The Obsession

by Nora Roberts

And she wasn’t looking for love, for promises, for devotion.

He’d known the minute she’d come in—not

Xander just closed a hand over hers before she could hit the lock release.

He let go of her hand to put both of his on her shoulders, turned her around.

“You know, like brilliance, I never find that a decent excuse for being an asshole.”

Hints of frustration leaked out, but he kept his gaze calm, and on hers.

He turned her around again, pressed her back against the door.

He took her face in his hands—not

I want you. I want you under me and over me and around me.

He took her mouth again, just took it.

He opened the door for her,

She didn’t want scenes, she thought. She didn’t want complications. This was what she wanted, this right here. The quiet, the peace of moonlight over the water.

She broke off when he gave her a yank so her body met his. “I’m going to give you what you want.”

Xander pressed her back against the wall on the stairs, turned her blood to lava—molten. “This is mine,”

He wanted her just like that, desperate, quivering, against the wall.

Before she could draw the next breath, his hand pressed between her legs.

He skimmed a finger over the little tattoo riding low on her left hip.

He cupped the back of her head, leaned in to kiss her—softly, a surprise.

“Definitely. I don’t want to miss those fine details this time around.”

He liked her laugh,

And all the space—what he could do with all that book space.

The empty shelves and cases stabbed his book-lover’s heart. They needed to be filled.

“You cook in it, I’ll wash it.”

He grabbed her, had her back against the refrigerator, plundering with that hungry mouth, those big, rough hands. “Let’s go do that.”

You look good.”

You always look good.

“It’s impossible to love and be wise.”

The bigger benefit sat beside him on the old glider smelling of summer while the stars went out.

“No, I thought I’d just drive around until I found one that appealed to me, and dig in. Yeah, your yard.”

That was the problem with having someone around. They so often wanted to do something you didn’t have time for.

God, he was gorgeous.

“It ain’t morning, baby.” Laughing, he kissed her.

Since the look in her eyes invited it, he hauled her against him.

When he pinned her against the wall, drove into her, her fingers dived into his hair, clutched there.

“No, no, look at me. Open your eyes and see me, Naomi.”

“He’s got it,” she murmured. “That’s the problem. Why am I mostly okay that he’s got it?”

He didn’t want to see that dull, stricken look on her face again.

“A lot of people are stupid.”

She didn’t resist when he pulled her onto his lap,

Men, she thought as she pawed through the choices, should learn how to be more creative.

He took her hand, drew her outside the bay. “And after that, stay.”

He leaned down, kissed her, warm and long in the quieting spring evening. “Stay anyway.”

Then he kissed her again.

He went home with her, and late into the night when whatever dream chasing her made her whimper and stir, he did what he never did. He wrapped her close, and held her.

When he raped her, when he choked her, he called her Naomi.

Oh hell.

And in one, she had to admit, with an interesting man. One who engaged her, mind and body, who worked as hard as she did, and enjoyed it as she did.

But he’d missed waking up with Naomi and the dog, having breakfast.

Even now he had a low-grade urge to see her, to hear her voice—to catch a drift of her scent. That wasn’t like him. He just wasn’t the sort who needed constant contact—calling, texting, checking in, dropping by. But he’d caught himself thinking up excuses to do any of that, and had to order himself to knock it off.

Even people you knew had secrets.

No, you couldn’t know everyone, and even when you did, you didn’t.