Secret Obsession

by D. M. Mortier

  “Why can’t you follow orders?” He sounded confused and frustrated.

  Imani wanted to laugh but didn’t dare. “Colonel—”

  “Stop calling me colonel! My name is Colt. Say it.”

  “Look, Colonel…”

  He glared down at her.

  “Okay, okay, look, I’ve had a long day. And I have a long drive ahead of me.”

  “You’ve said it already. You’ve had a long day. Why don’t you share Sarah’s hotel room tonight? And as I promised, I’ll drive you to Chicago tomorrow.”

  “That’s a generous offer, Colt, but I’m fully capable of taking care of myself.”

  “I have no doubt that you can take care of yourself.” He closed the space between them. “Can you stand down for one night and stop fighting?”

  “Miss, are you still needing a ride?” The taxi driver peered up at them in frustration.

  Imani knew that her resolve was weakening under Colt’s overwhelming presence. She rose up on the tips of her toes and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for caring.” She turned and climbed into the cab. “See you around, Colt,” she murmured before the taxi pulled away from the curb.

  Colt watched as Imani’s taxi moved farther and farther away from him. He now understood those love songs that spoke of such heartache during separation. Ever since he met her today, he knew that being away from her was going to be a problem. How did I let this young girl sneak under my defenses so effortlessly?

  “Colt?” Sarah came up beside him quietly, followed by the rest of his family. They all looked at him with varying degrees of questions, expectations, and confusion.

  “She’s not driving to Chicago alone,” he told Sarah by way of answer.

  “She’s not?” Sarah frowned.

  Two hours later, Colt made the exit from I-86W to I-90 W, driving Imani’s Land Rover with Imani and Sarah in the backseat fast asleep. He smiled at the innocent picture they made, which was a stark contrast from the pissed-off and determined Imani of a few hours ago. He’d had to almost wrestle her car keys from her hand to let her know he meant business. There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d let her drive herself to Chicago. Short of fighting him for her keys, which she certainly would have lost, Imani had no choice. In a last-ditch effort of defiance, she climbed into the backseat. Colt smiled at that, too, as it gave him the opportunity to watch her in the rearview mirror unimpeded on the long drive. The girls had been trying to keep their conversation private by whispering their outrage at his highhandedness. He didn’t have the heart to tell them that he could hear every word. Apparently, he was a dinosaur, a caveman, and more abhorrent, a pain in the ass.

  Colt tried not to laugh as he pretended interest in the road ahead of him. He made himself focus on his driving and then thought of Jane, or whatever the hell her name really was. He remembered their letters to each other over the past two years that he’d found such solace in.

  Dear Colonel Ragnarson,

  I hope this letter finds you well. You would have received my gift by now. Please accept it as a token of my thanks and appreciation for all you do to keep us safe. The tactical jacket is made from a special material I created that renders the garment bulletproof, and it is custom made to fit you. The gun is also custom made for you. It is programmed to only be operable on the reading of your fingerprint on the trigger. I pray that they both keep you safe.

  Thank you for your service, and I will never forget your sacrifice.

  Jane

  Colt had been humbled by her letter and her gift. There were many men who he thought deserved her gift much more than he did. Many men who were much braver, made many more sacrifices, and who had much more to lose if they got hurt. He’d fought in more hellholes than he cared to remember. Death was not something he feared. Damn, he’d thought he’d be dead by now. The six bullets he’d taken in Afghanistan hadn’t been his first, and he was sure they wouldn’t the last. And it was for that reason, in his response to her letter, he’d asked her to make other weapons for his brothers-in-arms.

  Dear Jane,

  Thank you for your generous gift. I would have contacted you personally before now to tell you how much I appreciate these assets to our fight here, but two weeks ago, some of my men were ambushed on a mission that our Afghan escorts had led them into. It was at that time that I fully appreciated the true extent of your gift. Because I was less than five minutes away with a handful of other men, we went in to rescue them. Even with our help, we were woefully outnumbered, and if it weren’t for your gift, we would have been out gunned. I was shot point-blank in the chest by an AR-15. Not only did the jacket withstand that attack, your gun automatically morphed into an enhanced assault weapon. I had power, accuracy, and reliability that I’d never experienced in a gun. And that, together with the lightweight armor you provided, helped get us out of there that day.

  The Pentagon would like to talk to you about creating more armor and guns for our Armed Forces. Let me know if I can give the Pentagon your contact information.

  Thanks again,

  Colt

  Colt had waited months for Jane’s response. And in the meantime, the Pentagon became more adamant about finding out who made his jacket and gun.

  Dear Colonel,

  I’m flattered that the Pentagon liked my first and only attempt to make a weapon. Thank them for their interest. However, that was a onetime event.

  I trust you are well and will come home soon.

  Take care,

  Jane

  Colt smiled when he’d read her response. It was the first real smile he’d had in years. He found her uncompromising resolve refreshing.

  Dear Jane,

  I will respect your decision. I will convey your wish to remain anonymous and will not bother you further with the request for your workmanship. I am curious though. If you’re not making weapons, what will you do in your spare time?

