Under His Obsession Read online

  I crinkle my nose. “Vinegar? Are you kidding me?”

  “Do I look like the kind of guy who would kid in a situation like this?

  I lift my chin an inch. “I don’t really know you that well.”

  “Then you’re just going to have to trust me on that.”

  “I don’t trust anyone.” Working at a cutthroat magazine like Starlight is enough to make anyone jaded. And I can’t forget my ex promised to love me forever. Look how that turned out.

  “Makes two of us,” he says quickly. “But I do know what I’m doing?”

  “You’ve been stung?”

  He nods.

  “The vinegar worked?”

  “Yeah. The pain you’re feeling, I can relate.” His eyes hold a measure of sympathy as they meet mine. I study him for a second, debating my next move. His jaw clenches, and he finally breaks the silence. “Am I doing this, Khloe?” he asks, and even when frazzled with my obstinance, he’s still so goddamn sweet and charming I think I might get a toothache.

  “Has anyone ever said no to you?” I ask.

  He responds with, “The vinegar works. I promise.”

  “Vinegar it is, then,” I say.

  “Stay put, okay?”

  I nod and he disappears into what I assume is the master bathroom. Drawers open and close, and a minute later he comes back with a spray bottle and tweezers.

  “I’ll be as gentle as I can,” he says, his mouth tight, like he knows this is going to hurt. “But this might sting a bit.”

  “It’s already stinging. Besides, I can handle a little pain.” As soon as the words leave my mouth and I catch a grin curving his kissable lips, I wish I could get them back, swallow them down into the depths of my stomach, never to be heard from again.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  Maybe I should sleep with him, get this insane arousal out of my system so I can talk and act like a woman who isn’t obsessed with sex. But he’s my boss, and we both have rules about that.

  “Good to know,” he says, his voice an octave deeper. “Take a big breath, Khloe.”

  I do as he says, and his gaze drops from my mouth and moves to my expanding chest. That’s when I become acutely aware that I’m in a revealing bathing suit, and my nipples are pressing hard against the thin material, making my current arousal painfully obvious. Why am I constantly in revealing clothes around this guy?

  “Okay,” he says gruffly. “Okay, okay,” he repeats, like he’s talking to himself and trying to pull it together. He mutters what sounds like a curse and turns his attention to my sting.

  “Tell me what you used to do for a living,” he says, and I get that he’s trying to distract me as he uses the tweezers to pull the first tentacle off.

  “My dream is to someday write a book,” I say, hedging the question.

  “Oh yeah? What kind of book?”

  “Maybe a thriller. I love psychological thrillers and horror.”

  He casts me a quick glance. “Really? I never would have guessed.”

  “No?”

  “I would have thought something along the line of satire.”

  “And why is that?” I give him a sassy look that suggests he knows nothing.

  “That’s why,” he says with a laugh. “You’ve got a sharp tongue.”

  “You don’t know anything about my tongue,” I shoot back. His hand stills over my leg, trembles a tiny bit, and my mind once again goes off in an erotic direction, envisioning him getting to know my tongue better by pressing his lips to mine.

  “Just one left,” he mutters and steadies his hand enough to pull off the last tentacle.

  “Not so bad,” I say, until he sprays the open wound with whatever is in that bottle. I let out an ungodly scream, and I’m pretty sure I pierced Will’s eardrums judging by the way his face is contorting.

  I grab the spray bottle from him. “What is this fresh hell?” I read the label. “Sting No More. It’s clearly mislabeled. It stings twice as bad.”

  “Give it a second,” he says, a grin playing with the corner of his mouth. “The vinegar will neutralize the venom.”

  “My day is just getting better and better.” I toss the bottle to the bed, but lo and behold the pain starts to settle.

  “Good?” he asks.

  “Better.”

  “Now we have to put your leg into very, very hot water.”

  “Sure, why not. It’s been fun so far.”

  He presses his hands to my thighs, leaving a burning imprint as he pushes off me to stand up. “You really are a good sport about all this, Khloe.”

  “Yeah, that’s me, good sport Khloe.”

  “I actually admire that.”

  I meet his eyes, and it’s rather silly how that simple compliment managed to jump-start my pulse, speeding it up enough to make me breathless.

  He holds his hand out to me, and I let him lift me to my feet. I’m about to put pressure on my leg, but once again find myself in his arms. Good thing, considering the muscles in my legs have dissolved. He carries me to his master bathroom, which is twice as big as the bath in his spare room, and sets me on the marble countertop. I take in the room as he fills a claw-foot tub. Steam rises, dampens the sliding glass shower doors and the mirror behind me. I don’t dare turn to look at my tear-streaked face and beach hair. I had enough of a fright with the jellyfish.

  “All set?” he asks.

  I nod, and he lifts me from the counter and sets me on the side of the tub. I wince as I plunge my leg into the water, bracing the other on the edge of the tub. My flesh instantly turns red from the heat. “When you said hot water, what you really meant to say is water so hot you can boil an egg.”

  He sits on the tub beside me, his feet on the floor. “You okay?”

  “I will be.” I let out a sigh. “Thanks to you.”

