Under His Obsession

by Cathryn Fox

  “I was fired recently,” I say.

  “Oh, shit. Sorry.” He goes quiet, his mouth tight.

  “It wasn’t my fault.” I roll my eyes and can’t keep the disgust from my voice when I add, “Men in power, they’re all alike.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “My boss wanted me to do something, and when I refused, he canned me.”

  His expression turns angry. “Jesus, sorry.”

  I know what he’s thinking. That my boss wanted sex, or something equally disturbing. The sudden visual of a naked Benjamin batters my uneasy stomach. I think of a naked Will instead, but that just batters another part of my body.

  “Yeah, he was a real jerk, but I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to move forward, okay?”

  “Just so you know, I would never put you in any position you didn’t want to be in.”

  Even though he doesn’t strike me as a missionary sex kind of guy, I glance down at our vanilla position—the only one I’m familiar with, sadly—and take in the two hundred pounds of rock-solid muscles beneath me. Lord, he’s everything fantasies are made of, and a thousand new ones begin to run through my brain.

  “Um,” I say.

  He laughs. “Current position excluded. This was for your own safety. But you know what I mean, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I have rules.” His eyes narrow, and the muscles along his jaw ripple. “A lot of them.”

  “James warned me.”

  “Getting involved with an assistant is a hard no.”

  Too bad my nipples didn’t get the memo.

  I let out a shaky breath. “Getting involved with my boss is a hard no for me, too.”

  “Then we’re on the same page.”

  And the same table.

  I nod. “I think we can get up now,” I say, throwing up a silent prayer that he can’t feel my pebbled nipples pressing into his hard chest. “The plane has stabilized.”

  “Slowly,” he says. “Any fast movement could turn your stomach again.”

  I inch up from his hardness. And my God, every movement is agonizing, like slowly tearing a bandage off—if said bandage were covering every erogenous zone in my body. Will follows me up and stays close as he guides me to my seat.

  “Sit here,” he commands in a soft voice, and while I’m not one to take orders, a shiver goes through me at his. “I’ll open the bed.”

  I do as he says, noting the way his T-shirt strains against his biceps as he opens the sofa and makes me a bed. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and smooth my hair from my face. I glance down, and groan when I see the water stains on my shirt. In all the commotion, I left my blanket behind and now my nipples are staring straight at the man turning my way. Is the universe trying to play some cruel joke on me? I’m a good person. Kind to the elderly and animals. Yet...this.

  Before I can cover up, his glance drops, and his eyes linger on my puckered nipples for a brief second.

  “Khloe.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Your blanket,” he says gruffly, but I’m already reaching for it.

  Get it together, girl. I might be attracted to him, but clearly I’m not his type. Not only does he date model-thin girls, he made it clear that I was hired to cook, clean and cater to his needs. Those needs don’t involve sex. Which is a good thing. I’m not about to mess around with my boss. Even if he asks me to.

  Okay, maybe if he asks me to...

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Will

  I CRACK OPEN a new bottle of water, pour it into a clean glass and make my way to Khloe’s room. She fell fast asleep on the plane the second her head hit the pillow and has been coming in and out of consciousness ever since. I’ve been giving her ibuprofen every four hours, and her temperature has come down, but this flu has definitely kicked her ass to the curb.

  At first light I called Granddad, but Summer, who’s been checking in on him, answered, saying he wasn’t showing signs of the flu but was resting. She assured me she’d give him the message and have him call back, but I’ve yet to hear from him.

  As I approach Khloe’s door, a low, agonized groan reaches my ears. I slow my steps and walk softly. After the night she had, I’m sure her head must be killing her. I inch the door open and find her sitting up in the bed, dark circles under bloodshot eyes as she catalogs the unfamiliar room.

  “Will?” she asks when her gaze lands on me.

  “Welcome to the living,” I say.

  She smooths her hand over her wayward curls, and I can’t help but grin. With bedhead hair, cheeks puffy and red from fever, and big glassy eyes, she’s a hot mess, but goddammit, she’s still as sexy as hell. She’s off-limits, I get it, but no red-blooded male could possibly be immune to those full round curves and thighs I could really sink my teeth into. I had a handful of her lush body when I carried her from the plane to the car and then again to this bed. Not a single bone jabbed me, and I have to say I damn well liked it. Perhaps that’s why all her sexy curves infiltrated my dreams a time or two last night.

  How is a girl like her still single?

  Not your business, Will.

  She smacks her lips together, peels her tongue from the roof of her mouth and cringes as she swallows.

  “Here, drink this.”

  I hand her the glass, and she gives me a grateful smile.

  “Thank you.” She swallows half the contents and sets the glass on the nightstand. “You didn’t happen to get the license plate of the truck that ran me over, did you?”

  “Afraid not.” I lean into her and place my hand on her forehead. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like the walking dead.” Her eyes narrow. “How long have I been asleep?”

  I give a low, slow whistle. “You’ve had one hell of a night, Khloe. Tossing and turning and moaning for hours on end.”

  “Hours?” Her gaze goes to the closed curtains, a hint of morning sun peeking in through the cracks.

