Deadly Obsession

by Jaycee Clark

  "What?" Brayden asked her, blocking her view of the man in the weathered fedora.

  "Nothing." She looked back at the water gently lapping at the edge of the dock. Brayden stood directly behind her.

  "You know, I think you should go straight red, more red than Mom’s," Brayden said, his voice low and deep.

  She tilted her head back and around to look up at him. "Why is that?"

  His grin flashed at her, charming as always, yet she saw it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I always wanted to date a redhead."

  "Again, why?" This time she turned fully to face him.

  His tongue poked in his cheek before he said, "Well, you know what they say about redheads."

  Was he flirting? "No, I seem to have forgotten, what exactly do they say?"

  "They’re great in bed."

  Great in bed.

  "You’re memory must have slipped," she told him, turning back around, crossing her arms over her chest.

  He leaned over, his breath warm on her ear. "What makes you say that?"

  She turned and their noses almost touched. "I don’t recall you complaining before."

  His eyes darkened as they ran over her face and dropped to her lips. "Why do you think I said you should dye it straight red?"

  She couldn’t help it, she laughed, and realized it felt good. No, it felt wonderful.

  "God, I’ve missed that sound," he told her, grabbing her chin between his thumb and forefinger. This time he lowered his head to hers, his lips lingering softly, undemanding. Christian started to stiffen, but closed her eyes, Brayden’s scent surrounding her.

  Straight red?

  She grinned against his mouth as something in her started to loosen and unfurl.

  * * * *

  Richard shook his head at the moving technician. "No, no. Not there, the desk needs to be in front of the wide windows."

  What were these people thinking? Idiots every last one of them.

  "Darling?" his wife’s voice rose from out in the foyer.

  "Yes?"

  "I think they might have lost our living room furniture."

  Richard closed his eyes and counted to ten, thinking of being anywhere else than here. "If they did, they can buy us more!"

  The movers set his desk down with a hard thud. Sunlight slanted through the windows behind them.

  "Is that centered?" he asked them. "Fix it. It needs to go down about a foot."

  He turned around and unpacked the box in his hands, setting the framed pictures in the chair. He paused at the picture of Josephine. If the imbeciles could ever get his desk in the right place, he’d set the photo on its corner.

  His gut tightened as it always did when he looked at it. Anger raced through his blood. Four damn weeks. She’d been gone for almost four weeks.

  The corner of the frame bit into his palm until he felt the skin break.

  Where the hell was she? He could find nothing out. Not a damn thing and he’d tried. The Kinncaids were loyal to a fault. And he knew they knew where she was.

  That shop owner was gone too and had been the entire time Christian was absent.

  Richard was not a stupid man. No. He knew that Mr. Brayden Kinncaid was with her. With his Josephine somewhere.

  He wondered how he could bring them out, bring them back. Or maybe he should wait for them to come home and then strike.

  That would work.

  Carefully, he took a deep breath through his nose.

  "Is this the exact spot ya wanit in?" asked one of the movers.

  Richard shot a glare in the man’s direction. How dare he interrupt. With an absent wave toward the door, he barked, "It’s fine. Leave."

  When the door closed behind them, he carried the photos to the desk and set them up.

  An inch from the corner of his blotter and a finger length from the family picture.

  There. He smiled at the smoky eyes staring back at him.

  She would come home. She had to, and when she did, she would be his.

  His angel, his Josephine would never, never, be anyone else’s.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Christian looked at Brayden as they walked back into the palazzo.

  The symphony he’d taken her to was spectacular, and the dinner wonderful. She might have consumed a bit too much champagne, but that was okay, too. She hadn’t been on any medication for several days now.

  Brayden shut the door behind him, standing there in his black tux, perfectly tailored for his tall frame, and her heart skipped a beat. He was so incredibly handsome.

  "Did I tell you how great you look tonight?" His eyes ran over her from the top of her--once again brunette--head to the hem of her satin dress. That smile hiding at the corner of her mouth sent a shiver down her spine.

