Sweet Obsession: Ruthless Games #1

by Rose, Callie

  This is mine. My life. My shit. He has no right to any of it.

  I scoot to the edge of the bed, and I’m about to slip off the mattress and flee when Marcus’s deep voice stops me.

  “Who is this?”

  My head whips around. He’s holding the faded picture of the two little kids, staring at it with furrowed brows.

  My stomach flips over, and I lunge toward him again. “Give that back. You can’t have it!”

  Something in my harsh, desperate shriek must strike a chord in him, because instead of holding me off or playing keep-away, he reaches out to steady me when I almost lose my balance again. Then he hands the picture back to me, his enigmatic eyes watching me intently.

  I blink back the panicked tears that burn my eyes, sitting awkwardly on the bed and holding on to the photo like it’s a fucking lifeline.

  He lets me sit in silence for a little while as I drag in shuddering breaths and force my heart rate to return to normal. But he doesn’t take his eyes off me, and when I’m calmer, he cocks his head lightly, his gaze flicking down to the picture in my hand.

  “Are those people you know?”

  His voice is soft. Gentle, even. But I don’t have to know this man well to know that I don’t really have much choice about answering. He may never raise his voice above the level it’s at now, but he won’t stop asking until he gets an answer.

  “It’s me.” I swallow hard, a lump tightening my throat. “And my brother.”

  Marcus’s thick dark brows jerk upward, and I know I’ve surprised him.

  It makes sense. If he’s been stalking me for over two years, I can’t imagine he hasn’t also done at least a cursory internet search for information about me in all that time—if not a whole lot more than that.

  And none of those searches would’ve mentioned anything about a brother.

  I know. I’ve tried.

  “What’s his name?” Marcus asks. He leans toward me, his tanned skin shining in the lamp light.

  I drag in a breath. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “We were separated when we were really little. He’s two years younger than me, I think, but I don’t even remember his name. Some fucking wires got crossed somewhere, and there’s no record of him in the system. None that I’ve been able to find, anyway.”

  The words feel strange on my tongue. I haven’t told another living soul about this in years. I look at the faded photograph almost daily, but I haven’t spoken of my brother in years.

  “I searched more when I was younger,” I say quietly, my gaze dropping to the rumpled sheets on the bed beneath me. “When the few memories I had were fresher. When I still thought I had a chance of finding him.”

  A girl I knew from foster care gave me the photo when I was eleven. She was older than me, and she insisted that the little boy in the picture was my brother, claiming she remembered us from a halfway house we’d all been in for a few months. She couldn’t tell me much else, not even his name, but she was adamant about the fact that we were siblings.

  When I was in my early teens, before my life careened off the rails almost entirely, I did everything in my limited power to find my brother.

  Back when I still believed in miracles.

  Tears sting my eyes, and I blink rapidly, sucking in a deep breath and holding it as I fight down my emotions. Talking about this with Marcus makes me feel vulnerable, exposed, and raw.

  How does he manage to keep reaching inside my soul like this?

  How does he pull things out of me that’ve been buried for so long I’ve almost forgotten them?

  “It’s stupid.” I shake my head, forcing a quiet laugh as I roll my eyes. “I have no idea if it’s even fucking true. A girl from foster care told me this whole story about how he was my brother, but for all I know, she was messing with me. Jerking me around just because she could.” I lift the picture for emphasis. “This could be me and some random kid. Or, hell, maybe it’s not even me either. Maybe I’ve been carrying around a picture of two complete strangers.”

  Marcus’s brows pull together thoughtfully. He kneels on the bed in front of me, completely unabashed by his nudity. I’m still naked as a fucking jaybird too, but I find that I don’t really care either.

  There are too many other emotions crashing around in my chest for embarrassment over my tits hanging out to be one of them.

  “May I see?” He holds his hand out, his gaze flicking up to meet mine.

  I blink in surprise. This is the first time since I’ve met him that I’ve ever heard Marcus Constantine ask for anything.

  He takes.

  He demands.

  He barges.

  He doesn’t ask.

  I’m so shocked by his question that I react instinctually, my body moving before my brain has even given a conscious command. I hand the picture over, and he takes it gingerly, holding it between his thumb and forefinger as he studies it.

  His expression is intense, serious, and I find myself holding my breath as he looks at the photograph for several long moments.

  Then he looks back up at me and nods. “It’s definitely you. And I think it’s your brother too.”

  My stomach flutters. What this man thinks shouldn’t matter. I shouldn’t care about his opinion at all, and even if I did, it would still be only that—his opinion. He can’t change the unalterable facts of life just by uttering a single sentence.

  But somehow, his words do matter.

  I shrug lightly, trying to hide my reaction. “Yeah. Maybe.”

  “No, not maybe. It is you. And I see the similarities between the little boy and you too. Here.”

  Still holding the picture in one hand, he reaches out with the other and traces his fingertip down the side of my face. A shiver travels through me, making my nerve endings flare to life and my nipples harden.

  “The shape of your face is the same. The way your jaw curves like this. Your mouth is the same.” His thumb brushes my lips. “And your nose is the same. Straight and narrow, symmetrical.” His fingertips graze the side of my nose.