  “It’s eight in the morning,” I say.

  She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes and rubs. “My God, the last thing I remember was lying down on the plane. I have no idea how I got here.”

  I sit down next to her on the edge of the bed, and she sways toward me as the mattress dips. “I brought you here, put you to bed and have been waking you every four hours to give you ibuprofen.”

  “You have?” she asks, her eyes big.

  I rake my hands through my hair. “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “What I can’t believe is that I threw up in front of you.”

  “Again, you mean?” I say, hoping to coax a laugh out of her. I don’t.

  “Yeah, again,” she groans. “I haven’t been sick like that since I was—”

  “In the back seat of Granddad’s car?”

  “Ugh.”

  “Projectile vomiting. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Yeah, it’s quite the gift.” She covers her face, hides behind her hands. Suddenly she pulls them away and her gaze flies to her chest. Her shoulders drop from her ears when she finds herself still in my button-down. At least it was dry when I put her to bed, and I didn’t have to suffer the visual of her gorgeous full tits, nipples poking through the dampness.

  Oh, the hardship.

  Seriously though, her body is, to sum it up with one word...banging.

  As my blood starts to leave my brain, she tugs the sheet up to her chin.

  “Ugh, I need to change into some clean clothes.”

  “I didn’t want to put you to bed in a dirty shirt, but I wasn’t about to undress you.” I put my hand over my crotch. “You know...with me being fond of my nuts and all.”

  That brings a smile to her face, for about two seconds. “Did you get any sleep at all?”

  I give a casual s
hrug, but her concern for me is appreciated. “I dozed.”

  “I...feel horrible,” she says her voice so soft and sincere it tugs at something inside me. “I hope you don’t get it.”

  “I’ve had my shots.”

  “Me too, and yet...” Her eyes widen. “Wait—”

  “I called Granddad, and he’s resting. No signs of flu.”

  She relaxes. “Thank God. At his age...” Her nose crinkles, and as I take in the sprinkle of freckles, I note the tinge of sadness in her eyes. “I really appreciate you taking care of me. You didn’t have to... I mean I never expected you to...”

  What, has no one ever taken care of her before?

  “See, not a total asshole.”

  “I’ll give you that.”

  “Mighty generous of you. How about I get you to the shower and then make us something to eat.” Her stomach takes that moment to growl. “I’m starving.”

  I stand and hold my arm out to help her up.

  “What?” she asks, looking at my hand like it might grow a snake head and bite her.

  “I’ll help you to the shower.”

  “Oh.” She pushes the sheets down. “I can get up myself.”

  I drop my arm and shove my hands into my jeans pockets. Her gaze follows as my pants slide lower on my hips.

  “Granddad used to say your dad was stubborn. I see the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree.”

  “I’ve put you out enough.” She swings her feet over the edge of the bed.

  “I don’t mind putting out.”

  Jesus, Will. What the fuck are you doing?

  Her feet stop seconds before hitting the wood floor, and her gaze flies to mine. Dark eyes narrow, like she’s trying to figure out if I’m flirting or not.

  I am, but I shouldn’t be. She’s an assistant, and the last girl I should be screwing around with. Yeah, sure, she signed a confidentiality clause, and Granddad vetted her. But sex with the help is wrong, and something the media would leap at and twist if they got wind of it. The last thing I want is my face splashed all over the papers again. I’ve brought enough shame to the Carson family as it is, and I’m sure Khloe doesn’t want her history out there for all to examine and pick apart.

  “Believe it or not, when someone needs help, I help,” I say, getting my head back on right and redirecting the conversation. “That, and you’re a friend of Granddad’s. He’d kill me if I didn’t treat you properly.” She nods, and I continue with, “Why don’t you shower, and I’ll make us something to eat.”

  She scurries off the bed and wobbles a bit as she stands. “Whoa,” she says, and puts her hand to her head.

  “Let me help you.” I wrap my arm around her waist and tug her against me. She’s stiff at first but then relaxes into me. “You’re still pretty weak.”

  She takes in the big room as we head to the en suite bathroom.

  “This place is gorgeous.” Cold air blows down from the overhead vent, and she shivers.

  “I’ll adjust the air-conditioning, and when you’re up to it, I’ll show you around the place.” I slowly guide her across the room, taking short steps to match hers. “Your room has a spectacular view of the ocean.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, mine is next to yours, with an equally great view.” I point to the curtains. “Behind those, you’ll find a patio door and a private deck, just for you. We have amazing sunsets here in Saint Thomas. Unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

  A happy sigh catches in her throat. “Will, I think this is just what the doctor ordered.”

  “Good,” I say, although I’m not sure why seeing her this happy has suddenly turned me into the grinning village idiot. Maybe it’s because she got fired and was violently ill all on the same day and could really use a break.

  “Just yesterday morning, I was thinking how much I’d love to get away,” she says, and her smile is a little off-center when she adds, “Talk about fate.”

  “If you believe in such things.”

  She arches a brow. “A skeptic?”

  “I believe our destiny is in our own hands, not someone else’s.”