  He nudges me with his shoulder. “Was there a compliment in there somewhere?”

  “Probably not.”

  He laughs, and it comes out rough. His body rumbles, and I become acutely aware of his close proximity and what it’s doing to me.

  “Can you get me a towel, please?”

  He grabs a towel from the cabinet and hands it to me. I drape it over my shoulders.

  “Are you cold?”

  “No.” I’m pretty sure I’m going to spontaneously combust. “I just... I’m in my bathing suit.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  My gaze cuts to his. My ex spouted some pretty harsh comments the last time I wore a suit around him. The thing is, I have no problem with my curves. I rather like them, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to starve myself to fit society’s expectations. But I get that men prefer waif-thin models, and Will here is no exception.

  “I wasn’t expecting anyone to see me in it.” I shrug into myself, but my breasts only spill out more. “It’s last year’s, and I didn’t have a chance to go shopping.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “I never said that.”

  “But you did say something about it earlier. I wasn’t sure what you meant.”

  His hand moves, brushes against mine as I grip the edge of the tub. “I wouldn’t have worn it if I thought you were going to see me in it. It’s just that it’s a bit small.”

  “Yeah.” A sound catches in his throat as his gaze slowly skims downward. “I noticed that, too.”

  I’m about to die of mortification, until I catch the heat in his eyes. And his breathing is a little more labored. Am I reading this situation right, or has the venom gotten to my brain?

  “In the rule book, two-piece bathing suits are prohibited.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “No,” he grumbles, and scrubs his face.

  “That’s really in the book?”

  His jaw tightens, his muscles rippl
ing. How is it possible that he’s getting better-and better-looking by the second?

  “It’s going to be in about two minutes,” he murmurs.

  The air around us charges, and my heart speeds up. “Will...” I say, his name coming out a little soft, a little husky around the edges.

  He shifts closer, his breath warm on my face. “You remember my rule about not getting involved with those in my employment.”

  “Yeah,” I say, and he touches the cotton towel, rubs his fingers over it in a way that has my thoughts sliding off track. I take a moment to envision the rough pad of his thumb touching another part of my body in much that same manner.

  “You’re a beautiful woman with a killer body, Khloe, and if you wear this again...” He lets out a slow breath, and it blows a tendril of hair from my face. He moves closer, breathing me in as his mouth goes to my ear. “Let’s just say, I’ve never been tempted to break that rule. Until now.”

  I take a few deep breaths. Is this guy for real?

  Wait, I’ve already established the fact that he’s insane.

  “My ex,” I begin before I can think better of it. “He wanted me to lose weight, fit in more with what a woman is expected to look like.” I turn my head slowly, and there’s a mixture of heat and anger in Will’s eyes.

  “Your ex is obviously an idiot.”

  “That’s why I left him.”

  “You shouldn’t change yourself. Not for anyone.”

  “I don’t plan on it. I like myself just fine.” He smiles at that, and heat arcs between us. I take a fast breath to get my head together. “Even if you were tempted to break the rules, I’d never sleep with another woman’s man.”

  “Bevey is an old friend,” he explains.

  “That’s not who I’m talking about.”

  He stares at me, his brow furrowed. I give him a moment to process—personally I’m not thinking straight, and I suspect a lot of blood has left his brain, too. Damned if I don’t want to glance down to check. A second later, his eyes widen in understanding. “You’re talking about Jules.”

  “That’s right.” I lift my chin a little. “I have rules, too, you know.”

  His grin is slow, sexy as hell. “So you were listening in to my conversation.”

  “No... I...” Shit. Busted.

  “It’s okay, you signed the nondisclosure agreement.”

  “It was hard not to listen. You weren’t trying to be quiet. I am curious, though. What is the present you got her? Diamonds would be my guess.”

  “What would a four-year-old want with diamonds?”

  “Four?” Okay, now that I didn’t expect.

  “Jules is my four-year-old niece.”

  A thrill I wish I wasn’t feeling races through me.

  “Don’t you keep up with the news, Khloe? My cousin Tate and his wife, Summer, have a little girl.”

  “Now that you mention it.”

  He leans into me, his mouth grazing my shoulder. “Is that the only thing stopping you...?”

  My left leg drops from the edge of the tub and plunges into the hot water. It splashes up on us, dousing the lust bubbling between us.

  He pulls back, fast, and his face hardens, his eyes a blazing mess of lust and regret. “Khloe... I. Damn. I don’t know what I was thinking.” He inches back, putting a small measure of distance between us. It does nothing to extinguish the heat in my body. “We...ah...probably shouldn’t let this happen, right?”

  My brain is so fuzzy, I can’t tell whether he’s making a statement or asking a question. “You’re right,” I say. Getting involved with my boss is wrong on so many levels.

  And why is that, Khloe?

  Oh, because...

  I rack my lust-induced brain, but can’t come up with an answer. He’s single. I’m single. He’s made it clear he’s not the settling-down type, and I’m not looking to settle down with him. I don’t even like rich, entitled guys. But there is no doubt we’re physically attracted to each other, and we’re both consenting adults. Why can’t we have a little fun if we’re clear on the rules from the get-go?