  I stiffen a little under his touch, the fierce need to believe him clashing with the instant, opposite need to quash down any false hope. “Lots of people have noses like this.”

  “No. They don’t.”

  Marcus’s smile is confident. Certain. His gaze is still locked on my face, consuming my features with hungry focus, and for the first time, I think I can truly feel the weight of the years he’s spent watching me.

  Obsessing over me.

  Craving me.

  I may not know this man, but in a strange way, he knows me. Maybe better than anyone else I’ve ever met.

  The thought sends a spike of fear through my chest—not because it freaks me out, but because for one insane moment, it doesn’t.

  Jerking my face away from his touch, I pluck the picture from his grasp and scoot backward on the mattress, putting distance between us. I flip open the cigarette case and slide the worn photo back inside it before scrambling off the bed.

  Now I feel naked.

  Now I feel utterly exposed, stripped of armor, and I don’t fucking like it.

  I grab my panties and jeans off the floor and tug them on with one hand, painfully conscious of Marcus’s gaze on me as I do. He hasn’t moved to stop me, but he’s just watching me from where he kneels on the bed, his broad, muscular body on full display.

  After two and a half years without a right hand, I’ve gotten pretty good at functioning without it. But every movement I make feels awkward and jerky as I pull up my panties and then my pants, struggling for a second with the zipper and fly.

  I snatch up my bra and tank top, which landed on the floor halfway across the room, and as I shrug on the bra straps and reach around to grab for the hooks on the band, Marcus makes a move toward me.

  “No! It’s okay. I’ve got it.” I hold up my hand to stop him, then twist my arm behind my back again to wrangle the hooks.


  A small smile curves his lips, and he doesn’t stop staring at me even though he has to have noticed how flustered it makes me. “I never said you didn’t.”

  Irritation spikes inside me, egged on by the rising need to get the fuck out of here. Whatever I thought was going to happen when I pounded on his door however many hours ago, this isn’t it. This was a huge mistake. Like pouring blood into shark-infested waters.

  All I’ve done is feed the beast.

  The one inside him.

  And the one inside myself.

  Tugging on my top with rough movements, I cross back to the foot of the bed and slip my shoes back on. I feel a little better now that I’m dressed, but now I’m even more aware of how not dressed Marcus is.

  His cock is still semi-hard, jutting out from his body as he kneels on the mattress. His hands rest on his thick, muscled thighs, the dark ink on his fingers standing out against his skin. He has another tattoo on his back, I think. I saw it when we were wrestling over the picture of me and my brother, but I didn’t get a good enough look to know what it is.

  I force my gaze away from him as he slides off the mattress, picking up his pants and sliding them on, not even bothering to locate his boxers.

  He tucks himself away and tugs the zipper up, and the way the dark denim hangs low on his hips, showcasing the deep V cut at his sides, doesn’t do a lot to curb the raw fucking sex appeal that pours off him.

  My pussy clenches in response, a wave of arousal contrasting with a bite of pain as memories of what we just did flood me.

  I’m gonna be sore tomorrow.

  Hell, I’m already sore.

  “Let me drive you home.” Marcus’s voice is back to its usual commanding tone, but I’ve had enough of being commanded for one night. I’ve had enough of my body making stupid choices before my mind has a chance to catch up.

  “No. Thanks.”

  He narrows his eyes, obviously not liking that answer one bit. “How did you get here?”

  “Cab.”

  “How are you planning to get home?”

  The cab ride here was more expensive than I’d hoped, and I really don’t have the money to spring for one on the way back too. I shouldn’t have even come here at all. I don’t want to be out of even more money for a stupid mistake.

  “Bus.”

  “No.”

  My eyebrows shoot up at his blunt, immediate response. “It’s none of your business how I get home.”

  He smiles again, looking slightly amused. “I’m still not sure you understand what is and is not my business, angel.”

  I lift my chin, the trickle of fear that washes down my spine turning to defiance. “I don’t need a ride from you. And I’m not accepting a ride from you. Fucking deal with it.”

  My body tenses slightly as I speak. Part of me expects him to throw me over his shoulder, carry me down the stairs, and throw me in his car like a fucking caveman, and I’m honestly not sure what I’ll do if he does. Will I fight him? Can I fight him?

  And more importantly, can I win?

  But he just shrugs, lifting one broad shoulder as he tugs his phone out of his pocket and checks the screen. He taps something out on the touchscreen as he glances up at me, his mesmerizing eyes glinting with some emotion I can’t quite identify. “It’s almost midnight. You sure the buses are still running?”

  Fuck. Some of them aren’t. But enough still are that I can make it back home, even if it’s by a more circuitous route than I hoped for.

  “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

  He shrugs again. “Okay.”

  I take a step toward the bedroom door, still half expecting him to stop me.

  But in the end, I’m the one who stops myself. My footsteps slow before I reach the dark cherry wood door, which stands open slightly—I didn’t realize Marcus never closed it.

  Turning back to face him, I meet his gaze. “What did you do to Natalie? Really.”

  His expression hardens again when I mention her name, just like it did last time. But his voice is blunt and honest when he speaks.

