Page 35 of Obsession

More importantly, she thought of me.

No one has ever thought of me before.

And just like that, I want to see her. Ineedto see her.

I’m up on my feet, pacing the small space like a caged animal. The urge to escape these concrete walls has me pulling at my short hair. Fuck this. I’ll die if I can’t look at her again—those expressive brown eyes, and the way her breath hitches when I invade her personal space. I’m not hungry. I’m fucking ravenous. The blood in my veins craves her presence. I need to touch her and hurt her and make her mine.

I can’t think of that man, her colleague, sitting across from her at a restaurant. Blessed with her fucking company.

Her sweet smile.

The way her eyes flash when she’s nervous or aroused, or the way she sucks her lip between her teeth without realizing how seductive she is.

I stride over to the door and bang my fist on it with one goal in mind: I need to see her and hear the slight shake in her voice when I hold her gaze hostage. Screw the fucking needle, this is a true death.

This is torture.

I bang again, but no one comes.

No one fucking cares.

Two days later,I’m ready to fucking combust when the guard finally leads me down the hallway.

The chains between my ankles rattle with every step, and my shackled hands are clasped in front of me. She’s so close I can smell her out here in the hallway—apples and vanilla and something sweet and uniquely her.

Officer Garcia looks bored as he opens the door and gestures for me to enter.

No sooner have I stepped through the doorway, my eyes seek her out. She’s seated at the table, her coat draped across the back of her chair. The top buttons of her lilac blouse are undone, revealing a hint of cleavage, just enough to be flirty without coming across as provocative.

I can’t take my eyes off her while the guard unlocks my handcuffs and shoves me down on the chair with a firm grip on my shoulder. I don’t care about his undue rough treatment, not when she’s here, watching me from beneath her dark lashes.

I place the note on the table and slide it forward with a single tattooed finger, holding her hostage with my gaze.

She picks it up and slowly unfolds it, those eyes flicking away from mine briefly and leaving me bereft before they lift again. She swallows thickly and tips her chin, radiating defiance and attitude.

My fingers twitch on the table.

She notices, her gaze skating down and widening a fraction. She shifts in her seat as she looks over at the guard to ensure he’s not paying attention.

He’s not.

Officer Garcia hates his job and couldn’t care less what I do as long I don’t kill the reporter.

“You’re not the boss of me,” she states boldly, and damn if my dick doesn’t swell when her voice wobbles at the end.

I count the seconds of the clock, studying her as intently as she’s studying me. “I told you specifically to turn him down.”

“And you have no fucking say in what I do,” she sneers, losing her composure before inhaling a deep breath.

As I lean forward, the chair creaks loudly, but not too loud to miss the hitch in her breath or how she tracks my every move. She’s as aware of me as I am of her.

I keep my voice low; my words are for her ears only. “Remember what I said would happen if you denied me?”

She looks down at the recorder, then back at me when I tangle my legs with hers.

“What did I say would happen?” My words bleed venom.

“You threatened to kill him.”