  She couldn’t help but grin as she ran a hand over her curls. Finally, she looked like herself. "Thank you.

  And I think so, about a dozen times. You don’t look bad yourself."

  Brayden’s smile was soft, as though he held some secret he wasn’t sure he wanted to share.

  "Thank you for the dress. You didn’t have to..." she started.

  One ebony brow rose over those cobalt eyes. "You don’t like it?"

  Not like it? How on earth could she not? The beautiful A-line, strapless dress, made of heavy ice blue satin, fit as if it were made for her alone. The bodice rode just above her breasts, with only a hint of cleavage showing, the hem floor length. The only adornment on the entire thing was the sheer, beaded inlay, decorated with silver embroidery and beads, that went from her waist to the floor, an inverted ‘v’.

  "It’s beautiful," she finally answered him. Turning her back to him, she said, "And so is the necklace. You really shouldn’t have."

  He’d also given her a pendant. The necklace was a sapphire, the size of his thumbnail, or maybe a knuckle, and hung from a twisted rope of silver.

  His gaze ran over her. "And why not? What’s wrong with getting you presents?"

  She thought, or tried to. There had to be a reason. "I don’t know."

  "Hmm."

  A chill danced down her spine, and she didn’t know if it was from the open window letting in the cold night air, or the hot look from Brayden’s blue eyes.

  "I should ... uh...." The champagne danced through her blood stream.

  "Should what?" he asked, walking slowly toward her.

  Should what? Who should?

  Oh. "I should go change."

  He offered her his arm and helped her up the stairs. She tripped and giggled.

  His chuckle glided over her nerves.

  "You, baby, drank too much champagne."

  Again she giggled. "Maybe. No, probably. Yep, I think I did."

  Once in their suite, she let go of his arm and started toward her room. "You know what?"

  "What?" he asked.

  "I feel good. Thanks for tonight. It was wonderful."

  She shut the door and sighed.

  Tonight ... tonight was ... a dream. A dream come true. A candlelit dinner, presents, a symphony.

  Beautiful, like a slow rising tide in the summertime.

  She faintly heard the pop of a cork through the door.

  Pushing from the door she reached behind her and tried to undo her dress. It laced down the back. No zipper, no buttons, just one long silk ribbon that ran through loops. She’d had to ask for Brayden’s help to do the dress up earlier.

  Now her fingers fumbled again.

  Sighing, she opened the door and walked back into the sitting room.

  "I’m sorry, but I need help with my dress. I can’t get it undone myself."

  He looked at her for a minute, not moving, a flute in one hand, a champagne bottle in the other. He set the flute on the coffee table, the bottle in an ice bucket, and she turned her back as he walked to her.

  His hands were warm as they weaved the long piece of silver satin through the small loops. Every now and then, his knuckles grazed her backbone and she felt it all the way to her toes
.

  She heard him breathing behind her and turned her head to look up at him.

  His eyes rose from what he was doing to hers. His fingers froze and trailed from her shoulder blade up to her neck.

  "I had no idea, this dress would be so...." His gaze dropped to her lips.

  She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

  "Difficult," he finished.

  What was difficult?

  Slowly he lowered his head, his hand and fingers caressing from the back of her neck, around her jaw, to tip her face further back.

  Again she shivered.

  His eyes stayed open as he came closer. A breath away, he whispered, "I want to kiss you."

  Licking her lips, she tasted the scent of his aftershave on the air between them. Never breaking eye contact, she said, "Okay." And slowly turned to face him.

  His eyes held hers as his lips touched her mouth. She slid her eyes closed as his lips lingered undemanding on hers.

  She relaxed with him, and though, only their lips touched, he flooded her senses. His gentle coaxing tempted her until finally, she kissed him back.

  She wound her arms around his neck and pressed against him.

