Frayed Obsession, page 13
I wasn’t sure if I could be brave, but I wanted to try.
“All done,” Mason says, smoothing down the last bit of tape and dragging me from the memory. He places my foot back onto the couch cushion, and I swallow past the lump in my throat.
“Thank you,” I say, my heart aching with how much I miss my dad at this moment.
He regards me for a moment, but I can’t quite make out the look in his eyes. I think he’s going to say something, but instead, he clears his throat and nods. As he pushes up from the couch, an involuntary shiver runs through me as the chill starts to get to me. My knit was the only thing I hadn’t put in the dryer as I didn’t want to ruin the only warm thing I owned. Maybe I should have just put on the robe over my t-shirt.
“Are you cold? I can try and turn on the heating.”
“Oh—” I start, about to tell him it’s okay, but he’s already on the move. Mason reappears a moment later, just as a low hum sounds through the penthouse. “Thank you.”
“It’s no problem. It should warm up soon…” He pauses like he’s about to say something else, but then he clears his throat instead. “Well, I should take Shadow out before I need to get back to work,” he says, and I feel bad for taking up his break time.
“Thank you, for, ah…” I gesture to my strapped ankle.
His smile is warm. “You’re welcome. Just let me know if you need help strapping it again.” He starts to turn towards the entrance but stops. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.”
“Em… ah, Grace.” I wince internally at the slip-up, but if he picked up on it, he doesn’t react. “Nice to meet you, Grace,” he says. “Come on, Shadow.” This time, he keeps going towards the lift with Shadow following after him.
Chapter Nineteen
Emery
The sun sets across the city, casting an orange glow through the lounge area. My stomach rumbles, but I ignore it, having eaten my last muesli bar earlier today.
A glance at the clock lets me know fifteen minutes have passed, and I lift the towel-wrapped ice pack from my ankle.
Memories of last night’s dinner invade my thoughts.
It might have been awkward, but the food. If there were any way I could have finished it, I would have been tempted to lick the container clean. My stomach pipes up again, telling me I’m on the right track.
Usually, I can ignore the hunger pangs as long as I’m eating just enough to keep them to a tolerable level. But having such a wholesome meal last night has clearly heightened my appetite.
My gaze strays to the kitchen across the penthouse, remembering how Sebastian put my half-finished meal in the refrigerator with the other containers we hadn’t touched. I last another minute before I’m on my feet and heading for the kitchen.
After I put the ice pack back in the freezer, I focus on why I really came in here. It’s easy to figure out which one is mine by the weight, and with my meal in hand, I go to shut the refrigerator door, but my gaze lingers on the rest of the containers, wondering what’s in them.
The untouched salad is in a plastic container rather than aluminium like the others, and I hesitate before grabbing it.
Maybe just a little.
I grab the salad and put it on top of the container I already have before I can change my mind.
I’m nearly finished eating when the lift dings, and Shadow takes off around the corner. He barks, and I automatically jump. Though, it doesn’t sound aggressive.
I didn’t think Sebastian would be home yet, it’s barely seven, and apart from last night, from what I know, he’s usually at the office till much later. Maybe Mason’s come back to take Shadow out again?
I’m still trying to decide what to do when my gaze clashes with Sebastian’s as he rounds the corner, coming to a halt at the sight of me like he wasn’t expecting me to be sitting right here. Everything that happened last night with the rambling, and the kiss, hangs in the air between us, and I hold my breath.
Is he going to mention it?
Sebastian doesn’t say anything, only takes in the scene in front of him. His gaze finds my nearly finished dinner, and instead of being annoyed I helped myself, he looks almost pleased.
A warm flutter fills my stomach at his expression, and I shift on the stool. Sebastian doesn’t miss the move, and I have to focus on the bowl in front of me when the flutter only intensifies.
My restraint only lasts so long before his presence gets the best of me, and our gazes meet once again.
Why is he home so early again?
Scratching Shadow’s head, he moves further into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator. Grabbing one of the leftover meals from last night, he transfers it to a bowl before putting it in the microwave.
Part of me is glad he hasn’t brought up last night. But another part aches with how easily he was able to walk away and dismiss it.
I finish the last few bites of my dinner, but unable to stop myself, I watch him as he moves about the kitchen. I should say something. Ask him how his day was.
Is that too domestic?
I wouldn’t have thought so before, but after the kiss, everything feels different.
My mouth opens and closes as I try to find something to say. I’ve had so many conversations with him in my head, but now that he’s right in front of me, nothing will come out.
Sebastian leans against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest.
“How was dinner?” he asks, eyeing me while he waits for his own to heat up.
I swallow my nerves before answering him. “It was great, thank you.”
“Are you still hungry?”
I mull the question over. I’m not exactly hungry, but I wouldn’t say I’m full either. Though I don’t want to take more than I need, and I’ve definitely had that. “No, I’m okay.”
The microwave beeps and Sebastian pulls his dinner out. Whatever meal he has smells just as good as the others.
