Obsession (Magnetic Desires Book 4)

by Misti Murphy

“Should have, but didn’t. I’m heading out on site. I need you on your game today. Think you can manage it?”

  “Of course.” I sidled past him, and he turned, our bodies brushing in the narrow hallway. And there was that zing, that buzz I searched so hard for and couldn’t find with anyone else. This was the closest I ever got to it. I straightened, pulling back my shoulders and crossing and uncrossing my fingers. “I have a rule about mixing personal and business. You know I’m good at this.”

  “A new rule, huh?” He brushed a stray hair from my jacket, his throat tensing as he fought back a chuckle.

  My breath caught in my throat. How easy it would be to forget why he and I hadn’t worked out. I pushed the thought away. “Get out of here. I can do this job with my eyes closed.”

  He bounced down the stairs, glancing back as he hit the bottom step. “You’ll have Chelsea for company.”

  Turning, I pushed open the interior door and entered the brightly lit office to find Chelsea pounding the poor keyboard into oblivion. Each keystroke, a hammer to my head. Wincing, I crossed the room to the other desk and sank into the leather chair. It enveloped me as it rocked beneath me, making me imagine how good it would feel to hold a cigar in one hand and rare scotch in one of those big ass glasses in the other.

  The pounding stopped, silence crashing around me when Chelsea realized I was in the room. “Good morning, Mellie. I haven’t seen you in years.”

  “It’s been a while.” I nodded, making no effort to move more than that and conserving my energy for customers. “I’m doing a favor for Mike and Orion.”

  “Oh, right. Well, let me know if you need anything.” She slid her earbuds in and went back to making an infernal racket.

  Locating scrap paper in a box under the desk, I scrunched a piece up and threw it at her. She glanced up and popped out an ear bud.

  “When do you expect Mike to be back?”

  “Not until after lunch.”

  Letting her get back to work, I shuffled through the papers on my desk. Well, it used to be my desk. And then I left, so it wasn’t, but at least temporarily it seemed to be my desk again. And quite frankly it looked like a shredder and a photocopier had gotten together and spoofed all over it. With a swipe of my arm I cleared the surface, the papers falling like confetti to the floor. Chelsea didn’t look up. The action brought little relief to the tension in my shoulders and neck, but it was a damn good start at getting my work space closer to something I could deal with. Sliding from the all too comfy chair, I sat cross-legged on the floor and began sorting the papers into piles.

  ***

  “What are you doing down there?”

  Shit! I jumped at the sound of his deep, masculine voice, right behind me. “I’m organizing my desk. How you guys could find anything in that mess is beyond me.”

  Unfolding my legs, I stood up with a stack of papers. “Do you ever put anything away?”

  Arms crossed, teeth clenched, a small tick started where his jaw met his ear. “I can always find exactly what I’m after. But now…” He darted a glance at the paper towers I’d constructed on the floor. “Do you have any idea where the Kinsley contract is?”

  “You mean this one?” I handed him the paper clipped copy from the top of the pile.

  Flicking a finger against the paper, he nodded and stalked off toward his office. “If you plan on reorganizing the office, you’re going to be stuck here, because I’ll need you to find everything.”

  I dumped the papers on the desk, straightening them out, and then went after him. “Not one person has walked through those doors this morning, not one.” I held up a finger. “If you are going to pay me, even temporarily, then I am going to work. If that means I get this office organized and efficient again, then I’m going to do it. I won’t just sit there and let you pity pay me.”

  He leaned on the desk, his legs splayed out in front of him, his chest rising and falling before he raced a hand over his head. “No one pities you.”

  “You do.”

  “I don’t pity you. Never have.” He covered the space between us in a couple of strides. “I know where you come from, remember? Your past and mine aren’t that different. You don’t need pity, Hurricane.”

  I sucked in a breath and the crisp woodsy spice of his aftershave. My heart flipped and my lips tingled while he stared at them. “Then why give me a job that obviously isn’t needed?”

  “Because we’re friends. Friends help each other out, because they care. Christ, you should know that by now.”

