Obesssion
Authors: Sofia Grey
Tags: #Romance, #Paranormal, #Romantic Suspense, #Sports, #Mystery & Suspense, #Suspense, #Psychics
OBSESSION
NOUN: a persistent idea or impulse that continually forces its way into consciousness, often associated with anxiety and mental illness
Sofia Grey
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and places either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Time and Tide Publishing, LLC
7040 Seminole Pratt Whitney Rd. Suite 25-109
Loxahatchee, FL 33470
Copyright© 2013 Sofia Grey
www.timeandtidepublishing.com
Cover by Tincar Creations
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9892549-2-2
10 0 9 8 9 2 5 4 9
2 5
Acknowledgements:
Thanks to my lovely critique partners Lillian Grant and Elise Penning, and to the truly awesome team at T&T Publishing. Tina deserves a special mention for all the hours spent working on the cover art, and big hugs go to Jodi for nagging me into sending my manuscript in the first place, and then whipping it into shape. Thanks guys, you all rock.
Table of Content
1.1 Josh
I live by simple rules: never make any promises, one night only, and always use hotel rooms, never my home.
The tiny voice recorder captured our entire conversation, such as it was. The hidden camera had crystal clear images of our liaison, and the voice-activated camcorder had preserved every moment from when we entered my room.
Savannah lay back on the bed, practically naked, her eyes glazed with desire. “Josh, I’ve never wanted anyone like this before.”
It would have been so easy.
I fell back on one of my usual lies. “Oh God, I’m really sorry. I’ve got a conference call I need to take part in.” I gave her my shamefaced, little boy look and—as they all do—she melted instantly.
Moving forwards, she kneeled on the bed next to me, stroking my arm through my shirt.
“It’s midnight, who on earth can you be talking to at this time?”
“
My editor set up the call with an Australian publishing house. It completely slipped my mind.” In keeping with my pretence, I ran my hand through her soft hair. She moved her face to rub her cheek against my palm, seeking my caress like a cat. I obliged, but just for a moment. “You need to go, Savannah.”
She pouted, a look of uncertainty crept into her eyes.
“Will I—do you…”
“
You’re gorgeous.” I kept my voice low, husky, as though I couldn’t resist her charms. “But this isn’t right, and you know it. You’re married, sweetheart.”
At this point, there was still a chance her marriage could be saved. I held my breath.
She ducked her head and pleated the edge of the pillowcase. “We have an open marriage. I’ve had lovers before. Alan doesn’t mind.”
I exhaled noisily, felt a moment of pity for her husband, and then took control once again.
“In any case, I really have to take this call, sweetheart.”
Ten minutes later she finally left my room, enabling me to switch off all the recorders and check the data I’d captured. When it was all packed away, I sent Alan a text confirming I had what he wanted, and arranged a meeting for the following day.
Was it possible to find a woman who actually understood what it meant to be faithful to her husband?
1.2 Suki
“
Bloody Spiro. I hate his spinning class. He’s as sadistic as Gabe.”
I sank onto the bench and tucked the towel a little tighter under my arms. Thank God for air conditioning in the gym, otherwise I would have melted into a puddle by now.
My friend and workmate, Katy, raised one delicately-shaped eyebrow. “Spiro is a scary control freak with delusions of grandeur. Surely Gabe isn’t that bad?”
“
He has his moments.” It was actually a great description of my husband, but there’s no way I’d admit it, not even to Katy. I took a swig from my water bottle. “Gabe’s a darling. I’m just a little stressed at the moment, don’t mind me.”
“
Ah, the photo shoot.” Katy busied herself with her hair straightener and smiled at me in the mirror. “Come on, Suki, you’re a pro. You and Gabe do photo shoots all the time for one magazine or another. What’s so special about this one?”
I took another sip of water while trying to find the right words to explain.
“It’s
The Day
magazine, and they’re featuring us for their big seasonal colour supplement—
”
Christmas At Home With Gabe and Suki”. Gabe is quite excited about it.”
