Page 59 of His Obsession
When the front door finally closes, the house feels too big.
Val stands in the foyer, looking toward the dining room where the candles are still burning low. Her shoulders draw in now thateveryone is gone, and something awkward settles back into her face. She looks almost shy.
I can handle her temper. I know what to do with that. I can handle sharp words, stubbornness, and the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m overstepping. This version of Val makes me want to reach for her, and that means I need to be careful.
“That was nice,” she says.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
She glances at me, then away. “I mean it. Thank you. You didn’t have to do all that.”
“I wanted to.”
Her fingers move over the edge of the console table near the stairs. It gives her something to do with her hands, and I can tell she needs that.
“I’m not used to people doing nice things for me without expecting something.”
“I wanted you to be happy tonight,” I tell her honestly. “You deserve to be happy.”
She steps closer.
“Sebastian,” she nearly whispers.
I wait for what comes next, but instead she rises on her tiptoes and kisses me. For half a second, I’m surprised. Then my hand is at her waist and my mouth is on hers, and I’ve run out of reasons to be careful.
She tastes like sparkling water and chocolate. Her hands slide up my chest, fingers curling into my shirt. It would be easy to takethe opening. Easy to let the kiss go where it wants to go, because I know she wants me. I can feel it in the way she leans into me, in the soft sound she makes when my hand tightens at her waist.
That’s exactly why I stop. I pull back before I can talk myself out of it.
She blinks up at me, cheeks flushed, eyes confused enough to make me feel like an asshole immediately.
“What?” she asks.
I step back. “We shouldn’t.”
The confusion turns into embarrassment so fast I want to kick myself.
“Oh,” she says, folding her arms over herself.
“This is too confusing,” I tell her. “I want to be with you, but you clearly don’t want to be with me.”
Her eyes shine, and I immediately regret every word.
“I’m trying,” she says, and her voice cracks just enough to make me feel like the worst man alive. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
“I don’t want you to force yourself into something because I’m here and I’m safe tonight. I don’t want you to regret this in the morning.”
She swipes under one eye, clearly angry at the tear. She glares at me through wet lashes.
I step closer again, slow enough that she has every chance to move away. She doesn’t.
“Listen to me,” I say. “I don’t need the picture-perfect family. I don’t need a white picket fence. I don’t need you to pretend you’re ready for something when you aren’t.”
She looks down at the floor, but at least she’s listening.
“And if you decide this isn’t what you want, I’m not going to lose my mind and punish you for it. I’m not going to follow you or make you pay for saying no. I’m not Adrian.”
Her face crumples for half a second before she gets it under control. That tells me I finally said the right thing, or at least something close to it.