  Yours truly,

  Colt

  This time her letter found him in Somalia a month later. There hadn’t been anything to smile at in that mission. The things he’d witnessed, atrocities against women and children, had made him question God’s existence. Where was the humanity in a place like that? He felt like a man broken in mind and spirit. And it was a powerful elixir to receive her letter in the middle of the hell he and his men were in.

  Dear Colonel,

  I have no spare time to speak of, as I spend most of my time working. However, whenever I can, I love a good movie or a good book. In fact, I just watched John Wick 1 and 2 again. Just so you know, your weapon and bulletproof jacket were born from anticipating assets John Wick would have needed. I love the actor too. We lament all the time that there are no more true gentlemen in this world. More people need to meet you, the Southern gentleman, and Keanu, the consummate gentleman.

  Your sacrifice has allowed me these freedoms and these slices of joy. Thank you. And I’m sure those people you are now trying to free would thank you, too, if they could. Those babies that are not even born yet, or even conceived, would want to thank you too. What you do is not in vain. You’re God’s ambassador, His angel here on earth. Thank you for protecting and guarding us.

  What about you, Colonel? What do you do in your spare time? Or what would you like to do if you had spare time? LOL!

  Take care,

  Jane

  Remembering those first few months, the sweet feeling of anticipation every time he received a letter from her, the smile that immediately formed on his lips after reading each letter, he looked back at Imani one last time with the resolve that he had to find Jane first before he did anything about his lust for the brown-skin beauty in the backseat.

  Chapter Three

  Imani quickly pulled on her white Asics running shoes and tied the lacings. She was determined to get her hour run in before having dinner tonight. Sarah had already left for her date with Ryan, a guy she met at work. She smiled at how their life hadn’t changed much from c
ollege. In the six months of living together in Chicago, Sarah had been out every weekend. And she was never short of male companions. “No shame in my girl’s game.” Imani chuckled. “She’s living her best life.”

  Dressed in a body-hugging all-white tracksuit that displayed precisely the hours of gym time she’d dedicated to keeping a fit physique, Imani ran smack into Colt as she opened the door and rushed over the threshold to leave the condo.

  He wrapped his arm around her waist to prevent her from falling. “Whoa, steady,” he murmured softly.

  “Hi,” Imani breathed shakily. “Sarah’s not here,” she rushed out, beyond nervous at Colt’s unwavering stare.

  “And I’m appropriately disappointed about that,” Colt said deadpan.

  Imani felt as though she was drowning in his turquoise gaze. “Sorry?” she murmured, not sure if she heard him correctly. Her brain was suddenly sluggish in comprehending his simple statement.

  She stepped back to put some space between them.

  He stepped forward and eliminated her brief reprieve.

  She backed slowly into the condo.

  And he followed slowly after her. Stalking her.

  She stared at him in helpless fascination. Colt in a suit and tie was suave, sophisticated, and beautifully male. However, Colt in black jeans riding low on his lean waist, black tee molded to his massively muscled chest, arms, and ripped abs was lethal, virile, and any woman’s wet dream personified. She was completely rattled by his presence and molten regard. There was nothing she could do about her choppy breathing and the slight tremble of her limbs as he closed the door behind them.

  Colt’s lips curved into a slight smile.

  Imani felt as though she’d conquered the moon; Colt never smiled. She also knew that he was aware of his impact on her. They’d been playing this game from jump. Both recognized the attraction between them, neither of them acknowledged it, but then they didn’t try to hide it from each other either. He was always the first to pull away from it though. It was as if something reminded him that any relationship between them was taboo, and then he reverted back to the father figure she never asked for. She teased him with it, a bump against him when passing in the hall, supposedly by accident, a lingering look when Sarah wasn’t looking, or pretending to taste each other’s food while only wanting the intimacy of sharing utensils. There were so many ways she flirted and teased and got him to occasionally do the same. In the past three months on his bi-weekly visits, it was as though he’d thrown in the towel and had been giving her much more than she could handle sometimes.

  Imani had to admit that she’d started it first with the lingering kiss to his cheek in greeting whenever he came for a visit. The first time she did it, about six months ago, he’d topped her by hugging her and letting his palm cup her ass. And then she’d really gone and done it several weeks later. She had sensually rolled her ass to sneak a grind against his hard length.

  Colt had grunted.

  “Just seeing what you’re working with.” She’d grinned up at his pained expression, knowing that he couldn’t do anything about it because they had both heard Sarah’s hurried footsteps coming toward them then.

  He’d gotten her back in spectacular fashion a few weeks later though, gotten her back and thrown out a challenge at the same time.

  Sarah, who had gotten an internship at a law firm with Colt’s assistance, had decided that it was time to throw a mask party at their apartment, basically to let the cool kids she’d met in her weekend outings know, “I’m in Chicago, bitches!” The party had started with an invite for about one hundred people. Imani was positive that there were more than two hundred twenty-something-hard-week-from-work people in the apartment. There were lots of drinks, food, music, and masked boys and girls to make the party particularly interesting. Thank God there was space to comfortably host everyone and their walls were mostly soundproof. It helped that most of the occupants in the building were also at the party. The building had a no-children, no-pet rule, which meant that it catered predominately to young single people. And they got on well with always-ready-for-a-party Sarah.