More like triumphant. He was still seething about his sporting colleague and rival, Jon Craigowan, being featured in
The Day
before us. To be fair, Jon and his lovely wife had been celebrating their daughter’s first birthday, and the pictures were beautiful. Thanks to Gabe alternately raging at and charming the editor, they had finally offered him the prestigious Christmas issue instead. God forbid I appeared less than 100% enthusiastic.
“
How have they made your house look like it’s ready for Christmas? It’s the middle of August, for Chrissake.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Enough holly and mistletoe to sink a medium-sized battleship, a seven-foot Scots Pine tree—God knows where that came from—as well as candles, wreaths, and hundreds of Christmas cards. After I’d dug out all the cards we received last year, the stylist decided we needed more. Sixty seven just wasn’t enough.”
Katy laughed at my dry tone, but I shook my head, thinking again of the Christmas dinner we’d be hosting tomorrow afternoon. Eighteen people arriving for a roast turkey lunch with all the trimmings, right down to canapés and Bucks Fizz, and individual plum puddings. I wanted to weep at the thought of all the work involved.
“People sometimes ask me if your marriage is as perfect as it looks.” I met Katy’s concerned gaze. “I always tell them, ‘Yes, Suki has the dream husband.’” She hesitated, and then spoke in a rush. “I know Gabe can be difficult. You
are
happy, aren’t you?”
“
We’ve been married for ten years, Katy.”
I don’t know if I love him anymore.
“What can I say?”
I’m scared my life is falling apart
. “We’re good.”
I don’t know if I can go on like this.
No matter what doubts I had in private, I wasn’t going to let Gabe down when it came to this photo shoot. Not when he’d waited so long for this shining moment.
Britain’s latest golden couple.
I’d make it look perfect if it bloody killed me.
1.3 Josh
Driving out of Manchester, I was waiting in a long traffic queue when my attention was drawn to a poster promoting child fostering. A smiling boy stared up at a gooey-eyed woman with some idiotic tagline. If only it was that easy.
I was living in my fourth foster home, probably at the fifth or sixth new school, when I first realised I was different. Not normal. The nameless foster mothers holding my hand and smiling down at me, for the benefit of the overstretched social workers, but all the while thinking about what a repulsive child I was. I learned early on how easily women lied; I could hear their thoughts, just like the guy in that crappy Mel Gibson chick-flick.
The angry honking from behind jerked me back to the present and the gap opening ahead. I held up a hand to acknowledge the driver and concentrated again on my surroundings. Arriving in the affluent suburb of Wilmslow with half an hour to spare, I parked on a quiet side street close to Alan’s office and went in search of coffee. I found a café on the main road, bustling with office workers and mums with toddlers.
The young woman in front of me glanced over her shoulder at the street behind, then at her watch, an anxious frown creasing her smooth forehead.
She looked familiar. Yellow blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, huge brown eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose. Not particularly tall—maybe five-foot-three—she was slim in tight jeans and a t-shirt which hugged her gentle curves. Yes, I knew her from somewhere. I watched covertly as she waited to be served and racked my brain some more. She looked different from when I’d last seen her. Since she stood so close, I couldn’t miss her fresh, clean fragrance. With damp hair and a sports bag slung over her shoulder, she’d probably just emerged from the expensive looking gym next door.
The barista greeted her by name—Suki—asking if she wanted her usual skinny cappuccino to go. She nodded smiling, then frowned as she dug in her jeans pocket, pulling out a vibrating phone. The smile returned and I listened idly to her end of the conversation. Her voice was deeper than you’d expect, slightly husky and well modulated. Attractive.
“I’m just in the café—don’t tell Gabe I stopped for coffee, I’m supposed to have given up caffeine. God, the gym was horrendous.” It was my turn to be served. By the time I’d placed my order, the phone was back in her pocket and she was paying for her drink.
Our drinks arrived at the same time as one of the toddlers wobbled forwards, crashing into the back of her leg. The look of surprise on her face was comical as she lurched into me, trying desperately to keep her drink upright. Mine was safe from the assault, but hers was not so lucky—the lid jerked off, splashing waves of soft white froth down the front of my shirt.
