Sweet Obsession
Chapter 1
One
SUMMER
I’d be terrified of the intruder in my home if he weren’t asleep on my couch.
Maybe he’s not even real. I only had a few margaritas tonight, but I get tipsy faster now than I did in college. I still haven’t learned my new limits at twenty-five.
My intruder flips onto his side, and my heart stops at the sudden movement. He’s very much real and very much alive.
He’s too tall for the couch, knees bent and legs folded up.
At five-foot-four, I’ve never had to worry about fitting on a couch.
His profile alone could render someone speechless.
A hard jawline relaxed in sleep, pouty lips parted slightly, nostrils on a strong, aquiline nose that flare with every faint snore, tousled brown hair that looks soft enough to burrow in.
What the hell is wrong with me? The last person I should be salivating over is a man who breaks into women’s apartments. I’m officially done with margaritas—they’re too dangerous.
“This is crazy.” I clap a hand over my mouth, but my intruder doesn’t stir as he mumbles something incoherent into the back of the couch.
My survival instincts must be nonexistent because I’m finding it hard to be afraid of a man who snores like a kitten and talks in his sleep.
Hands shaking from a mix of adrenaline, fear, and intoxication, I pull out my phone, call Hazel, and haul ass into my bedroom. What if he did something to Prick? My poor baby must be traumatized.
I don’t dare turn on any lights, guided only by the nightlight plugged in next to the storage cabinet with a built-in cage.
A huge sigh of relief whooshes from my lungs when I hear the squeak of his wheel over the phone still ringing in my ear. Prick runs merrily, completely unbothered.
“It’s okay, Prick,” I whisper. “I’ll make the bad man go away.”
At last, the phone stops ringing, and a raspy voice answers. “Somebody better be dead if you’re calling at one a.m.”
I beeline back to the living room, trying to keep my footsteps as light and soundless as possible as my pulse thunders in my ears.
In my line of work, there’s risk involved. I knew that when I signed up. But I never once considered I’d come home to find a stranger on my couch.
Maybe he’s not a stranger. I’ve run into clients and not recognized them before. I just didn’t think any of them had become obsessed with me, certainly not to this degree.
“Actually, I may need help moving a body.” On the couch, the intruder remains fast asleep, adorable kitten snores huffing from his nose. No, not adorable. Terrifying. Everything this intruder in my apartment does should terrify me. “I came home to find a man asleep on my couch.”
“What? Who is it? One of your clients?”
“I don’t know.” I cup my hand over my mouth, hoping the intruder doesn’t hear me and wake up. “I don’t recognize him.”
“You don’t know?” Hazel screeches in my ear, and I flinch. My intruder doesn’t stir, thank god, though I’m sure even Prick heard Hazel’s shout. “What the fuck, Summer? Why are you calling me? Call the cops!”
“But he’s sleeping! I should only call the police if it’s an emergency, right?”
“A strange man is in your apartment! It’s an emergency!” Hazel’s voice reaches new, pitchy heights. “Go grab a bat or a knife or something right now.”
“He’s asleep. He’s literally snoring. I actually don’t think I’ve ever seen someone sleep so deeply.” Maybe I should be concerned for him. What if he’s comatose? “I might think he was dead if his chest wasn’t moving—”
“Summer. Knife!”
He wraps his arms around one of the throw pillows, tucking it close to his chest. Almost adorable. There’s no way a man who is this cute while sleeping could possibly be a violent criminal. My heart melts a little.
Until he thrusts his hips and moans.
My spine stiffens, cheeks burning. Not only did this stranger break into my apartment in the middle of the night, but now he’s humping my pillows. Corrupting them. Defiling them.
“Sir, not my favorite pillow!” I sneak over to the couch, trying not to wake the horny, unconscious stranger, and move carefully to grab my pillow and rescue it from his depravity.
My fingertips are about to graze the yarn when Hazel’s voice grates on my eardrum. “What the hell is going on?”
“My mother crocheted that pillow for me, and he’s humping it!”
Hazel lets out a guttural growl. If she were here, she’d kill me herself. “Fuck the pillow! Get a weapon! If he wakes up, he could hurt you, Summer.”
Her warning shakes me out of my alcohol-induced psychosis.
She’s right. Who gives a shit about a pillow when this man could wake up and hurt me?
Kill me. He’s willing to break into a stranger’s apartment and then has the audacity to sleep on their couch while he waits for them to return home. What else is he willing to do?
“Hang up with me, grab a knife, leave your apartment, and call 911,” Hazel orders. “Then call me back when you can.”
“Okay.” I do as she instructs, grateful I have a friend who can talk sense into me when I need it. At least someone in this situation is thinking clearly.
Slipping into the kitchen, I arm myself with my eight-inch chef's knife that’s admittedly gotten very little use. My heart thunders so hard it’s almost painful, and my hands tremble as I sneak back to the living room.
Into the couch, he mumbles something. I’m armed, and though I may be slightly drunk, it’s hard to believe a snoring stranger could be the dangerous one. If he tries anything, I’ll stab him.
I’m pretty sure I can do it. Although just the thought of his warm, sticky blood flowing over my hand makes my stomach turn.
I need to get one last look. If he is one of my clients, I can identify him to the police—
Slowly, I approach, keeping the knife raised above my shoulder as I murmur, “One wrong move, buddy . . .”
Below me, the intruder flops onto his back in his sleep. When his eyelids flutter, my heart stops. Every muscle, every cell in my body, freezes.
He stirs slowly to consciousness, blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings. For a small moment in the silence, my chest squeezes at the watery blue eyes that fall on me. A pair of the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen.
Until they land on the knife in my hand and he lets out a high, earsplitting scream.