His Older Obsession

Obsessions on Obsessions

“You look tense,” Travis said as they settled down in the huge fine dining restaurant.

The restaurant was too fancy for her mood. Isla sat stiffly in her night clothes, refusing to relax even as Travis poured her wine like he’d done this a thousand times.

“I’m sitting across from a man who bought my boss.”

He smirked. “Investment, counselor. Not purchase.”

“Same thing.”

He leaned in. “You know, for someone who claims to hate me, you agreed to this dinner pretty fast.”

“I didn’t agree. You kidnapped me.”

He grinned. “Details.”

Isla was about to snap back when a voice cut through the restaurant, sharp, high, and angry.

“Travis!”

Cold water splashed across Travis’s face.

The restaurant went silent. Every glass, every fork, every conversation froze mid-air.

The model…tall, furious, shaking with rage…stood over him, hand trembling around an empty glass. “You think you can just walk away from me?” she spat, voice breaking.

“Errr…who are you?” Travis confusingly asked.

She gasped as she slapped Travis across his cheek.

The sound cut through the air like thunder.

Isla’s fork clattered to her plate. She hadn’t even had time to breathe before chaos unfolded.

Travis blinked, water dripping down his jaw, expression unreadable. Then, calmly, too calmly, he reached for a napkin and wiped his face. “You’re making a scene, Miss.”

The lady’s eyes blazed. “You promised you’d call. You—”

“Enough.” His tone dropped, low and dangerous.

The manager rushed forward, but before anyone could reach them, the model’s glare darted toward Isla. “Oh, I see. Her. You traded me for her?”

“Excuse me?” Isla’s voice was ice.

The model’s hand twitched like she wanted to throw something again, but Travis was faster. He stood, his chair scraping back with quiet finality. “You’re done here,” he said softly.

Security appeared like shadows, pulling her away as she screamed curses in Italian. The entire restaurant stared.

Isla’s face burned. “Unbelievable,” she hissed.

Travis turned to her, still calm, his cheek faintly red. “You okay?”

“Do I look okay?” she snapped, grabbing her purse. “Enjoy your dinner with your fan club.”

She stood and stormed toward the exit. He followed.

Outside, she ran out to the street, hoping for a cab to pass by so she could leave this restaurant where she was dragged to dress in nightwear. She crossed her arms tight, jaw set as Travis caught up to her.

“Isla…”

“Don’t. Just… don’t.”

He stepped closer. “She means nothing.”

“I don’t care what she means,” she bit out. “What I care about is that this…” she gestured between them “—was a mistake. You’re trouble, Travis. And I have enough of that in my life already.”

“Because I’m younger?”

“Because you’re reckless!” she shot back. “Because while you’re out here playing games, I’m raising my dead sister’s kids, trying to hold a family together, paying bills, fighting to keep my job…”

Her voice cracked. “I don’t have time for this.”

He said nothing at first. Just watched her, chest rising and falling, eyes dark and steady.

Then he moved.

Two steps. Close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, the faint scent of rain and expensive cologne clinging to his skin.

“You talk like you don’t want me,” he murmured, “but every time I’m near you, you stop breathing.”

She froze.

“I said stop…”

He brushed a drop of water from his jaw, the last trace of the lady’s outburst at the restaurant, and his fingers grazed her chin. She flinched, but didn’t step back.

“Travis…” Her voice was barely a whisper.

His thumb traced the edge of her jaw, the touch feather-light but burning. “Say you don’t feel this,” he said softly.

Her pulse betrayed her.

He leaned in, slow, deliberate, eyes locked on hers. The air between them thickened, silent, dangerous.

For a second, Isla forgot to breathe. Everything…the noise, the street, the light…blurred out of focus.

Then his forehead rested against hers. Just barely. Just enough for the world to stop spinning.

“Tell me to walk away,” he whispered.

Her lips parted, but no words came.

Instead, she exhaled shakily.