  “If I hadn’t decided to go see James, I wouldn’t be here. I believe everything happens for a reason.”

  “Why did you decide to go see Granddad, anyway?”

  Her body tightens ever so slightly. If I wasn’t holding her, I might never have noticed.

  “Someone mentioned his name, actually.” She gives a casual shrug. “Thought I’d pay him a visit.”

  I nod but get the sense that she might not be telling me everything. I think about pushing, but she’s not feeling well. When Granddad calls, I’ll get answers from him.

  I flick the light on in the bathroom, and her eyes widen. “This is bigger than my entire apartment.” She steps away from me and makes her way to the tiled shower. She runs her fingers over the taps. “I have no idea how to use these.”

  “Simple.” I move around her to turn on the water. “This is for the rain shower nozzle,” I say as it sprays down. “This one is for the body, and this one is for the feet.”

  “All angles covered. Literally.”

  I adjust the temperature and step back. “I’ll make us something to eat.”

  “I’m supposed to—”

  “Yeah, well, not today.” I tilt my head when she gives me a confused look. “It’s for my own good.”

  “Isn’t cooking part of my duties?”

  “Yes, but if you were me, would you let the Ebola monkey touch your food?”

  She puts one hand on her hip, and her brown eyes flare. “Did you just call me a monkey?”

  I chuckle. “Get a shower, Khloe. There are towels in the cabinet, and you’ll find everything you need in the vanity, even a new toothbrush.”

  She glares at me a moment longer, but today the fight just isn’t in her. She softens and says, “You thought of everything.”

  “Part of the assistant’s job is to stock this place for the next assistant.”

  She opens and closes the vanity and pulls out a few drawers to check the contents. “I heard you went through assistants fast.”

  That gives me pause. I don’t like anyone knowing too much about me. “Who told you that?”

  Her hair tumbles as she gives me a quick glance over her shoulder. “Ah, I don’t remember. I think maybe your Granddad.”

  “There’s a reason for that,” is all I say.

  “Okay.” She shrugs. “Not my business.”

  I’m about to leave but turn back and say, “You should probably know you talk in your sleep.”

  A streak of red flares across her cheeks. “I do not.”

  I grin at her, and despite myself I say, “Yeah, I’m afraid you do.”

  She pulls in a deep breath. “What did I say?” she asks, and when her fingers grip the sink hard, I cut her some slack.

  “Mostly mumbling, but I did hear you say my name a time or two.”

  Her eyes narrow. “You’re making that up.”

  “I believe you said something about my cologne.” I tap my finger to my chin. “What was it you called it again...?”

  “I was delirious, Will. High fever, remember?”

  “Then you mumbled something about bad or being bad. Wait, maybe you were saying I wasn’t so bad.”

  “I vomited the two times I met you, or have you forgotten?” she counters, and I keep my grin hidden.

  “We may have gotten off to a bad start, Khloe. With you showing up late and all.” It’s true, we did. But honest to God, she’s like a breath of fresh air.

  “I told you, I pride myself on my punctuality, but James offered me the job at the last minute, and traffic, and...and...ugh, forget it. I’m wasting my time.”

  Under the guise of strengthening my next point, I let my glance race the length
of her. In reality, I’m simply enjoying the view of her in my button-down. “And of course, you were dressed improperly, but for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re so bad, either.”

  She pulls a big round brush from the drawer, and I step outside and close the door before she can throw it at me. It hits the door with a thud, and I laugh out loud. I shouldn’t enjoy pushing her buttons so much. But goddammit I love the way she gets all fired up.

  I head to the kitchen and busy myself with making the coffee, anything to keep my mind off her curvy naked body in the shower. The woman is a distraction I don’t need. I’m here to work on my algorithms and check on the hotel and school. What I should not be contemplating is all the ways Khloe and I could get down and dirty.

  Once the coffee is brewing, I boot up my laptop and answer a few emails. The shower turns off, and I power down my computer and grab eggs and bacon from the fridge. I’m not sure how she likes her eggs, so I decide scrambled is safest. I drop bread into the toaster and fish the jam from the fridge. Soon enough everything is ready, but Khloe is nowhere to be found.

  I retrace my steps to her room. Her door is slightly ajar, the way I left it, and I catch a flash of black inside.

  I knock softly. “Everything okay in there?”

  “As good as it can be,” she says, her words tight.

  “You’re not feeling sick again, are you?”

  The door swings open, and I nearly swallow my tongue at the unbelievable sight before me.

  Sweet mother of all that is holy.

  “Is there a problem?” she asks, one hand on her hip, her expression far from amused.

  “Um...no,” I lie. Because yeah, there is a problem, and it’s between my legs, growing thicker by the second.

  She pushes past me. “I hope you made coffee. I’m going to need a gallon.”

  “I made coffee,” I mumble as my eyes latch onto her backside, which sways sexily, spilling out of the too-tight French maid uniform. Her heels tap the floor as I steal a glance at the lacy stockings hugging her thighs. This...this is what she thought Granddad meant when he told her I had a dress code? I think the tables have turned, and now she’s the one who’s going to be pushing my buttons, every last one of them.