overlooks the city, but gray clouds have muted the view. The gloomy weather goes right along with mymood.

A knock on the door is followed by three quick knocks signaling it's Captain Clark. I open the door. He's dressed in a delivery man uniform and has a dolly filled with crates of wine. "I've got a delivery for Rick Haverton," he says with a wrysmile.

"Yep, about damn time too." I step out of the way and he rolls the dolly through. I shut the door, cutting off any view from the hallway security cameras. "And I hope it's the good stuff because I'm going out of my fuckingmind."

Clark stops the dolly in the center of the room. There are only a few pieces of borrowed furniture in the place. "It's wine bottles filled with water. You don't think I'd actually leave you up here with expensive wine." He points to my hand. "I'm already paying you a detective's salary to toss around a tennis ball." He walks over and sits on the leather couch. He rubs his hand on it. "Nice. You rich assholes know how to live. Anyhow, any word yet because I'm sure I don't need to remind you that we're living on borrowed time—and borrowed everything, for thatmatter."

"Yeah, you keep reminding me." I pitch the ball like a bullet across the room. It ricochets off the walls and clinks off the glass chandelier in the diningarea.

"Easy there, slugger, damages are coming out of your paycheck. I've got some news for you but give me an update first. How did the club interviewgo?"

"Weirder than I expected. Like getting into the mob or something." I pull a stool from the kitchen island out and sit on it. "I went to the parking lot in the mall and parked right where they told me. So I'm standing there next to the Porsche, waiting, and this limo with tinted windows pulls up. No plates or they were covered. I'm expecting the driver to get out and open the passenger door. We rich guys expect shit like that, youknow?"

Clark shakes hishead.

"Anyhow, the door opens automatically so I climb inside. My interview panel is sitting rightinside."

Clark sits forward. "No shit?Freestone?"

"Nope. But I think he was watching the interview remotely. I noticed two cameras. They were easy to spot. No attempt to hide them. The interviewers were three club members. One was wearing a big nose and glasses disguise, but I think it's that guy who owns the chain of burger restaurants. Robson or something, he does his own commercials so I recognized hisvoice."

"Yeah, Bart Robson," Clark concurs. "How fucking cheap or balloon headed do you have to be to appear in your own restaurant chain commercials. Figures he belongs to the club. He always looks so smarmy in thecommercials."

"They asked me a bunch of questions. Since I've only been rich for a few weeks, I fumbled through some of the answers. I can see why this club stays so under wraps. These guys take it very seriously. They don't want the word to get out and risk losing their dirty little partyclub."

"More like they don't want their distinguished names to be blasted across the news headlines when Freestone's sordid world isrevealed."

"Yeah, I got the feeling it's not just Freestone you need to avoid if you reveal the secrets. In not so many words, the men in the car mentioned that financial sabotage and loss of any important connections might be the consequence if I so much as even mentioned the interview. About all I can say about that part of it is that those guys wear a lot of fucking cologne, and they are all eating just a few too many lobster tails and caviarparfaits."

I pull out Rick Haverton's phone and check to see if there's a message. "Nothing about getting in yet. It's been three days. They said they'll get back to me only if I'm accepted. So I'm plotting out my next move, if they sayno."

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