  Everything was Brayden. Simply Brayden. His arms, tight around her; his mouth, cherishing; his scent arousing and comforting at the same time.

  Slowly, he pulled back, his hand smoothing from her cheek, through her hair.

  His heavy sigh wafted against her lips even as his eyes looked deeply into hers. She wondered what he saw.

  "Was that.... I didn’t mean.... Are you okay?" he finally asked.

  She smiled. "I’m wonderful because of you." Christian ran her finger down his cheek and tapped his chin.

  His brow cocked and he grinned. "I can deal with that."

  "Thought you might." She turned her back to him again. "Could you get this undone, now?"

  Some sort of guttural growl came from him, but she didn’t look back as his fingers deftly unlaced her gown, but left the long ribbon in the loops.

  With a jerk, he pulled back. "There."

  She let go of the dress and it stayed in place. Reaching back she realized he hadn’t undone it all the way, just part of the way and loosened the rest. She watched him walk to the coffee table where his flute of champagne sat. She licked her lips, one hand holding up the front of her dress, just in case.

  He looked up at her and raised a brow.

  "Thank you." She couldn’t seem to move. "I should uh-I should probably...."

  Alcohol swam through her veins, heated her, swirled pleasant memories of her and Brayden together....

  Pleasant, happy, passionate memories.

  He strode to the silver bucket holding a champagne bottle. After pouring another flute, he handed it to her and said, "No, thank you, Christian. For the best night I’ve had in a long, long time." He looked at the flute, then said, "Actually, you’ve probably had enough."

  She sighed. "I love the way you say my name. I don’t know why, it’s just different when you say it."

  His eyes widened.

  "I was thinking the same thing," she said, and snatched the flute from his hand. "Not about the champagne, but about tonight."

  There was that charming smile, dancing all the way to his eyes. "Were you?" He raised his own flute.

  "Well then, to new beginnings."

  How could anyone know her so well, without really knowing her at all? Swallowing past the emotion, she looked straight at him and clinked her glass to his. "New beginnings. I like that."

  Christian took a sip of the effervescent wine. She was warm all over and not just from the champagne.

  Looking out the window, she watched the city.

  Venice was complex at night. It reminded her of a harlequin, a dottoro, an elegant countessa all at the same time. The fun and excitement of the jester seemed to mirror in the reflected lights of the canal, the secrecy hidden within the shadows masked what was and what could be, the age old elegance of her sitting through the tides whispered on the breeze.

  New beginnings. She really liked that. There was still so much between them, so much it sparked a pull deep within her, and she was tired of hiding from it because of Richard.

  Damn the monster.

  She didn’t want to think about that, not about Richard, what he’d done, or what she was doing. All she wanted to think about was Brayden and how she felt safe and happy with him.

  "I love you," he said to the side of her.

  The words jerked her around.

  "Why?" she blurted out.

  The grin flashed before his deep laughter rumbled across the air, around and through her. "God, woman!

  Hell if I know." Shaking his head, he set his flute aside and took hers from her. His palms were warm as he cupped her face. "Hell if I know, but I do."

  And he did. She knew he did. Some part of her knew, but another part worried and doubted.

  Brayden watched the anxiety and questions dance in her eyes. "Why do you doubt that?" he asked, tracing her jaw with his thumbs.

  She shrugged. "You don’t know me."

  Well, when the truth came out of her, it just sort of slammed down between them.

  "True," he told her. "I know the important things, Christian, or I think I do."

  "What things?"

  "You’re loyal, kind, you love my family as much as I do and Tori--"

  "You said, before, that it was because we’d been playing house."

  He closed his eyes. "Forget what I said before, I was a dumb ass. Just forget it all. Well," he amended,

  "not all, just the stupid stuff."

  She tried to turn back to the window, but he held her, her face still between his hands.

  He watched the long column of her throat work as she swallowed.

  "I don’t know what to think about anything anymore, Brayden," she whispered.

