Page 75 of Obsession

But I definitely needed food. I needed caffeine. Hell, I needed a shower.

I could still smellhimon me under the sweat and madness. More likehewas the madness. I’d effectively pushed him away from my subconscious with work, but now his face was screaming into my reality.

The anger and the accusation.

Did he know everything?

I padded to the window, pressing my palm to a cool pane of glass. Not like Blake’s glass. This was old with tiny flecks of color bleeding onto the crystal-clear squares from years and layers of paint.

I tipped my fevered forehead to a higher square. The ocean roared outside, and the sound settled my racing heart. A cold snap was heading in off the water. Today would require one of my bulky sweaters and wool socks, but right now it felt so good to let the cold inside.

The sun had long since risen and the morning had melted away in my post-work stupor. I lifted my gaze to the beach. A lone figure was jogging a few feet from the lacy tide. A long, powerful stride with a familiar determination. I wished I could find that kind of focus when working out. I had it with my art, but definitely not when it came to running.

The man slowed as he neared my property.

It was a private beach, dammit.

Not that other runners hadn’t come through, and for the most part, I never cared. Today, the feral need to lash out was far too close to the surface. Whether it was because I didn’t technically own the property or I was just feeling punchy because of what day it was, I didn’t really care.

I just wanted him gone.

“Move on.”

I didn’t recognize my voice. Again, I needed to drink and eat. Even my voice was a growl.

The man pushed back his hoodie and stared at the sky, his shoulders heaving with exertion.

I knew that neck. He bent over at the waist and clutched his knees and stared right at me.

My nipples tightened and my feverish body betrayed me.

He couldn’t see me. Hecouldn’tknow it was me in here, but it felt as if his eyes were roaming over my entire body.

Why? Why did he affect me like this?

All the hate and betrayal aside, he’d fired me. Even though I was the best damn assistant he’d ever have in his godforsakenlife. Okay, so I’d lied to him and was never meant to work for him. Still.

“God, you’re certifiable, Grace.”

What the hell was he doing here?

It’s his house, you idiot.

My fingertips went white against the pane.

I really didn’t care that it was his house. It didn’t feel like his house. It still felt like mine. No amount of talking myself out of it last night mattered right now.

Not when he was standing there surveying the property with sweat-soaked skin.

I didn’t want to move on.

Iwantedthis house. I wanted to work here in the perfect light that I’d discovered when I was barely into my teens. When my obsession for glass had started after walking into Mrs. Stephens’ living space. The windows and arches of the main house were gorgeous, but the sheer multitude of windowpanes in her space had clicked something in me.

Sunlight, pure and perfect, touched every corner of the room, and I’d been hooked.

When Mrs. Stephens had retired, I’d taken it over before all her bags had been packed. Back then, my work area had been an old drafting table scattered with markers and pencils until I’d transitioned to suncatchers and simple glasswork.

By high school, it had become overrun with tools, glass, and metals. Now the smell of butane and singed wood was as familiar as the ocean outside.

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