Page 29 of Obsession
“Am I imprisoned?”
I jump when his knee brushes up against mine beneath the table. He leans back, resting his elbow on the back of the chair, his other hand flat on the table.
I can’t help but notice how big it is. And to think such beautiful hands have inflicted such horrific pain and suffering.
He enjoyed hurting those women.
The entire length of his muscular leg lines up with mine, and warmth spreads everywhere we touch. If I couldn’t breathe before, I’m screwed now.
An ache I know only he can ease throbs between my thighs—a need I won’t ever be able to satisfy, no matter how many men I fuck.
None of them can hurt me like he can with those beautiful tattooed hands and sharp incisor teeth. His blue eyes alone have the power to bring me to my knees.
We stare at each other, seemingly lost in the crackling energy around us. Robbie is a man, I realize, when he rubs his fingerand thumb together, eye-fucking me like I’m his last meal. He’s not a boy like the ones I hooked up with in college.
He’s not arrogant like Elliot or too big-headed like James.
He’s not an opportunist like my father.
No, he’s something so much better.
So much more.
He’s calculating and cold, manipulative and ruthless. With a touch of his hand, he could bring me to the edge or cut my existence short, depending on his demons’ whispers.
And I want to unearth every one of the monsters hiding in his lethal gaze.
“You didn’t let me answer rule number three.”
A quirk of his eyebrow. “Don’t avoid the question, ma’am. Am I imprisoned?”
I glance at the guard. The word, “No,” dances on my lip like a skilled performer. I’m unsure how, but every molecule in my body knows a man like Robbie could never be shackled. No walls can contain him. Not unless he allows it.
Bringing my attention back to the infuriatingly enigmatic man in front of me, I ask, “When will we talk about the murders?”
“When you trust me.” His eyes dare me to look away.
“How can I trust a man who hurts women?”
“You’re a clever woman, Savannah. You’ll figure it out.”
“You have a lot of faith in me.”
His smirk makes a reappearance. “Rule number four: Trust your gut.”
I snort, shaking my head. The laugh that rips from my lips lacks humor. “Trust my gut? Because it has such a good track record,” I sass before shifting forward and bracing my elbows on the table. I smile sweetly. “I would have ended up as a notch on your bedpost if I trusted my instincts. Another photograph of adead girl in the newspaper. Unless you’ve noticed, I’m not a good judge of character.”
His leg shifts, brushing mine, and I shiver.
Everything about him calls to me, like a whisper on the wind.
“So if I trust you, you’ll tell me everything?”
Crossing his arms over his muscular chest, he cocks his head to the side. “You’re catching on, Savannah.”
My name on his lips sends heat rushing to my core. I’m so fucking horny, it’s past the point of comprehension. I’m supposed to remain impartial, but all I can think about is how I’d love to straddle his lap.
“You asked for these interviews,” I remind him. “Why would you do that if you didn’t plan on telling me the truth? Is it just a ruse on your part to get out of that cell?”
