Page 28 of Driving My Obsession

My eyes spring open.I try to blink away the wave of disorientation, but a wild panic squeezes my chest in a vise grip. Where am I?The cabin in Wisconsin.What am I doing here?Escaping your psycho stalker.Why is it so quiet?

My inner voice has no answer.

I feel around the side table for the bedside lamp and find the switch, but nothing happens when I click it back and forth. Thinking the bulb has gone bad, I get onto my knees on the mattress and reach for the cord attached to the ceiling fan. I’m met with more darkness. The power is out.

Goosebumps born of fear prickle my skin. I’ve never been afraid of the dark, even as a child, but having a stalker can certainly change your outlook on things. It can make you feel unsafe in situations you would normally breeze through. This would be one of those situations.

I grab my shorts from the bedside table and slide them over my legs, then feel my way through the dark until I reach the door. I grab the knife from the top of the dresser, but after seeing the way Ambrose beat the living shit out of that man, I don’t think I’ll need it. He’s my weapon, and I need to get to him.

“Ambrose?” I call into the hall. When he doesn’t answer, I tiptoe to his door and knock. “Hey, are you up?”

His feet shuffle toward the door, and it swings open. I can’t see him, but his masculine scent rushes toward me on a puff of night air breezing through the open window behind his silhouette. Black leather. Some sort of exotic spice. A twinge between my legs replaces my fear for a moment.

“What’s going on?” he asks in a husky voice, and I feel awful because I’ve clearly disturbed his sleep.

My eyes begin to adjust to the darkness, and I look at anything other than the way the moonlight catches on the defined muscles carved into his shirtless chest. “I’m not sure. The power seems to be out. Could you check the breaker box?”

“Maybe Mommy and Daddy forgot to pay the power bill.” He starts to close the door, but I wedge my foot in the opening.

“Look, I’m not usually the type to get scared shitless from a power outage, but considering the reason I’ve come to this cabin, it would be really nice if you could help me. Please?” I place my hand on his, remembering his disdain for my touch only once my fingers graze his slick scars. But he doesn’t pull away.

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Okay, fine.” He grips my hand and pulls me into the room, then leads me to the bed and pushes me backward until I’m sitting. “I’ll check the breaker box in fifteen minutes if the power hasn’t come back, but I’m not risking my neck on those steep-as-fuck stairs unless I have to. Until then, you can stay in here.”

That option would be great if a fresh fear hadn’t reared its ugly head. I’m less afraid of the power outage than the way I feel now that I’ve seen the moonlight gliding over his muscles. I consider asking him to close the curtain, but that wouldn’t erase the overpowering manly scent or the warmth radiating from his body. He folds his arms over his broad chest, and the shift in his stance highlights the package in his boxers. The moon literally sends a beam of light right along the edge, outlining his bulge in 4K clarity. My mouth waters and my nipples press against my cami. I fold my arms over my chest so the moonlight can’t betray me as well.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m like a bitch in heat. I should be focused on ensuring my safety, not eye-fucking my chauffeur.

I clear my throat and set the knife on the side table beside the bed. “Sorry it’s so hot in here.”

He sits beside me, and the mattress sinks from his weight and pushes me closer to him. Our shoulders are nearly touching. “It’s not your fault.”

His body heat courses over my arm. He’s a furnace, and I want to burn alive.

I need to stop. “Maybe I should just go downstairs and check the breaker myself.” I get to my feet, but my shitty ankle gives way and sends me sideways...right on top of him.

He grips my body with his hands to keep me from rolling to the floor, and I’m draped across his lap like a naughty schoolgirl who’s about to get a paddling from the headmaster. Now instead of seeing the outline of his cock, I feel it pressing into my ribs. And it’s so much bigger than it looked. And it’s hard.

I get to my feet, but he keeps his hands on my waist as I stand in front of him. His warm grip runs down to my hips, and I don’t stop him. I absolutely should, but I don’t. I’m too shocked. All this time, I thought he hated me—I thought I hatedhim—but I guess the animosity between us has been some weird form of foreplay. That’s the only way I can rationalize the electric heat between us right now.

“What are you doing?” I ask, but it’s a stupid fucking question. I know what he’s doing, and I want him to do it.

“Shh.”

His fingers sink into my sides, and he pulls me closer. After raising the hem of my cami with his teeth, his lips move along my stomach, his tongue spinning warm circles across my skin. I allow my hands to move to his biceps, to feel the taut muscles tensing just beneath the surface. Ridges ripple under my fingertips. I can only assume these are more scars. He’s covered in them, but I somehow find them more of a turn on than a turn off. This man has survived something horrific. He has beaten something with his spirit instead of his fist.

A shiver runs through me as his hands explore beneath my shirt. He teases me with his tongue and teeth until he brings a moan from my lips.

Then he stops.

He fucking stops.

“I think it’s been fifteen minutes,” he whispers against my flesh. Warm breath brushes across the wet lines left behind by his kisses, and I want to melt. But why did he stop? What sort of cruel game is this? I’m ready to pounce on him and ride him like I’m going for the eight-second bell, andnowhe wants to check the breaker box?

He rises to his feet, and it takes everything in me to stop myself from yanking down his boxers and begging him to stay with my mouth. The rustle of fabric fills the silence as he puts on his pants and leaves the room. Once the door closes behind him, I pace beside the bed. No matter how I sort through this weird situation in my mind, it doesn’t make any sense. He wanted me—Ifelthow much he wanted me—and even though I don’t know why, I wanted him.

My foot collides with something by the bed. Nylon fabric wraps around my ankle. I kick it free, and something hard skitters across the floor. Feeling around, I realize the strap of his bag wound around my foot and I’ve knocked something out of it. I’ll have to clean it up before he gets back so he doesn’t think I was snooping. God, how embarrassing.

The ceiling fan whirs to life, and the gentle buzz of electricity fills the house once more. Whatever was wrong, Ambrose has fixed it. Now I just have to figure out how to fix whatever the fuck is wrong with me. I reach for the cord on the ceiling fan and light fills the room. This cabin has been empty for so long that the breakers probably—

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