Page 83 of Fame and Obsession

I can’t blame her. It was a little over the top. I had no intention of doing it until I saw that fucker, Nate, using our separation to make a play for her.

I’d been stalking her just like she’s accused me of doing since the day we met. I couldn’t help it. If she thought one text from her would end what we started in that hotel room, she was crazy.

The woman is so far under my skin, I’m not sure I’ll ever get her out. Her silence is one thing, but seeing her with another guy damn near drove me insane.

If I thought she consumed me before, now that we’ve given into this violent attraction between us, I’ve become a man obsessed.

Phoebe Ryan has absolutely mind fucked me.

Things have been surprisingly calm between us the last few days. Which is saying a lot because Phoebe and I do everything to extremes.

We fight hard and fuck harder.

Like this morning, for example. Luckily, the latter claimed the majority of our time.

Lifting her head, she bites into one of the few remaining strawberries, her blue eyes worried at the corners. “Still no leads on who took that picture?”

I lower my gaze, knowing what she wants to hear but having nothing of value to offer her. “It was probably just an overzealous fan. It happens a lot.”

She heaves a sigh and drops her cheek back against my chest. “You’re purposely keeping me in the dark again. That’s not fair.”

The truth is I have no idea who photographed us, or why. I have my suspicions, leaving no other course of action but to wait for another text warning me to stay away from the woman in my arms.

Unfortunately, that warning still hasn’t come. The whole situation makes me wonder if we’re both a little paranoid.

“Princess, you’ve got to start trusting me.”

Rolling off my chest, she sits up and scrunches her eyebrows. “But do you trust me? Do you even know me, Julian? What’s my full name? What’s my favorite color? What was my first job? Don’t you think people in real relationships should know these things?”

Pushing up on my forearm, I tuck a piece of dark hair behind her ear. “Phoebe Nicole Ryan, yellow, and you worked the concession stand at a ballpark.”

A smile teases her lips. “Stalker.”

“I trust you, princess,” I assure her. “I need you to trust that I’ll never let anyone hurt you. You’re mine, Phoebe—every yellow-loving, hot-dog-stand-working inch of you.”

I pull her to me. There’s a violent, irrational need in me to prove my words. Mine. I need to claim her. Mark her. Spread her legs and make her mine over and over…

And just like she has every day for the last two weeks, Phoebe wraps her legs around my waist and welcomes my demons.

* * *

For two weeks, I’ve tried to keep her away from the paparazzi. But the minute we step out of any doorway, they’re like a swarm of fucking lens snipers. It doesn’t bother me, but it’s new territory for Phoebe, and I want to protect her as much as possible.

I’ll ruin anyone who upsets her, and that includes stalkers who think they’re allowed an opinion on where I spend my time.

Especially today.

She’s been moody since yesterday and won’t tell me why. She jumps at every phone call and refuses to let me turn on the television. Her whole demeanor seems strange, but then again, nothing about Phoebe Ryan is normal.

Chalking it up to monthly female issues, I decide to arrange a surprise to cheer her up.

My plans go to hell the moment I catch a glimpse of my car, as we step outside the front of her brownstone. Thinking fast, I grab her shoulders and twirl her around before she can see it.

“Hey,” I whisper, kissing the back of her head. “It’s kind of a long drive. Can you go back inside and grab a couple drinks and some snacks?”

She cocks her head, and I can see the wheels turning in her head. I hold my breath, praying this will be the one time she doesn’t argue with me. Thankfully, she shrugs and heads back up the stairs to her apartment.

Once she’s gone, I break into a full-out sprint toward my car.

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