Obsession

Lachlan

As the storm continued to rage outside, I sat alone in the dimly lit dining room, the clatter of rain against the windows providing a fitting soundtrack to my darkening mood. The interview had gone differently than I'd anticipated, Miss Pearce's relentless questions and perceptive insights unnerving me.

I'd expected her to be impressed by my carefully crafted public image, to accept the stories of my humble beginnings and remarkable rise to power at face value. Instead, she'd probed and prodded, sensing there was more behind the curtain, and that frustrated me.

But then, the storm had provided the perfect distraction, the intense electricity in the air mirroring the charged atmosphere between us. I hadn't missed the way she'd responded to me, that subtle flush on her cheeks, the way her eyes had darkened with desire.

A smirk tugged at my lips as I recalled the way she'd been drawn to explore my sanctuary, her curiosity getting the better of her journalistic discretion. When I'd found her snooping in my theatre earlier, it had taken all of my usually formidable control not to catch those pouty lips with mine and see if she tasted as delectable as she looked

Running a frustrated hand through my hair, I pushed back my chair, rose and poured myself another finger of the single malt I'd been nursing. The peaty warmth slid down my throat, fueling my own desire as I thought of Quinn - the challenge in her eyes, the way her lips parted in anticipation when I'd crowded her space.

Making my way to the French doors leading onto the lantern-lit patio, I breathed in the fresh, rainy air, exhaling the last of my restraint. I wanted her. And tonight, I would have her.

Returning to the table, I selected a few choice cuts from the spread of hors d'oeuvres Sims had insisted on preparing, knowing my habit of grazing rather than sitting down for full meals alone. Tonight, however, was different. "Sims, have Claude prepare a full dinner tonight. something simple and elegant - seafood perhaps, and see that Miss Pearce was dressed appropriately for dinner."

One bushy eyebrow rose in surprise at my command, but Sims simply nodded and went to do my bidding. I frowned at the man's back. Sims was too old-school and too well trained to say a word, but we'd been together a long time. That small movement of his brow let me know exactly what he thought of my dining with the reporter.

Huffing, I retook my seat, sipping my whiskey and taking a bite of the thinly sliced Jamón Ibérico de Bellota, contemplating the evening ahead. I hadn't given Quinn the option to turn down my invitation, but I knew, deep down, that she wouldn't have anyway. Just as I knew, with absolute certainty, that, if she was honest with herself, she wanted me as much as I wanted her.

The thought sent a jolt of possession coursing through me, sharpening my senses and intensifying my desire. I'd been with many women over the years--before and after Julia. Models, actresses, society's elite - there were plenty of women interested in the mysterious mogul and I'd taken advantage, but none had ever truly threatened my control, my carefully maintained facade.

Quinn Pearce was different. From the moment she'd challenged me while sitting across from me a few hours ago in my study, the thought of bending her to my will ignited a fire in me that hadn't been stoked in years.

Setting down my glass, I began to pace. My eyes darted around the lavishly decorated room, taking in the exotic ornaments and luxurious furnishings that adorned my home. But my thoughts were elsewhere, fixed on the intriguing young woman who I'd allowed in my life--in my home. I was still trying to decide if the decision to agree to her interview request was the best or the worst decision I'd ever made.

Quinn. The very thought of her name sent a shiver down my spine. I had never encountered a woman quite like her—so determined, so fiercely independent, and yet so tantalizingly curious. She was young, yes, but still a puzzle I yearned to unravel, a challenge I was determined to conquer. Something about her was different—a steeliness in her gaze, an unspoken determination that matched my own. Though my investigator had noted her middle-class background in the dossier he had compiled for me, she clearly wasn't easily awed by my wealth or intimidated by my power, which only made her all the more fascinating.

I found myself unable to shake the memory of her eyes, a warm amber color that reflected a sharp intelligence and an iron will. I had seen that look before, though infrequently, in the boardrooms and cocktail parties I frequented—the look of a person who knew exactly what she wanted and would stop at nothing to get it. But there was also a hint of vulnerability in her gaze, a fleeting softness that made my heart beat faster.

As the storm raged on outside, I felt a growing restlessness within me. I found myself roaming throughout the house my eyes scanning the luxurious surroundings that usually brought me comfort. But tonight, nothing could settle my suddenly obsessive thoughts.

I had never experienced anything like this before—this intense, overwhelming need to possess and protect all at once. It was absurd, ridiculous even, given that we had just met. But there was something about Quinn that had pierced through my carefully crafted armor. Ironic, given her name.

I made my way to the study, the room where we had first crossed paths. The memory of her startled gasp as I unexpectedly appeared filled me with a dark, possessive joy. I ran a finger along the arm of the chair she had sat in, imagining her slender form nestled within its plush confines. A low growl rumbled in my throat at the memory of her briefly being trapped between my arms; so close, the sweet scent of her soap had tickled my nose.

Though she didn't know it, Quinn had ignited a fire within me that burned fiercely. And as the storm raged on, I contemplated the evening to come--and the plans I had for Ms. Quinn Pearce.