Page 60 of Shadowed Obsession

“I could show you what a good girl I am, but you’d have to stop breaking into my house and you won’t,” I mock.

“If you don’t want me here, change the locks, Doe,” he challenges.

Maybe I don’t want to keep you out, I think.

“You’re annoying,” I say with a deep sigh.

“¿Tú sabes? Deja la jodienda,”he mutters under his breath.

“Qué?”I ask with a cackle.

A chuckle rumbles through his chest. “I said, ‘stop fucking with me’. Because I’m trying to read and you’re insulting me. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to finish this chapter. Then I’m going to take care of you.”

“Why would you do that?”

He places a finger to his chin through the mask, as if he’s thinking. “Deirdre?” he asks sweetly, looking into my eyes.

“Hmm?”

“Vete a dormir.”

I stare inquisitively. “Dormirmeans sleep.”

“Yes, it does. Do it,” he advises while adjusting my bonnet.

“Fine,” I resign with a pout. “Only because your chest is comfortable.”

“I know. Now, please let me read my smut,” he says, splaying his hand on my lower back and pushing me closer.

He kills me. Now it’shis smut?

He’s lucky I’m exhausted. I settle back onto him and start dozing off moments later.

“I’d liketo run you a bath before I go. Do you like your water at a temperature that compares tohell? Most women do.”

I try to hide my disappointment that he’s leaving, but he’s got a life to get back to.

“Now, Scar, I do like my water hot as hell, but I’d be a little jealous if I learned you’re drawing baths for other women. I thought I was special,” I say in my best southern accent.

He chuckles. “That wasn’t bad. You are special, Doe. And I do draw baths, but only formi abuela.She’s my best friend, and I take care of her as much as I can,” he informs me, bending over to plug the tub.

Wow. Itispossible for him to be even more attractive.

I steal a glimpse at his ass and avert my eyes before he catches me in the act.

“She’s lucky to have you.”

“Thanks,” he says, and I wish I could see if he smiled or not.

He places his hand under the running tap to check the water temperature, wincing as it heats up.

With a step back, he wipes the water onto his sweats and faces me. “I can confirm that the water is underworld hot. I hope it meets your expectations.”

He squats down, opening the under-sink cabinet to retrieve a container of Epsom salt that wasn’t there before. His large hands twist off the lid, taking heaping scoops before adding them to the running water.

I tilt my head curiously in question as he returns the container below the sink.

“It’s for your cramps,” he tells me, shifting to shut off the faucet. “I read that it could help. I hope it does.”

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