Page 18 of Obsession
It should be.
But it’s not.
“Answer me one thing,” I say.
“Go on.”
His words tingle my nipples, and I clear my throat as I squirm in my seat. “Did you know much about me when you asked for me to conduct these interviews?”
Rain pelts against the window in the ensuing silence, and my poor heart beats a staccato rhythm beneath that heavy gaze of his.
His lips slowly curve into a sinful smile that would have me throw caution to the wind and let him haul me into his car on a darkened road. Maybe it would be worth dying at his hands.
“You’re a smart woman, Savannah. Listen to your instincts.”
“See, that’s the problem…” I chance a look at the guard, but he’s staring at the wall, looking bored as hell. Reaching forward, I let my fingers rest inches away from his big hand on the table.
Energy fizzles between us, or maybe it’s all in my head. I’m all too aware of the man in front of me, and it’s messing with my mind.
He’s a murderer.
He’d kill me if he could.
Fuck, why does that thought make my core heat? I need psychological help.
“My instincts are telling me to run toward danger.”
His tongue darts out, doing a slow sweep over the swell of his bottom lip. Then before I can react, he strikes, snatching my hand.
I gasp at the feel of his warm, calloused fingers cradling my wrist almost tenderly, yet firm enough to elicit fantasies I shouldn’t have in the presence of a coldhearted killer. Goosebumps raise the hairs on my arms.
“Your instincts are trying to kill you, Savannah.”
The guard shifts, and Robbie turns my hand and lets his fingers drag across my open palm, along each finger, before he drops his hand to his lap. In the seconds that pass, my lashes flutter as tingles dance over every inch of skin his touch traveled.
My phone’s shrill ringtone cuts through the moment, causing me to jump in my seat. Flustered, I reach for my bag, dig out my phone, and put it on silent.
When I look back at Robbie, he’s rubbing his thumb across his lip in a seductive, smooth motion, back and forth. “Any other questions, ma’am?”
His dark hair is longer, teasing the tips of his ears, the strands peppered in silver. If anything, it adds to his attractiveness.
“What do you know about me?” It’s a bold question he most likely won’t answer, but seeing the amusement in his sparkling eyes is worth it.
I’m starting to realize that he looks forward to our meetings as much as I do. And a small part of me wonders if he thinks about me when he’s back in his cell.
Okay, a big part of me.
“I thought we were here to talk about me.”
I can’t stop the soft laugh that splits my lips and the warmth spreading through my chest.
When I look at him again, he’s smiling too.
It’s surprisingly soft.
“Okay,” I breathe, my chest rising on a deep inhale. “How old were you when you killed your first victim?”
“Sixteen.”
