Obsession (Magnetic Desires Book 4)

by Misti Murphy

  The subtle tick near his ear when I’d asked him outright about the affair, and the way he’d fallen back told me it hurt him to remember. But guilt? He hadn’t averted his gaze when he’d told me there was no one else. Even if he hadn’t been able to tell me why, it was possible to believe he hadn’t had an affair. Things didn’t add up the way they used to. Maybe they never had. I’d jumped to conclusions based on experience. He’d pushed me away, and I’d been so scared of losing him that I hadn’t been thinking clearly. Dates and a number, and a phone call I couldn’t bring myself to go through with were nothing more than that. They’d never been proof, except of my own insecurity.

  But there’d still been something he hadn’t told me. Even if his answer had been everything I needed to hear to send me running into his arms, there was still something he’d hidden from me, not trusted me with. That was huge, possibly bigger than an affair. At least I could understand an affair. I could understand him wanting more than me, and how hard it was to be faithful. Monogamy and true love were fairy tales, weren’t they? I’d always thought so until him. So what could be big enough to let me believe he’d performed the ultimate betrayal?

  ***

  Three days of avoiding him didn’t help my mood or my ability to concentrate. I wasn’t the kind of girl to pussyfoot around things, but he was everywhere, and I mean everywhere. I’d walk into the office and he’d be sitting on my desk chatting with Chelsea, his gaze magnetized to mine the moment I entered the room. His lingering look would be followed by the tightening of his jaw, before he’d glance away, giving his conversation with Chelsea his full attention. But he’d stay where he was, his hands on my desk, one lone digit tapping the surface behind him, calling my attention and flushing my body with a reminder of what he could do with them. God, I wanted to thread my fingers through his, but I didn’t. I held my ground.

  Even when I’d sprint for the coffee machine, he’d corner me in the hallway, stroke his knuckles along my arm, while he asked me how I was getting on with organizing the office. His gaze would land on my mouth and the prickles that started whenever I thought he would kiss me would flare up, my temperature raising. He was damn near impossible to resist, but he was holding back. The tenseness along his shoulders and jaw making it obvious he understood this standoff couldn’t end the way they always used to.

  Temptation was right fucking there, and the desire to give in to the aching need in his eyes was killing me.

  ***

  Sneaking in the back door of the office, I checked my desk and let out the breath I’d been holding.

  “He’s locked away in his office for the morning,” Chelsea sang out. “You can come out of hiding.”

  “I’m not hiding.” I stumbled across to my desk, dragging my sunglasses off and tossing them in my bag. “You’re chipper this morning.”

  “Yes, well, I’m not hiding from the boss.” She snickered behind the computer screen. “Don’t worry. He’ll be out this afternoon, too.”

  “Not worried.” I winced. “This is just…I’m tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.” Which was the truth, when I was thinking about him every damn minute and craving his touch.

  I rocked back in the chair, closing my eyes. The immediate feeling of relief washed away. Had he decided he didn’t want me after all? I rubbed at my chest, suddenly tight as my heart seemed to shrink in on itself. I’d told him to leave me alone, but it wasn’t what I wanted. I just couldn’t bear to go through the agony of losing him again. My heart still hurt, the bruises indefinite. Was I always destined to want him, even when we had damaged each other so much?

  My email pinged, and I jumped, my fingers grazing over my lips as I leaned forward to read the message. One corner of my mouth tugged up and the other side followed, my heart skipping a beat as I read it. In one sentence he pulled me back under his spell.

  You know you’re not going to last pretending you hate me.

  I stumbled to my feet in an effort to ignore it, but I was already formulating my response. Emptying a whole filing cabinet, I scattered files across the floor, trying to focus on work and not the man who turned my world upside down with a few well-placed words. So many times an email like this had turned into a long lunch spent making up. Sitting on the tailgate of his truck in the car park while we ate leftovers from our dinner the night before. He’d whisper in my ear, naughty words, words of love that would have us eager for the end of the day. Then he’d tickle me until I squealed, pulling me into his lap to caress my ear with his lips before his chin would press against the top of my head while we talked about anything and everything, until it was time to get back to work.

  Funny how it had been the other stuff that had been more important to me back then. The way he could make me smile when I was in the worst mood, and how we could talk for hours before going to sleep. Even now, when I was trying to guard my heart from getting hurt again, I couldn’t help wishing for those moments, or biting back the smile he brought to my face.

  Going back to the computer, I opened the email again and bounced my knee. I used to tell him to bite me. Then he’d explain in detail exactly how he planned to go about doing it. But now? I needed to know what had happened between us. I needed to know why he left me before I could let him back in, but I wouldn’t beg. He’d have to tell me because he wanted to. I’d begged too many times over the years, and he’s never told me a damn thing. But I could make it easier for him, couldn’t I?

  I don’t hate you. But I don’t know why you think we can rekindle things now, or even why we should. Didn’t we prove the first time that we weren’t a good idea?

  PS: Please don’t email me when you’re in the next room.

  The next email alert chimed before I could get out of my seat, and I sank back, kicking a foot up underneath me and swinging while I read it.