  “I do, but…” I tread closer to him. Maybe I wanted pity. If he pitied me he’d probably let me make a gif. Or maybe I wanted to see if he’d kiss me the way he used to, when I’d meant something to him. “Thank you. I guess I figure I ask too much of you already.”

  “When have I ever told you that you asked too much of me?”

  “Never.”

  “Then put it out of your head.”

  “Okay.” I glanced around his office, my desk immaculate compared to his. “I’m still going to reorganize the office.”

  “Good.” He dragged a knuckle over my arm, and I fought the instinct to move closer. “It always did run smoother when you were here.”

  Everything had been smoother when I’d been here, with him. I couldn't help the creeping nostalgia, not after our conversation last night. Trying to shake off the need to get closer, I crossed to the door.

  “Did you think about what I suggested?”

  “What?” I glanced back at him, lingered on those sexy lips and the dark depths of his eyes. Of course I had thought about it, apparently couldn’t stop thinking about it. At the rate I was going with the sex, and the ex, and the gif, I’d spontaneously combust before the day was through.

  “Never mind.” Was there a slight gruffness in the way he dismissed me? As though he had wanted me to agree. I closed the door behind me, unable to get the idea that he had been serious when he told me we should sleep together again from flashing a montage of our most erotic moments through my mind. And that kiss, bare weeks ago. I’d tried to dismiss it, but it haunted me. It had sent me tumbling into another man’s arms, trying to erase the ownership of Mike’s lips on mine.

  Sleeping with him would be the stupidest idea ever, wouldn’t it? Even if it did have me feeling the rub of my thighs against one another in a supercharged way. Even if there was nothing I wanted more than to rip away the past four years and be his again. Because I was beginning to believe I would never feel that deeply, that intensely about anyone else, ever.

  Nope. It wasn’t going to happen. Couldn’t happen. We'd destroyed what we'd had. Shredded it into a thousand tiny pieces that could never be put back together. No, it would be too easy to fall into bed with him and never want to get out, and my heart couldn’t handle the bruising that would come when he inevitably tired of me. I’d barely kept it together the first time.

  Seven years ago…

  “So you’re Mellie?” He glanced at me as he shifted the truck into gear and backed out of the driveway.

  “And you’re Mike. You work with Orion?” I squirmed in the seat, trying to pull last night’s dress down over my thighs, where his gaze singed my flesh. I didn’t need confirmation on his name, normally wouldn’t have cared, but that one little word had been rattling around in my head since he’d stuck his head around the partition of Orion’s kitchen and caught me wearing nothing but a shirt that didn’t even properly cover my ass. When he’d ran his gaze over me, my body had burst to attention, my ovaries exploding in a cacophony of ‘Take me, I’m yours.’ And then he’d darted his tongue over his lip as his gaze flicked to the hem of the T-shirt and I’d had to get out of there before I came from only the heat in his gaze.

  “We’re business partners, best friends. Hell, we’re practically family.” He interrupted the pleasant trail my mind had wandered off on, where he wasn’t talking to me about his friend, but instead had his face buried between my legs. Hot damn! What the hell was wrong with me that
my entire body pulsed to the sound of his voice?

  Winding the window down, I let the cool breeze blow over my face. “That must be nice.”

  “Fuck this,” he said, yanking the car over onto the shoulder. “I’m going to be straight here. I hope you’re the kind of girl who can handle that.”

  I shifted in the seat, letting the dress ride up my legs as I crossed them, completely aware of his gaze landing on the sliver of panty I intentionally gave him an eyeful of. All the words I would have said last night, or any night, to any man, died on my lips. “I can handle you,” I said instead.

  “Can you now, sexy legs?”

  My heart skittered like a frightened bunny caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. The tug between him and I blocked out everything but the intensity in his eyes, and the slight curl of his lip. They were the kind of lips I’d only dreamed about. Ones you could get drunk on. A nirvana of sinful pleasure, built only to bring a woman to her knees, preferably over his face. He released his seatbelt from its clip and leaned toward me, one hand coming around to stroke a knuckle over my cheekbone. “You want to handle me?”

