Page 3 of The English Billionaire's Obsession

She’s buzz-killing my“new country, new me”vibes a little.

Once she’s left me, I go to the window, throw open the curtains, and look down at the rainy street, the dark puddles, no sunlight to make them glisten. Across the street… What the heck? It’s as if somebody reached into my mind and plucked out my dream man.

He stands in the rain, not caring when it sluices through his silver-streaked hair. His hair is short, and, unlike the puddles, itdoesglisten in the wet. He’s wearing a dark suit, clinging tightly to his muscular body, at least six feet, his arms bulging in the material. I’m too far away. I shouldn’t be able to see the intensity in his eyes from here, the fierce anger, obsession,somethingas he gazes up.

A knock at my door has me turning.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Janine asks, maybe feeling bad about how we started things.

“Sure, thank you.”

When I turn back to the window, my dream man is gone.

CHAPTERTWO

Thomas

This is a bloody joke.I’ma bloody joke.

Stalkerisn’t something I thought I’d ever have a reason to call myself, but here I am, standing outside this depressing hovel in the pissing-down rain. She deserves so much better than a place like this. She might’ve seen me just now, but it’s impossible to be sure. I stepped back just in case, hiding in the small passageway between two houses.

This street reminds me of the sort I grew up on, a tinge of nastiness in the air like any second somebody could kick down a door, light up some crack, or… Bloody hell, I’m letting my mind go to the past again.

Before I laid eyes on my Amelia, I never let things like that impact me. I was as cold as this rain, and, just like the rain, I let things slip off me. The past didn’t matter. The future didn’t matter except for the next meeting or deal, but then I saw her.

A sleek black vehicle with tinted windows pulls up in the street in front of me. My security team is probably getting nervous about me spending so much time here, mainly because I haven’t told them why. I haven’t toldanyonewhy, not even George. Evenhedoesn’t know.

The window rolls down. Steve, the head of my security team, calls over, “Sir, we’ve got a message from…” I almost tune him out as he goes on. One of my business associates needs me for a meeting.

This isn’t something a billionaire should do—become obsessed with a nineteen-year-old woman I’ve never spoken to, a woman who doesn’t even know my name. Nevertheless, she’s mine. She belongs to me. As hard as I try, I can’t stop feeling that way.

She deserves so, so much better than this. I can’t stay here all evening, though. Anyway, I know where she will be, her home and work addresses. I’m not saying I’m going to stalk her. I’m not saying my obsession has becomethatstrong, but I’m not saying I’ll stay away, either.

* * *

Later, once the meeting ends, I walk through the streets at nighttime with Loki at my side, the Jack Russell so much more peaceful than when I first rescued him. He was three and had been treated terribly, making him scared and aggressive, barking at everything. Now, the black-and-tan dog is mostly calm and happy. However, as we walk through Chelsea’s clean, well-tended streets tonight, Loki rumbles a few times from low in his throat. He even turns and glances at the car slowly trailing us, my ever-present security team.

“Relax, boy,” I tell him, kneeling and stroking him behind the ear.

He grins up at me. The rain has stopped, but the ground is still slightly wet. Maybe I should care that I’m getting my expensive pants dirty, but I don’t. Nothing matters lately or has had any impact except for Amelia.

“Nice and calm on the way back. All right, little man?”

Loki trots at my side, sniffing and marking. My thoughts are free to dance away to Amelia’s video, the one she submitted to Realization Global, to get the internship. I’ve watched it so many times it’s tattooed into my mind, though Amelia probably has no idea who I am or my connection to the company. Billionaires are rare, but there are enough of us that if a man doesn’t want fame, he can remainrelativelyanonymous.

Just thinking about the video gets me fired up. It makes my body pump, my balls swell, and my shaft threaten to get rock hard when I think about her standing in the well-lit room in front of the plain wall.

She was wearing this hip-hugging skirt that showed the shape of her curvy body, her thighs pressing through when she moved. The shirt clutched her breasts, outlining them gorgeously as if tempting me with her shape. There was nothing overtly sexual about it—not like she wastryingto be sexy. More like she justis, without realizing it.

Her hair was straight and brown, combed down to her shoulders, her eyes wide and green, and a gorgeous mixture of bravery and naivety. She’d sometimes briefly bite her lip between sentences, then let it go as though annoyed at herself.

“I believe in the power of art.”

I remember the passion in her voice. I canhearit now as the video replays in my mind.

“A painting, a drawing, a logo… It has the power to bring people together—to make connections you never would have dreamed of before.”

That line lingers in my mind. Connections I would never have dreamed of… That’s her. That’sus. I never imagined falling hard like a meteor for a stranger, a woman less than half my age.

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