  There’s a lot we need to talk about. But I meant it when I said you belonged with me. I gave you time to move on, but we both know neither of us will let the other go.

  PS: I know you want to tell me to bite you, so how about I tell you what else I want to lick? Because I can think of at least one thing I haven’t had my mouth on in way too long.

  It was almost as if I could feel his mouth between my thighs, the heat of his breath on my skin, and I clenched my thighs, trying to ignore it. I pressed my fingers to my temples and stared at the screen, trying to decide how to handle this tentative situation. Funny and flirty, letting him know I was giving him an in, or firm and unyielding until he finally answered the questions that burned through me?

  I tapped my nails on the mouse. Would the answers be something I wanted to hear? On the precipice, my gut knotted, knowing if I asked him again and he didn’t answer, then we couldn’t be anything. Maybe I was a coward. My thready pulse certainly wanted to tell me I was.

  How rude! I’m sure you could. Why are you being so, so insistent? It doesn’t matter. I can get what I get from you from a parrot.

  His reply was almost instantaneous.

  Parrot? Is that so?

  I snickered and danced my fingers over the keyboard.

  Yep. I’d just have to teach it to talk dirty.

  I pressed my fingers to my lips, my gaze glued to the screen. Another ping, and I smacked the button on the mouse.

  I don’t think parrots and pussy play well together. But if that’s the kind of kink you want, I’ll buy you a bird.

  His response made me snort, and I slammed my hand over my mouth, my eyes watering. Chelsea glanced up at me and I shrugged before hiding my crimson cheeks behind the computer monitor.

  Shut your mouth. You’re worse than I am.

  Getting up, I went back to the mess I’d made on the floor and picked it up, my ears pricked for his next email. It didn’t take long. I thumped the stack of papers down on the desk and opened up his newest reply.

  But if I shut it I won’t be able to devour you the way I want to. That sweet, tight pussy of yours pressed to my face while you straddle me. My tongue dipping
into your cunt while you ride me. I haven’t forgotten, sexy legs. It was one of your favorite things.

  Holy hell. I tugged at the collar on my shirt, fumbled with the top button, while heat surged through me, and that ghost of a memory he’d brought up shot through my core. Pressing my lips together, I held back the whimper that threatened to embarrass me in front of Chelsea, but I could almost feel his tongue lapping over my clit, making it twitch. He knew what to say to me to make me want to forget there were reasons we weren’t together. I pushed down the urge to leave my desk, to race across the room and slam into his office, slam into him and let him do exactly what he wanted. Not yet. Giving in wouldn’t change anything.

  Was! It was one of my favorite things to do. But that was before we fucked it up. I’m not sleeping with you ever again, remember?

  I hit send, my heart pounding while I waited for his reply. What if he thought I meant it still?

  Who said anything about sleeping? I sure as hell can’t fuck you if you’re snoring.

  Look, in all seriousness, I know you think we’re done. We’re toxic. Whatever. But you’re wrong. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I miss you. You might be crazy, and I might be a fucking douche canoe for letting you go in the first place, but we belong together. I’m not going to give up on that.

  My throat closed up, my heart flipping. I rubbed at the spot where it seemed to be swelling. This wasn’t some light flirtation now. We were crossing a line, an invisible barrier I’d built to protect myself from missing him. Because missing him hurt too damn much, and it made me crazy. So I held onto the crazy, put it into an email in an attempt to keep it from overwhelming me.

  Belonged. Past tense, Mike. And I’m not crazy!

  I leaped out of my seat and rushed for the break room. Tears prickled behind my eyeballs, and I gripped the edge of a counter and bowed my head.

  I was crazy. He made me fucking crazy. I’d always been on the precipice, but when he’d broken my heart, he’d made it so much worse. Now we were playing with fire, and there were no guarantees. Could I survive him without losing my mind? With shaking hands I poured a coffee and made my way back to my desk. His next email was waiting for me, and I attempted to ignore it, tried to just breathe. But it called to me like a siren.

  Psychopathic, nymphomaniac, wild beyond all reasonable doubt. It doesn’t matter to me. You’re my brand of crazy. You’re mine, from that time I drove you home and for however long we have, full stop, and that delightful pussy of yours, too.

  It was time to end this conversation. I couldn’t think with him infiltrating every second of my time. Not to mention the landslide of emotions he dragged up in me.

  And my little dog, too! You’re still a douche canoe. Now if you don’t mind, boss, I’m going to forget this conversation and get back to work.

  PS: Bring it up again, and I will ensure you can’t find a damn thing in your office.

  And that was the end of it. I closed my email and started sorting through the stack of files. Just code the damn files. Clean them up and put them back in the filing cabinet. Don’t think. I could be professional. And afterwards I’d, what? Maybe go see my sister. After all she and Leo had been through, they’d made it work. She’d let go of her past. Perhaps I could, too.

  I tried to kick my racing thoughts out of my head and concentrate on work, but they crowded in on me. I scraped my palm over my throat. Had it gotten stifling in the office? What if I’d been wrong? What if I’d single handedly wrecked everything?

  Chelsea tracked me as I paced to the desk and picked up my bag from beneath the desk, only stopping long enough to check my email.