  "You know I love you." He dropped his hands to her shoulders, and he noticed the shiver that danced through her muscles. "I’m not just saying that, Christian, if that’s what you’re thinking." And he could see it might be, the doubt flickering there in those smoky eyes. "I’ll admit I’m slow, and you already know what an idiot I can be. But I love you."

  Her eyes looked down, her lashes sweeping to shutter her gaze from him.

  He sighed. "Have you ever known something, deep inside, it just takes you awhile to realize it?"

  After a beat, her gaze rose back to his. "Yeah."

  She held her dress up with one hand. Damn, he should really let her go change. Looking at her bare back was bad enough, but something about her just holding that satin against her....

  "Yeah-um-well, that’s me."

  Finally, he saw her lips curve at the corner.

  "You think too much," she said.

  "Isn’t that the pot pointing to the kettle?"

  Her smile reached her eyes, but then she glanced away and the smile faded. "Can I ask you something?"

  "Anything."

  Taking a deep breath, she looked back up at him, and he felt her straighten under his hands, her shoulders going back just a bit.

  Her tongue darted out to lick her lips. "I’ve no right to ask this of you. I know that. But I have to. I want to because..."

  "Because?" he prodded when she trailed off.

  "While we’re here. Here in Venice, can we not...." She took another deep breath. "Can we not talk about the other?"

  "Other?" he pressed.

  "The-the attack." She closed her eyes. "It’s too beautiful here, too special, and I only want this to be us."

  Her eyes opened and he caught his breath at the intensity in them. "Only us. Please?"

  He thought about it, not that she talked about the attack anyway, so he would play along. Besides, something in him loosened at her words and he smiled. "I thought you mentioned something about there not being an us."

  "No." Her grin answered his. She tapped his chest. "That was you."

  "Well," he waved it away, "that
was one of those stupids."

  She shook her head then asked again, "Please?"

  Brayden picked their flutes back up, handing hers back to her. "I’ll try. Sometimes it’s hard, but I don’t see a problem with Venice just being us, if that’s what you really want."

  "It is. I know you get aggravated with me. Just please, try and be patient." She huffed out a breath and mumbled, "I’ve no right to ask you that either."

  The woman made his head spin sometimes. "I’ll be patient. That’s my middle name."

  Her laughter rang out. It had always reminded him of dark pleasures, velvet and chocolate, something sought after because it seemed almost forbidden. The full, rich sound tightened his gut. He’d missed that sound. Missed it so much his chest squeezed.

  She raised her flute. "To us?"

  Brayden pulled her to him with one arm, clinking their glasses just before she came back into contact with his chest. Her satin bodice whispered against his shirt.

  Us. She wanted Venice to be about them and only them. The gods were smiling on him tonight.

  Looking into her eyes, as he had before, he chanced another kiss.

  "To us." Then he lowered his head to hers, catching the spark of something deep within her eyes before they slid closed.

  The kiss was chaste, just a gentle press of lips, but he wanted more. When she sighed in his arms, he opened his mouth and teased the seam of her lips with his tongue. He waited for her to stiffen, but she only leaned into him.

  Gently he waited, teasing, asking....

  Finally, her lips parted beneath his, and though he wanted to kiss her with everything in him, he didn’t.

  Brayden held back, waited and prayed.

  When the tip of her tongue touched his, he couldn’t hold the grunt in or the smile that spread across his face.

  She angled her head and he let her deepen the kiss, take it as far as she wanted to go.

  Oxygen was important. Some part of him remembered that as they both pulled back from the kiss.

  Her smile, twinkling in her eyes was all he needed to see.

  "That was-nice. Yeah." Her eyes were locked on his lips. "Nice."

  Christian took a breath and grabbed the back of his head. With a jerk, she locked her lips on his, eager to make him understand what he meant to her, the kiss was all raw need ... need of safety, of tenderness, of love and banishment of terror. She wanted the power back. One of them gentled the kiss, she had no idea who, and it hardly mattered.