Ruthless Obsession

Chapter Nine: You Can’t Run From Me

Naomi woke with a taste of whiskey and regret on her mouth.

She rolled over, the silk sheets strange against her skin. There was a weighty arm draped across her waist, a body spooned into her back.

She didn't have to turn to remember his name. Didn't want to.

Slipping out from under him, she retrieved her dress from the floor and drew it on, ignoring the dull ache between her thighs.

Last night had been a diversion. A filthy, raw f**k-you to the man who'd attempted to stake his claim on her.

A man who was quite possibly watching her at this very moment.

She could feel it.

The weight of his presence even when he wasn't there.

Julian Saint Clair was a sickness, a virus in her blood.

And she would not allow him to win.

Predator & Prey

The air was thick with summer heat as Naomi walked through the city streets, the pale light of dawn barely chasing away shadows.

She was exhausted, but sleep was not a possibility.

She required coffee.

And a distraction.

So she ducked into a small, nearly empty café and ordered a black espresso, hoping the bitterness would chase away the thoughts that were taking shape in the back of her mind.

But then—she felt it.

The slow prickle of awareness creeping up her spine.

She didn’t have to turn around.

She knew who it was.

Still, she did. And regretted it instantly.

Julian Saint Clair sat at a corner table, watching her.

His emerald eyes were unreadable, his expression calm, composed.

As if he owned the world.

As if he owned her.

Naomi’s grip tightened around her cup, her pulse a traitorous drum against her ribs.

She was tired. Hungover. And the last thing she needed was him.

So she turned back to the counter, dismissing him.

But the devil doesn't like being dismissed.

A chair scraped against the floor. The sound of footsteps.

Then—he was behind her.

Too close.

His warmth was pressed against her back, the scent of leather and musk invading her senses.

"Long night?" His voice was a low growl in her ear.

She drank her coffee slowly, unmoved. "Why do you care?"

Julian laughed. "Because, sweetheart," he whispered, tracing a finger down her spine, "I don't like to share what's mine."

Her breath caught.

Not in fear.

In anger.

She turned, her eyes sharp enough to cut. "I'm not yours, Julian."

His smile was slow, deadly. "No?" He tilted his head, watching her. "Then tell me, did he please you?"

Her stomach clenched.

Bastard.

She wouldn't let him get under her skin.

So she scoffed and leaned in close, her lips nearly brushing against his.

"Oh, he did more than satisfy me," she whispered. "I can still feel him between my thighs."

Something dark flickered in Julian's eyes.

Something primal.

Then, he laughed.

Low. Menacing. Amused.

Naomi swallowed. She had misjudged.

"Good," Julian said, dragging a thumb along the underside of her bottom lip. "Because next time, I won't be gentle."

Her pulse throbbed against her throat.

He pulled away, pushing something into her hand.

A key.

She frowned. "What the hell is this?"

Julian smiled, stepping back.

"Your next mistake."

And then—he was gone.

But Naomi knew the truth.

She wasn't running from Julian.

She was running right into him.