  “I want…” I got stuck on the want. That word could not contain how drawn to him I was. My throat worked, my chest rising and falling in sync with his, as I struggled for the word that would encompass how absolute this moment could be.

  His hand did a slow slide down my throat and I swallowed as his fingers left a trail of need through every cell of my being. “What did you do with my friend?”

  “What?” I pulled back, only to realize I’d been leaning in to his touch, practically begging for him to go further.

  “You didn’t fuck him.”

  “No.” I shook my head. Somewhere deep, a small shred of my dignity flared at his bluntness, but the potency of him so close flooded my senses. He could ask me anything and the answer would be honest, because there was nothing I could hold back from him. “We kissed at the bar, but that was all.”

  His palm grazed my side, tingles shooting off in all directions. Tiny gasps burst from my lips and left them dry. I darted my tongue out to wet them, to cool the burning heat that would only be quenched by his kiss. His gaze lingered and he squeezed my hips, lifting me onto his lap. The steering wheel pressed into my spine, but it was the bulge pressing between my legs that fascinated me, and when he wrapped a hand in my hair and tugged me forward, I could feel the entire length of him pressed against my slit. “Good,” he said. “When I want something, I take it. Do you understand?”

  He slammed his mouth to mine, his tongue devouring me in a way that left me breathless and yet it felt like I was breathing for the first time. When he pulled away an inch I chased his lips, clinging to him, intoxicated. “What do you want, Mike?” I would give him anything, he wouldn’t have to ask twice. Anything for another hit from his lips.

  “You, in my bed, and later, barefoot and pregnant in my kitchen. I don’t do casual, and I don’t do sloppy seconds. Do you still think you can handle me?”

  I scraped my nails over the stubble on his jaw and stared into his eyes. My heart screamed at me to go with the way it felt, to give in to the man who was meant to be mine. I didn’t know how it knew, didn’t care, only that I couldn’t fight it. “I can handle you.”

  He tugged my head back and gorged himself on my mouth, his hands riding up the side of my body, to brush lazily over the curve of my breast. One thumb grazed a nipple, bringing it to a hard peak. I rocked on his lap, unable to ignore the deep ache he’d built in me with a few words and greedy kisses, until he groaned and broke his lips from mine. “Put your seatbelt on, sexy legs. This is going to be one hell of a ride.”

  Chapter Three

  Mike

  Three years, seven months, twenty-three days, and thirteen hours. That’s how long it had been since I’d had sex. It was fucking sad I knew that. Not quite as sad as the fact that it’d been so long, but it hadn’t been high on my list of priorities.

  The house was too quiet with only the hum of electricity to keep me company.

  Only a few weeks ago, the house had been full of noise. Finding Mellie’s identical twin sister stumbling along the halls when I went for my last appointment with the specialist had been surreal, but she and her daughter Tia had had nothing. I hadn’t had to consider the course of action. They were Mellie’s family, and if I could do anything for her, I would. They’d ended up staying with me longer than I’d expected, while the relationship between sisters mended, but having them under my roof had given me purpose I hadn’t had in so long.

  It was such a small world. I’d only thought of what it would mean for Mellie to have family, not expecting Lola to be married to one of our friends, and once they’d gotten their issues sorted, it was inevitable she and Tia would go home with Leo. Unable to stand the damn quiet, I raced up the stairs to get changed for a run.

  Three years, seven months, twenty-three days, thirteen hours and ten minutes. Hell I may as well have declared myself celibate. Only now, I’d put the thought into my head, it was lodged there, and no amount of tapping my temple was going to remove it. I slipped back down the stairs and out the door, immediately breaking into a jog. My second run for the day, a supplement to my normal morning routine. Usually, I’d work. I’d set myself up in my office and pour over orders and floor plans. But the ticking in my head drowned out rational thought and left a static charge under my skin.

