Page 6 of His Darkest Obsession
“This is exactly where I need to be,printsessa.”
The word practically rolls off his tongue. Melodic, familiar, and inappropriately intimate coming from his lips. Like it’s a word meant for me and only for me. Another wave of heat thrums down my back.
And suddenly it feels like I’m the one who’s in the wrong place and not him.
I don’t like this. Not one bit.
Whoever this man is, he’s far too handsome. Far too perfect.
Which means he’s dangerous.
And when dangerous handsome men in suits start walking around places like this, bad things are sure to follow.
Without waiting for me to say anything else, he walks towards my chair like he owns the place, moving with the confidence of someone who's never been told 'no' in his life. He sits down before I can process what’s happening, and the worn-out seat hiss in protest from his weight.
The ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips when our eyes lock in the mirror.
I swallow.
He tilts his head back to expose his neck where I can spy the hint of tattoos peeking out from under the collar.
“And I don’t need a haircut.” His deep voice rumbles again and I fight the urge to bite my lower lip. “Just a shave.”
I glance at the clock, as if looking for an excuse to refuse him. But the way his eyes insistently drills into mine tells me that refusal is not an option.
So, I throw the sheet across his suit and cinch it tight around his neck. In the process, I catch a whiff of his cologne—light and soapy, with just a hint of cloves that you really have to get close to pick up.
“Be honest,” I mutter. “What are you really here for?”
“Maybe I came for the conversation,” he counters smoothly.
A dry laugh tumbles out of my lips. “Sorry to disappoint.”
The smile doesn’t quite leave his face, and a charged silence slowly settles between us. The space suddenly feels tinier than it should be. And apart from our soft breathing, the only other sound left is that of a commercial from the TV.
“I’m just surprised someone dressed like you is walking around this neighborhood.” I start lathering up his face. “Someone might look at you and see a piggy bank on two legs.”
“Is that what you see?”
Heat runs up my face in embarrassment, and I wish I can just crawl under a rock and die.
“No.” I stammer quickly before I can stop myself. “I’m just—it’s that—I?—”
It’s that I think you’re the hottest man I’ve ever seen, that I’m equal parts turned on and equal parts terrified why you’re here.
Because it’s like he said, right? This is exactly where he needs to be. And I have a feeling that he’s here for me.
The smile still hasn’t left his face, and he continues looking at me intently. If he’s offended by what I said, he doesn’t show it at all.
My fingers brush his cheeks accidentally as I continue lathering up his face, and I notice just how warm he feels.
He tilts his head back further back to let me coat his throat, but his eyes never leave mine.
“I can handle myself well enough out here,” he says when I finish.
“You know that ego isn’t bulletproof, right?” I raise an eyebrow as I walk over to the counter, glad for the momentary respite to pick out a single razor blade and slot it into the handle. “And I hope you got backup outside in case somethingdoesgo down.”
“Backup is for people who make enemies.”