  “Here,” he says, the deep tenor of his voice dragging me back to the present as he hands me another towel. “I’m going to lift you out, and you can drape that around your leg.” He bends into me, hooks his arms under my legs and gently lifts me from the tub.

  I put my hands around his neck, and he hisses quietly as I spread my fingers to touch more of his skin. I slide my hand down his back, palm his muscles. His jaw is so tight I fear something might snap as he sets me back on the counter, takes the towel from me, and with the utmost care pats my leg dry. I widen my thighs a little more to make it easier for him, and maybe to tease him a bit. Now that I know what I do to him, that he too feels the heat between us, I plan to torment. I’m not going to make things easy on Will. In fact, I’m going to make things very hard on him.

  As a delicious, devious plan forms in my mind, I say, “I think I need to see this rule book of yours, sir.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Will

  WHAT THE EVER-LOVING hell is going on in my life? It’s been three days since I touched down on Saint Thomas. Three long, torturous days with Khloe prancing around in her skimpy uniforms and bending over to dust every possible low spot. At night, when she’s not driving me insane, she sits on her deck, her head buried in her journal, her soft humming sounds filtering in through my bedroom window and caressing my cock.

  I glance up from my laptop as she hums a tune and bends to run a feather duster over the baseboards—again. I only have so much control, and with her aiming that sweet ass my way, it’s about to shatter.

  “Haven’t you cleaned that already?”

  “Yes,” she says and goes back to her humming.

  “Do you think you could stop humming?” I command in a deep voice.

  She blinks innocent eyes at me, although I’m beginning to believe there is nothing innocent about her. She’s been reading over the rule book for the last two nights while I’ve been in my office working on a new Do Not list.

  My phone pings, and I reach for it. It had better be Granddad. I’ve put a call in to him every day, and he’s yet to call me back. This time it’s Tate.

  “How’s Saint Thomas?” he asks. “Is the view still as spectacular as always?”

  I lift my eyes slightly as Khloe sways her hips to an imaginary song inside her head. “More spectacular than ever,” I grumble.

  Tate laughs. “Sure doesn’t sound it.”

  “Just a lot on my mind. Like how is Granddad? Why isn’t he calling me back?”

  “I’m not sure. I was with him earlier, and he never said anything about you calling.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “As good as can be expected. He’s midnineties, after all.”

  “Do you think... Do you think he might be losing his mind?” I blurt out.

  “I’ve been thinking that for years, but why are you suddenly asking?”

  Khloe leaves my office, and I lower my voice. “The woman he hired to accompany me to Saint Thomas. I’m not sure what he was thinking.”

  “She’s not working out?”

  “She broke the vacuum, a few dishes, everything she cooks she burns, and she...”

  Papers rustle in the background. “She what?”

  “I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you.”

  “Now I really need to hear.”

  “She wears these French maid uniforms. Hang on, I’ll send you a link of what the outfit looks like.” I do a quick search, find the image on Amazon, grab the link and shoot it off to Tate.

  I wait a second. As soon as a low, slow whistle followed by a hoot of laughter comes through the line, I know he’s opened it.

  “Lucky you,” Tate says.

  “No, not lucky me. You know my rules.”
>
  “Yeah, fuck the rules, Will. If she’s hot, and I think Granddad said something about your new assistant being a looker, then I’d go for it. What do you have to lose?”

  “Right now, I’m losing my mind.”

  Tate lets out another roar. “Hey, you never know. She could be the one.”

  “Tate, you know—” I stop when, from the kitchen, something hits the floor and smashes.

  “What was that?” Tate asks.

  “Lunch, I’m guessing.”

  “Sounds like things are in bad shape.”

  Khloe’s not. Her shape is just perfect. My cock, however...

  I lean back in my chair and look out into the hall. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I say, “Maybe I should cut this trip short.”

  “Nah, just don’t work so hard. Put your feet up and have some fun for a change.”

  “Wait, you called me. Did you need something?”

  “Nope, just checking in. Jules is excited about her party, and I’m just making sure her uncle Will is going to be there,” he says, but I have a feeling that’s not entirely true. I never get calls when I’m here in Saint Thomas. Everyone knows I come when I need solitude, and I’d assured Summer I’d be there for Jules’s party. What is this really all about? Before I can ask, Tate says, “So you’ll be there?”

  “I’ll be there. If I don’t spontaneously combust first.”

  Tate laughs again. “Yeah, you need to get laid, man.”

  I’m beginning to believe he might be right.

  “While that sounds about right, I haven’t had a chance to check on the resort or the school’s progress yet. I’ve been afraid to leave Khloe alone. She nearly lit the kitchen on fire the other day. I was thinking of getting Bevey to give her a few lessons.”

  “You’re good in the kitchen. Maybe you could show her a few things.”

  Goddammit, the things I want to show her involve the use of a mattress, not a stove.

  “I better go check on her. Can you get Granddad to call me?”

  “Will do.”

  We say goodbye, and I push from my chair to check on the commotion in the kitchen. I don’t smell smoke, which gives me a measure of relief. I step into the kitchen to find Khloe at the table, writing something in my rule book.