Where did he get it all from?
My stomach chooses that moment to let out a sound, and my head snaps up as embarrassment flows through me. Sebastian looks up from opening the cutlery drawer, and I can feel my face heating.
Grabbing a fork, he starts heading out of the kitchen. Except instead of leaving, he changes directions and stops at the end of the island bench facing me.
“Would you like to try?” he asks, tilting his bowl towards me.
He must take my silence as ‘yes’ because he walks around my side of the island until he’s nearly behind me. The stool spins with me as I twist to keep him in my line of sight, only stopping when my back is to the bench.
A gasp escapes me as Sebastian steps forward, taking advantage of the slight gap between my legs. Using his body, he pushes them further apart until he’s right in front of me.
I swallow hard.
He stabs his fork into the bowl he’s holding between us and twirls the long pasta around it. I can’t help but focus on his exposed forearms—the veins running along his skin and the subtle shifts they make with his movements.
Lifting the fork towards me, he raises a brow, and somehow, I know he’s not asking me to take it from him.
Slowly, I open my mouth.
Sebastian makes a sound of approval and brings the forkful to my lips. Heat blooms on my cheeks as I take the bite, looking up at him through my lashes.
Flavour bursts on my tongue as creamy sauce fills my mouth, and with hints of parmesan and garlic, I get the full impact of the alfredo flavours. Though, no matter how good the food is or how succulent the piece of chicken, I can’t concentrate on anything other than the man in front of me.
Leaning forward, Sebastian places the bowl on the bench behind me. Except instead of pulling back, he plants his hands on the bench on either side of me, effectively caging me in.
If I thought my stomach was fluttering before, but it’s nothing compared to the kaleidoscope of butterflies invading me now.
As I finish my mouthful, Sebastian grasps my chin with one of his hands.
Oh God, is he going to?
As much as I should be honouring my plan and keeping distance between us, I know if he tried to kiss me right now, I wouldn’t stop him. My heart races as my thoughts clash, but instead of planting his lips on mine, he moves his thumb to the corner of my mouth and drags it across. When he pulls it off, it comes away with some creamy sauce.
I’d be disappointed that he doesn’t want to kiss me again if the heated look he gives me wasn’t so distracting. Channelling boldness I wasn’t aware existed inside me, my tongue darts out to lick the sauce off his thumb before he can pull it away.
What are you doing?
This is definitely not the plan.
Sebastian’s eyes darken at the move, and his other hand clasps my waist as my tongue swirls around his thumb, pulling a groan from his lips.
My burst of courage lasts all of five seconds, and I pull back, startled by my actions.
“Did you like it?” he asks, his voice raspy, while his hand squeezes my waist while his thumb traces a path back and forth over my ribs.
“Yes,” I whisper, the courage well and truly gone.
He leans in so that his lips are only a hair’s breadth from mine. “Good,” he says before stepping back—his hand reluctantly leaving my side.
The space between my legs immediately feels empty, so I squeeze them together, except it does nothing to relieve the throbbing coming from my core.
Does he know the effect he has on me? Sebastian takes another step back, then another, and another—his retreat agonisingly slow.
Eventually, he’s out of my line of sight, and when he rounds the island, he opens the refrigerator. But I don’t make any move to turn around—instead, I sag against the back of the stool.
There’s some rustling, and a drawer opens and closes before his heavy steps leave the kitchen without even bothering to heat anything up.
I don’t spin around until he’s gone, and when I do, the first thing I see is the bowl of chicken alfredo he left behind for me on the bench, and my heart warms.
Chapter Twenty
Sebastian
“I have something,” Easton says, coming into my office, and my head snaps up.
There’s barely anyone in the office this morning, being a Saturday, but he would have known I was here. I can’t remember the last time I had a Saturday off. I wasn’t going to give anyone, especially fucking Vincent, a reason to question if I should be in this role, and if that meant working my ass off, then I’d do it.
An air of determination surrounds him, and I can feel myself taking on the emotion flowing off him, my anticipation building.
“What is it?” It’s been four days since the only lead we had turned out to be a big fat waste of time. Four days since I kissed Grace in the lounge room and fucked everything up.
“You know the address in the file Aiden put together was a bust. But I have a lead on where he’s been living.”
“Let’s go,” I say, and every thought except finally getting my hands on the fucker, leaves my mind. Without wasting a second, I stand and make my way around my desk towards Easton.
Easton bites the inside of his cheek, his eyes sharpening, and I know he’s going to protest, but I’m sick of sitting around waiting. This is taking too fucking long. It could be because we’ve never been this close to finding their murderer, or maybe I’m bloody impatient, but I want him. And then I’m going to fucking kill him.
“I’m going, whether it’s with or without you. So just let me know which way it’s going to be,” I add before he has a chance to spout some bullshit about it ‘not being safe.’
“You’re not fucking going by yourself,” East says, eyeing me. “Not that you’d know where to go anyway.”