  Imani mostly stayed out of the fray, remaining in the background to ensure Sarah’s guests were taken care of and that no one messed up their apartment. It was as though this group of young people were in a perpetual college-party state. She was having fun just watching them make fools of themselves. At some point, it was probably after her second glass of wine—it had taken about an hour for her to get through one glass, but the second had loosened her usual reserved demeanor—when she found herself on the dance floor with Sarah and a group of her friends.

  Dancing had been another endeavor she’d undertaken to please her parents’ memory, and at one time, she’d contemplated attending Juilliard School. Her mother had been a dancer and had all of her daughters in dance school. Imani’s oldest sister, Mona, had definitely been good enough to attend Juilliard. Imani rented studio time once a week to improve her dance, doing her best to honor her sister as well. Dancing was how she first met Sarah. They had met at a dance studio when Sarah had come to visit the college. It was one of the main reasons Sarah liked parties so much. That girl loved to show off her dance moves and to learn the latest styles by attending nightclubs in whatever city they were in. Imani was content to watch music videos and learn the latest that way.

  So, getting a chance to dance with Sarah had become a rarity. But being slightly uninhibited in a room full of young people who couldn’t care less what she was up to, she was dancing her heart out to any song that the DJ played. She and Sarah were having a great time with several guys who were formidable dancers. They had been on the dance floor for hours, and although she was tired, it was a sweet tired from doing something she absolutely loved to do.

  And then the song changed from fast tempo to a slow love song. Soon everyone was partnered, the lights were dimmed, and Imani just wanted to get the hell out of there. The space they’d cordoned off for dancing was now packed with gyrating bodies and blatant sexual overtures. As soon as she started to leave the area, several pairs of hands reached for her. She was at first annoyed, and then she became terrified as the male hands holding on to her were becoming more forceful, insistent, and bruising. When a hand grabbed her ass, a scream curled from her throat but never escaped because a familiar, welcomed face appeared suddenly before her as he pulled her toward him.

  Colt glared at the three men who were trying to force their will. The scar on his face seemed to become more prominent in his obvious fury. It wasn’t hard to see why they stilled their actions without him having to say anything.

  Imani was so grateful to see him that she didn’t bother looking at her tormentors. The euphoria of being freed and being held by Colt made her dizzy with pleasure. He pulled her tighter against his hard body as he continued glaring at the men who’d dared to touch her. His anger was so palatable that the men immediately melted into the sea of bodies.

  Forcing his way through the crowd, Colt practically dragged her behind him. They’d barely gotten to a darkened alcove before he spun and scowled down at her. “What the fuck is this?”

  Imani, still feeling some shock from her near assault, didn’t quite appreciate his angry tone and pulled away from him. With only a moment of freedom, she found herself again almost sucked back up into the crowd when another male hand grabbed her around her waist and started to pull.

  Colt growled in fury. He sprang forward with the ease of a soldier used to close-quarters fighting. And with a quick jab to the stunned man’s face, Colt knocked him on his ass.

  The man immediately sprang to his feet again and grinned good-naturedly as though to say, “My bad, didn’t know she was yours,” and melted back into the crowd to find a more willing participant.

  Colt gripped her hand in his and pulled her against him. This time his hold was absolute, and Imani knew that there was no chance of her moving until he wanted her to. He leaned against the wall of t
he alcove and held her in front of him.

  Wrapping his arm around her waist, he moodily surveyed the room.

  Imani realized that the atmosphere in the room had changed again. The music became slower and the lyrics more graphic, and the lights seemed to have dimmed even more. Imani couldn’t believe that the party had descended into such a raunchy set. She knew that Sarah and her friends were wild, but she had no idea that they were this wild. She didn’t know what to expect when Sarah told her that she wanted to have a mask party, but she had no idea it would be like this. Normally she would have been uncomfortable in this environment. However, Colt’s presence at her back made her feel safe, although very embarrassed. Couples were almost having outright sex in front of them. Many of the girls were bent at the waist with the men dry humping them. The song “When We” by Tank blasted throughout the apartment. Imani was again embarrassed at how the sight didn’t completely repulse her. She was hyperaware of Colt’s heat surrounding her. She couldn’t help the acceleration of her heartbeat and obliteration of her senses.

  He tightened his arms around her as she tried to get closer to him.

  Lowering his head, with his mouth close to her ear to be heard above the music, and with his displeasure evident in his voice, Colt asked, “Is this what you and Sarah get up to on the weekends?”

  Imani heard his question as though it was a long way off. It was as though she could hear his words, but they didn’t seem to penetrate the sensual fog of the room. The music, the melody, the mood, his masculine heat at her back, his scent, it all infiltrated her senses and couldn’t be ignored. She was drowning in all of it. The beat soaked into her bones, into her veins, and as a dancer, she instinctively moved her hips, her body in rhythm with the soulful music.