  Three years, seven months, twenty-three days, thirteen hours, and forty minutes. And the reason I knew this, the reason I could remember the event down to the minute, wasn’t because the sex had been fanfuckingtastic. Although it always had been with Mellie. No, it was the appointment after it. The appointment exactly one hour after that last fuck had changed my life.

  Lengthening my stride, I pushed harder, needing to wear myself out, and knowing that even if I kicked my own ass it wouldn’t help me sleep. Cancer. That’s what the doctor had said. You have cancer. Then something about surgery and treatment. Also maybe, there might have been something about mortality rates, life expectancy, how bad the cancer actually was. We need to form a course of action. Speak to your family. Come back in tomorrow.

  Honestly, after, “You have cancer,” I’m not sure what I heard. The doctor could have been inviting me back to his house to have an orgy for all I knew. Suddenly I was drowning, but not in water, not the way most drownings happened. No, this had been quicksand and hot wax filling my ears, turning my mind to sludge and seeping through the pores in my skin. Pulse hammering so hard I could feel it in my fingers even when every other part of me felt like it was carved from ice. The doctor’s mouth had opened and shut, his gaze on mine, trying to communicate, but it was only a blur of pictures, the sound on mute. When I’d finally managed to lever myself out of the chair, my limbs shaking and heavy, I hadn’t gone home to share the goddamn news. No, I’d gone back to work.

  Cancer. Even with it all behind me, would I ever forget the first time I heard that?

  Breathing heavily, I slowed to a jog and checked my Fitbit. Five miles. Not bad. The five back should be enough to keep me from doing something stupid, like finding Mellie and convincing her to take me up on my offer.

  I used to be the guy who believed if he wanted something he could take it. It hadn’t been that far-fetched. After I’d made my first million it had been damn near factual. Hell, coming from nothing, I’d had this image in my head of what would make my life perfect. I’d held onto that vision, grabbed it with both hands and worked my ass off to make it happen.

  And it had happened. I’d exceeded my goal and then I’d met Mellie. The first time I saw her wearing nothing but one of Orion’s shirts, I’d had a new vision. A new goal. That girl was meant to be mine and I knew exactly how to get what I wanted. Funny how cancer had changed that. The world I’d built dropped away like shifting sand beneath my feet, and the only thing I could grab onto was fear. Money meant nothing in the scheme of things, but her… she’d been the one thing I should have had the
strength to hold onto.

  Well, that was then, and this was now, and she was done with me. So why hold on to that vision any longer? After a quick shower and change of clothes, I headed out to the one place I was certain I wouldn’t run into Mellie.

  A pub on the outskirts of town. A small run down shack, with a pool table in the back room, and bikers everywhere. It had been a while since I’d set foot in the place. There wasn’t much point in a place like that when you didn’t drink all that much. It had been my first everything when I’d ended up in Reverence at seventeen. My first job, my first drinking hole, my first family, in a way. I’d taken Mellie there a bunch of times over the years, needed to have her understand where I started out and the people who had taken my hand when I was climbing out of the gutter. But they could be rough, dangerous even, and she understood it wasn’t the place for her to find her kicks.

  Everything else in Reverence was a five-minute drive, but this place was as close to the middle of nowhere as anything could be. Pulling the truck up beside the row of motorcycles, I jumped from the cab and headed toward the bouncer. “Hey, Wolf.”

  “Knight,” he drawled. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  I cringed at the old nickname, though I had earned it. Both the nickname and his respect built on my ability to throw down against guys bigger than myself. It didn’t matter that I’d made it off the streets, become more successful than I’d dreamed of back then. Part of me would always be that kid who had to fight tooth and nail to prove himself, and when she’d been here with me, there’d been nothing I’d enjoyed better than unleashing on whoever stepped to me. God, she was everywhere. In every part of my life I wanted to remember, but those days were behind me now. With a shrug I mounted the steps. The flood of noise from inside the pub wasn’t dampened by shut windows and doors. Wooden slats creaked underfoot as I grasped one of his meaty hands. “Gave up drinking.”

  His black leather jacket creaked when he shifted, the brass knuckleduster on his left hand resting on his trunk of a thigh. “Don’t start shit.”