“Don’t think I couldn’t get the answers I want from one of your men. They may work under you, Easton, but ultimately they work for me.” I pin him with a hard stare of my own. “Nothing you say is going to change my mind, so either suck it up so we can go or stay out of my way.” I brush past him without waiting for a response, and I hear him curse before his heavy steps follow me out of my office.
Twenty minutes later, I shut the passenger door of Easton’s Mustang.
“Which one is it?” I ask, gazing down the street of run-down houses. Blood pumps faster through my veins already in anticipation.
“It’s down here,” Easton says, and I follow him past a few houses until he stops in front of an old weatherboard. Overgrown weeds cover the front lawn, and a discarded couch lays amongst them, covered in dirt and rips that expose rotting foam.
Making our way up the driveway, instead of going to the front door, Easton continues down the side of the house and palms his gun. His steps are measured but no less determined, and I question whether we should have brought backup. How much did he actually find out about this place, other than it could be where Ian is staying? How many people live here? Easton spent most of the drive over here pissed off and brooding at our standoff in the office. So, he didn’t do much talking, and rather than add fuel to the fire, I let him have his pout party for one. Maybe I shouldn’t have.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
The sound of bullets ripping through wood permeates the air, and Easton rears back from the side door.
“Fuck!” he growls, stumbling before he catches himself.
Shit.
I surge to his side, grabbing his arm and yanking him away from the door that now has three new holes in it. “Fuck, are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” he grunts, shrugging off my hold, but with the movement, I spot streaks of thick crimson running down his arm.
Without thought, Easton surges for the door, lining himself up.
“Easton!”
The wood splinters as his foot makes contact—the door swinging inwards.
With no regard for himself, he wastes no time rushing into the house, gun raised. Cursing, I follow right behind him.
I might not have a weapon on me, but if I get my hands on the bastard, he won’t stand a chance. Anger and vengeance spur me forward, and thoughts of anything else slip away. I hardly notice anything about the interior of the house other than the fact I don’t see the bastard I’m looking for.
Easton and I spot the open sliding door at the rear of the house at the same time, but it’s the guy fleeing towards the back fence that steals all of my attention. With a rumble crawling up my throat, I take off, not willing to let him escape.
He stumbles but stays upright as he continues to run, and a growl escapes me. I’m about to burst through the back door when he turns, his arm flinging out.
A heavy weight slams into my side as more shots ring out, and I land hard, crashing through some kind of small table.
Every molecule of air rushes out of my lungs as I hit the ground.
Rolling over, hard splinters of wood stab into my side as I fight to draw in oxygen. Every second I’m on the ground is another second the man who killed my parents can slip away. Forcing myself into a sitting position, I catch sight of Easton getting to his feet before firing two shots in the direction I saw Ian running. He curses and takes off outside.
Fuck!
As I push myself up, I ignore the pain of being tackled into a goddamn table and rush outside.
There’s no sign of either Easton or Ian, and when I don’t see them in the next yard, I run back to the house, pulling out my phone to call Easton.
“Answer the fucking phone, Easton!” I yell when it goes straight to voicemail for the second time.
Days old, half-empty takeaway containers litter the lounge room along with empty bottles of alcohol, but with no idea what’s going on, I make a quick exit out the side door Easton had kicked in.
All those gunshots? The fucking cops are going to be here any minute.
When I make it onto the street, I’m about to head in the direction of Easton’s Mustang when he appears around the corner of the next block. Jogging towards me, the closer he gets, the more my stomach sinks.
He didn’t get him.
Easton’s breaths are short and sharp by the time he reaches me, and he’s fucking pissed—his muscles coiled tight with a deep frown marring his forehead.
“We need to go,” he says, and I don’t disagree with him, but the weight settling in my stomach steals some of my urgency. A fresh rivulet of blood trails down his arm, catching my eye.
“Now, Sebastian!” he growls. “The cops will be here any second, and I’m not taking the slim chance it’ll be someone on our payroll.” As if punctuating his words, sirens sound not too far away, and I snap out of my shit long enough to get the fuck out of here.
“You’re hurt,” I say over the roaring engine of Easton’s Mustang. Most of the blood had dried, but there was still a trickle of fresh crimson making a slow path down his arm.
“I’m fine. It’s a graze,” he says, his tone short.
“Why the fuck did you do that?”
“Do what?” East asks, but his dark tone suggests he knows exactly what I mean.
“You know what. I fucking had him. I would have had him.”
“You wouldn’t have had shit, Sebastian. You’d still be lying on that floor, the shit pumping through your veins nothing but another stain in that cesspool of a house,” he grits out, his hands flexing around the steering wheel.
“You’re exaggerating. And how is it any bloody different than you kicking down the fucking door, storming in without a clue of what was waiting.”
“It is different,” he says, his voice hard.
“Bullshit, Easton,” I say, my anger getting more palpable by the second.