  I surrender. Listen, there’s something I have to tell you. It’s kind of important. Can you drop round tonight?

  My heart stopped in my chest. Shutting down my computer monitor, I moved numbly through the office to the back door, stuttering something about going to lunch early.

  He had something he needed to tell me. Something kind of important. Something that could change everything? Like my belief that he’d cheated on me? That he’d stopped loving me like everyone else in my life had?

  I sunk against the door, my hand wrapped around the door handle, while guilt washed over me as memories that felt like they’d happened yesterday and not three years ago hit. Nausea rose in my belly, flooding my throat as I stumbled down the steps to my car. The world spun in reverse, and I slumped behind the wheel, the heels of my palms pressed to my eyes. If—and it was a mega, huge if—everything I’d believed about how we ended was not real, then how could he possibly want me back after what I’d done?

  Three years, one month ago…

  I rifled through his desk. There’d be something. A torn scrap of paper, a phone number, the proverbial lipstick on the collar. My pulse raced in my ears as I thumbed through the contents of the first of four drawers. How had we come to this? How had I turned into this paranoid bitch?

  Six months without sex was a good start. I hadn’t noticed at first. Mike hadn’t been feeling well, he’d been tired. But a week turned into a month before I knew what had happened, and then six. He was tired, working longer hours. That alone wouldn’t have been enough for me to question our relationship. He’d stopped sleeping, too. Wandering the house in the middle of the night, or spending his time locked away in here. I’d taken up staying up with him, until he told me he hated when I did that.

  Finding nothing, I moved on to the next drawer. At first I’d been worried, begged him to talk to me, talk to anyone. See a doctor. But he’d glance over my head and tell me everything was fine. It wasn’t. That was plain as day. The tenseness in his fingers when he touched me, barely at all now. And the days that turned into nights spent at work. Secrets filled the chasm between us, pulling us further apart each day.

  My heart cracked a little as I moved on to the final drawer. This wasn’t how we were supposed to end, was it? I shuffled through the contents and slid the drawer shut. Taking a deep breath, I sank back into the leather chair. Nothing. My heart lifted a little. Maybe I was imagining it. Maybe this was some kind of a rough patch, and we’d be fine. I just had to be patient. I could do that for him. I would do anything for him.

  Tears pricked behind my eyes as I swung a leg up under me. Whatever was wrong, I had to find a way to get him to open up. He wasn’t having an affair, he wasn’t leaving me. Mike wasn’t like my father.

  As I started to close my eyes, I caught a glimpse of his planner, open beneath the blueprints for a house they were building out near the lake. A sharp intake of breath. I held it and pulled the brown leather covered book out from under the papers. I didn’t even have to look past the page it lay open to.

  My hand raced to my mouth, capturing the gasp that tore my chest apart. All there, right in front of me the entire time. Dates and times and a phone number, always the same. I flipped back through the pages. The same number too many times to not mean something. My throat closed up, the tears spilling down my cheeks. That had been happening more often recently than I’d like to admit. I snapped the book shut and raced from the room. Unable to breathe, I slumped against the wall outside his office, shaking like a leaf. I’d gone in to find exactly this, but it couldn’t be real. Couldn’t be.

  I slammed back into the room and stared at the number, then picked up the phone and dialled it. There’d be an answer. Something else, something different. But when she picked up the phone, I couldn’t speak. There was no business greeting, just a husky hello on the other end. My pulse pounded in my ears, and I slammed down the phone. It all made sense now. Every damn thing over the past six months came into vivid clarity. Numbness crashed over me, and I wandered into the kitchen to find the scotch. I poured a liberal shot and swallowed it down. Then I laid out his journal on the counter and sat down to wait.

  ***

  The numbness wore off the moment he walked through the door. He dragged his jacket and tie off and hung them on the back of the stool before pouring himself a glass of wat
er. Didn’t even say a word. Not a damn one. Anger cracked through me, a thousand tiny explosions erupting. “Hello to you, too.”

  “Hey.” He turned, leaned against the cabinets as though he couldn’t hear the snarl in my voice.

  It was too fucking much. I bolted out of the chair. “How could you fucking do this to me? How could you?”

  He just stared at me. Nothing. He said nothing in his defence. Didn’t even ask what I was yelling about.

  “I knew…” my voice cracked, as acute pain racked my chest, “something was wrong, but this.” I threw an arm out, gesturing at his journal.

  His jaw clenched, his mouth pinching.

  “An affair?” I sobbed. “Please tell me it isn’t true? Please tell me I’m making something out of nothing?” I reached for him, wanting him to pull me into his arms and tell me I was wrong. That I was being crazy.

  Instead he stood there, as if he was a statue, or worse, as if he was relieved I’d finally found out. “How long has it been going on, Mike?”

  I’d flipped through that planner from front to back. There were weeks where her number hadn’t come up at all. That there hadn’t been dates marked out as meetings when he’d told me he was out of town, or lying about staying at the office to catch up on work. But they’d been few and far between. He’d boxed out her number, outlined it in ink over and over on the first page. All those months, but they only went back to January. Things had shifted before then, hadn’t they? “How bloody long?”