He looked at her so intently, Isla stopped trying to fight him off of her, and she held her breath. His chest is pressing against hers, and her back is pressed to the car door. And then his mouth is on hers. Warm pressure against her lips.

Despite the strength behind them, his lips are like silk between hers.

Isla was shocked at the moan that rushed through her, and even more shocked when she parted her lips and wanted more. His tongue slides against hers, and he releases her wrists to grab her face. His kiss grows deeper, and she grasps at his hair, pulling him closer, feeling the kiss in her entire body.

Both of them become a medley of moans and gasps as the kiss brings them over the edge, their bodies wanting more than their mouths can deliver. Isla feels his hands as he reaches down and grabs her legs, lifting her and hooking them around his waist.

My God, the man can kiss.

Isla feels took she is kissing as seriously as she takes her profession. He begins to pull her away from the car door when she’s hit with the realization that yes, his mouth is capable of a lot.

For all Isla knows, she has just given in.

She is giving him what she thought he wanted: a one-night stand. And that's the last thing he deserves right now.

She pulled my mouth from his and pushed on his shoulders. “Travis, please, I can’t do this.”

“Doesn’t seem like that to me,” Travis says as he pushes more to continue what they were doing. Isla almost gave in again until a taxi drove by them. Her shut-down brain came back to life as she quickly left home to board the taxi, still shaking from what had just transpired between them.

“Drive,” she told the driver, her voice low and unsteady.

Before the car could move, a shadow filled the window. Travis.

He leaned down, his palm pressed flat to the glass, eyes dark and relentless. “You can run, Isla,” he said, voice quiet but terrifyingly sure. “But I’ll find you. You’re going to be mine one day.”

Her breath caught. His tone wasn’t playful this time; it was promise and warning woven together.

“Drive,” she repeated to the driver, sharper now.

The car lurched forward, leaving him standing in the street, a silhouette under the dim glow of streetlights, watching her go.

Her chest ached the entire ride home. Between anger and something that felt too much like fear, she couldn’t tell which one hurt more.

By the time she got home, the house was silent. The kind of silence that always made her uneasy, like it held its breath with her.

She kicked off her heels and padded down the hall.

Ethan’s door was cracked open. Her little boy lay tangled in his blankets, the steady rhythm of his breathing a small comfort. She smiled softly, pulled the blanket higher over him, and brushed her fingers through his hair.

Then she moved to Fiona’s room.

The teenager was fast asleep, one arm flung over her face, music still humming faintly from the speaker by her bed. The sight tugged something deep in Isla’s chest…love, exhaustion, guilt.

“God, Leslie,” she whispered under her breath, sinking onto the edge of the bed. “I’m trying. I really am.”

Her eyes drifted to the photo on Fiona’s nightstand, her sister, Leslie, smiling with the same eyes Fiona had inherited. The ache hit her like a wave. Three years, and it still felt like yesterday. Leslie had been her best friend, her confidante… her other half.

Now all that was left was this, a fragile family she was barely holding together, a niece who looked more like Leslie every day, and a man she shouldn’t want clouding her thoughts.

She stood, crossing to the dresser to grab the photo frame. But as she reached down, her foot nudged something, a glossy magazine on the floor.

Isla frowned and bent to pick it up.

And froze.

Travis Rossi’s face stared back at her from the cover.

Her heart thudded once, hard.

She flipped the magazine open, and her breath caught. Every page was covered. Photos of him cut from articles, headlines circled in red pen, sticky notes scrawled with his quotes. It wasn’t just a crush board; it was an obsession.

“No,” she whispered, flipping through faster. Page after page. His face. His name.

Then she saw it, a torn page taped to the mirror. Travis, standing beside her at the gala weeks ago. Someone had written across it in blue marker: Perfect together.

The room tilted. Isla’s throat went dry.

Fiona. Sweet, angry, secretive Fiona.

The man Isla couldn’t get out of her head… was the man her niece had been fantasizing about.

The realization hit like ice water.

Isla sank onto the bed, the photo frame slipping from her hands. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, wild, uneven, disbelieving.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “What have I done?”