“Oh…” One hand covered her mouth in an instant of mortification, then she seemed to pull her wits together and grabbed a stack of paper napkins from the counter. “I’m so sorry, let me help you clean up. You’re not scalded are you?” Before I could reply, she’d turned to the horrified-looking barista. “Vanya, can I have some ice please?” Then back to me, pressing the napkins lightly against my shirt. “Are you okay?” Her brown eyes radiated concern and I smiled back, enjoying the moment.
“
It’s fine, really.” A tea towel filled with ice cubes appeared from behind the counter, Suki was juggling this with the napkins and her own drink, when her phone rang again. While I politely refused the ice—the froth hadn’t been enough to scald me—she muttered into her phone. “Hiya. Yes, I’m on my way. I’ll be there in five minutes. I just, ah...got held up. Got to go, see you soon.”
I don’t want to go home.
“
That bad, huh?”
Too late, I realised she hadn’t actually said it out loud. I’d picked up on her thought as clearly as if she’d spoken the words. Trying to cover for my mistake, I explained,
“I thought you said something, maybe I misheard.”
Worry flickered in her eyes.
“Are you
sure
you don’t need that ice?” I reached for the cloth, and before she could pull away, I took hold of her wrist, holding the cold pack against the back of her hand.
As soon as I touched her, I could get a better read on her. Her emotions were swirling in a wild torrent:
embarrassment, anxiety, alarm, wariness—a flash of guilt—and just a fleeting glimpse of excitement, quickly squashed. I automatically looked to her ring finger and saw an enormous diamond and ornate bi-coloured wedding ring. They were surprisingly ostentatious for such slender fingers; I wondered if her husband had selected them.
Her hand still resting in mine, she shrugged and gave me an awkward smile. It didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Excuse me, I’m late for something. Can I pay for your cleaning bill? I really am sorry for messing up your shirt.”
I don’t want anyone to see this.
I released her, smiled politely as she stepped around me, heading for the exit.
“It’s no problem, don’t worry about it.”
A flash of a real smile, and then she disappeared onto the street.
* * * *
Alan Houghton was a lawyer. I guess he had a better idea than most about the legal side of divorce, but it didn’t make our meeting any more comfortable. He maintained a calm facade as he watched the video evidence, unable to avoid wincing when Savannah muttered about her other lovers.
Rolling a fountain pen back and forth between his fingers, he gave me a blank-eyed stare. “You provide me with the original data when I pay your bill?”
I nodded.
He sighed and I felt another pang of sympathy for him. As I watched, he wrote out my cheque and slid it across the desk towards me. In return, I gave him all the digital files, along with the hotel bill and other paperwork. Our transaction was complete. A grubby business perhaps, but lucrative.
He stood up as I tucked the cheque inside my wallet.
“I was just about to finish. Do you have time for a drink before you go?” I had a couple more assignments bubbling under, but nothing that couldn’t wait.
“
Sure. I don’t know the area; where do you suggest?”
“
There’s a quiet wine bar up the street. What do you know about Wilmslow?”
I thought about it.
“Not much. Don’t lots of premier division footballers live here?”
He laughed briefly.
“That’s it. Wilmslow and Alderley Edge are reputed to have one of the highest concentrations of top earners in the country, and plenty of footballers.” We strolled along the street in no particular hurry. “And footballers have a certain reputation, as I’m sure you can guess.” He paused, glanced across at me. “I fail to understand why, but while it seems perfectly acceptable for them to have multiple women on the go at once, they get particularly distressed when their wives, uh, play away.”
I shrugged.
“Maybe it’s a result of living in the public eye. In my experience, they usually appear as often in the gossip columns as the sports pages.”
“
True.” Alan waited until we were settled with our drinks before he continued. “I’m curious as to how you started doing this?”
“
Honey traps?” He nodded. “I’m a writer by profession. This started as a sideline, a favour for a friend.” Another of my usual lies.
“
Uh-huh.” I got the sense he had something on his mind. We made some more small talk about the town, and his plans for the coming weekend. Then he leapt in. “I handle a lot of high profile divorce settlements. Having evidence of the sort you provide could be very beneficial to my clients. I’d like to propose a referral charge if I recommend those clients to you.”