  “I broke into her apartment. I told her to leave you the fuck alone. Then I told her to get out. Movers came and collected her stuff.” One corner of his mouth quirks up, although there’s no humor in his eyes. “Don’t worry. They were shitty ones.”

  “You didn’t hurt her?”

  His jaw tightens, as if he’s pissed or annoyed—or hurt?—that I would assume that.

  “No. I’m not in the habit of hurting women.” He pauses, then adds, “I don’t hurt anyone if I can help it.”

  Something about his words sends a prickle of unease running through me. There’s an implication, whether he meant for it to be there or not, that he hasn’t always been able to help it.

  That he has hurt people. Because he had to.

  A dozen questions filter through my mind, but I hold them on my tongue. There are some threads that aren’t worth pulling on, and this feels like one of them. It was a mistake to come here, and it would be an even bigger mistake to get to know this dark, magnetic, mysterious man any better than I know him now.

  I already gave him too much of myself, and with every piece of ourselves that we exchange, the strange, undeniable bond between us grows stronger.

  So I just nod in acknowledgement of his answer. Then I pull the bedroom door the rest of the way open and slip outside.

  I was lost in a haze of lust when he carried me up the stairs, completely blind to my surroundings, so when Marcus steps out of the bedroom behind me, I let him take the lead, following him down the hallway and the wide wooden stairs in the foyer.

  When we reach the front door, he grasps the handle and pulls it open for me.

  My pulse picks up a little as I step forward. Memories of being kissed by him, touched by him, fucked by him filter through my mind, and heat flares inside me as I move to pass by him.

  His hand shoots out before I step through the door, catching me by the shoulder. He turns me slightly, then grasps my chin and tilts my head up.

  His lips don’t crash against mine like they did the first time we kissed. Instead, he buries his face in my hair, inhaling a soft breath before running his nose over my ear and pressing a gentle kiss to my cheek.

  It’s so unexpectedly intimate that it shocks me, and I quickly tug my upper arm out of his grasp, muttering something incoherent and pointless as I dart out onto the stoop.

  I trot quickly down the front steps and am partway down the walkway that leads to the street when I notice the dull thrum of an engine running.

  Glancing up, I see an expensive looking sleek gray car idling in front of Marcus’s house.

  The tinted passenger window rolls down, and bright blue-green eyes twinkle at me as Theo dips his head to peer out the window.

  “Oh, hey. Did somebody call for a bus?”

  Chapter 10

  I freeze mid-step, then turn to glare back up at the house.

  Marcus is lounging in the door frame, his arms crossed over his bare chest and the half-smile I’m learning to both love and hate curving his lips.

  He shrugs slightly. “You said you wouldn’t let me drive you home. I said okay. So Theo will.”

  I grit my teeth. Jesus. That’s why he relented so easily back upstairs. And that’s what he was tapping out on his phone after he checked the time. He was calling in his backup.

  And that backup arrived in less than five minutes.

  It’s both impressive and disturbing how close these three men all seem to be—the way they function as a unit and always have each other’s backs.

  I’m almost envious of it, in a weird way. Although right now, I hate it.

  “I hope you have exact fare, because that’s all I can accept.” Theo winks at me, clearly amused by his own joke. “Sorry. City policy.”

  Goddammit. Why does he have to be so fucking charming?

  My gaze shifts from the man in the car to the one still leaning against the door frame. They’re both watching me, and
even though there’s a few yards of space between me and each of them, I still feel boxed in.

  Marcus knew exactly what he was doing when he sent that text to his friend. He was taking away my other options, narrowing my choices down to exactly two.

  Accept a ride home from him. Or accept one from Theo.

  “Fine.” I turn back once more to meet Marcus’s gaze as I speak. My voice is hard, and something about my angry, cold expression makes him straighten a little, as if he wants to step toward me.

  To do what? Apologize?

  Doubtful.

  I don’t want to let him get near me again, though. I don’t need any more of his mind-obliterating touches tonight.

  I’m pissed at him right now, just like I was when I came to the house. Regardless of what happened during the hours in between, I want to stay that way. It’s the only emotional response to this man that makes any sense. All of my other feelings toward him are a chaotic mess I can’t even get a handle on.

  So before he can move, I pivot on my heel and walk quickly toward Theo’s car, yanking the front passenger door open and sliding inside. I roll the window back up, and I don’t look toward Marcus again as the car pulls smoothly away from the curb.

  I don’t know what kind of car it is, but even I can tell it’s a nice fucking ride. It probably cost more than two years of my rent. The inside has a pleasant smell, a mixture of that distinctive “car leather” scent and something else. Something woody and a little sweet, like dark cherry and oak.

  I have a feeling that scent is coming from Theo, and I do my best to ignore the way it tickles my nostrils, warm and addictive.

  We drive in silence for a few minutes, with only the soft sound of the radio filling the car.

  I don’t bother to tell him where I live. I’m sure he already knows.

  His gaze flicks over to me a few times as he drives, one large hand resting languidly on the wheel, his muscled forearms stretching the rolled sleeves of his Henley. The expression on his face is a mixture of curiosity and amusement, and I try to keep my own features on lockdown so he can’t read anything on my face.