Page 65 of Unapologetic Obsession
With a sharp inhale, I turned away from him. The bedroom had a panoramic view of the ocean, though the curtains were partially drawn. Soft morning light filtered into the room, casting odd shadows on the wall.
“Morning,” he said in his signature baritone voice.
“M-morning,” I managed, forcing myself to face him.
My breath caught in my throat when our gazes clashed. His dirty-blond hair was slightly disheveled, framing eyes heavy from sleep. But it didn’t hide the blazing heat in them or the charming half smile gracing his face.
Why was he in such a good mood?
This was the first time his expressions mimicked anything close to contentment. I wouldn’t go as far as to say he was happy, more like happy-adjacent. He was pleased about waking up next to me.
My clammy hands reached up to brush a stray hair out of my face, unintentionally exposing my cleavage. My face burned hot under his scrutiny. The dark look he fostered whenever he took stock of my features and fixated on my bare skin… There was an undeniable intensity behind it, a wildness that couldn’t be contained.
With a quick blink, I regained control of the sheet and covered myself. But I still couldn’t catch my breath as memories from last night washed over me. The intoxicating kisses, his voice, that look, it was all too familiar.
That was when the realization hit me like a gut punch—I knew this man.
Figments of the past had been taunting me for days, but I couldn’t piece them all together. But ever since he kissed me, I became certain of one thing. He had kissed me likethatbefore.
For days, I’d had vivid dreams of a different life. All this time, I thought it was my subconscious acting out. Except those weren’t dreams, they were hazy memories. I knew this man before I lost my memories—he was my professor.
Why did he lie about our past? He must have had nefarious reasons for going to such great lengths to conceal our acquaintance.
A cold sweat trickled down my back. Latent panic had the air around my ears buzzing with a ringing sound. What if Dr. Maxwell was the madman I had been running from?
My spine straightened as I remembered how he had broken the deliveryman’s hand. Suddenly, the fact that he was made of pure muscles no longer had me salivating. Even at my strongest, I wouldn’t stand a chance against a man like him.
My mind reeled as he lifted to his elbows. The smirk on his face turned into a wolfish grin, and I realized it was because I was staring at him. He thought I was enamored by him. But this wasn’t adoration; I was freaking out.
I jumped when he spoke again.
“Bad dream?”
“W-what?” I stammered, cursing the tremor in my voice.
He raised an eyebrow. “You look a little pale. Did you have a bad dream?” He watched me, assessing every emotion that crossed my face. “Or did you remember something?” His tone was casual yet somehow sharp. I could tell the answer mattered with how he awaited my response.
My heart rate quickened, and I forced a weak smile. “Oh. I, erm, yeah, I had a bad dream,” I told him, my voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t remember what it was about.”
He studied me momentarily, and I fought the urge to squirm. Those piercing blue eyes dissected me, trying to catch me in a lie. “Interesting,” he mused, a hint of something indecipherable in his eyes. “You screamed over a bad dream you can’t even remember.”
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. The air was squeezed out of my lungs, making it difficult to breathe. “I didn’t scream,” I said in a placating tone. “It was more like a gasp.”
I couldn’t bring myself to make eye contact, desperately searching for a way to end the conversation. I had no idea if my explanation was convincing, and lying to him was impossible.
“Ow.” I clutched my ankle when it suddenly flared up.
He immediately bolted upright. “Does your ankle hurt?” he asked, his voice softer, almost caring, and his interrogation over my nightmare all but forgotten.
Saved by the bell.
When I nodded, he rotated my ankle to examine the swelling, and I said a silent prayer for the distraction. He gave me anti-inflammatory pills and applied an ointment.
I watched him work and couldn’t make sense of my situation. If he were the man from my nightmares, why was he healing me? Why did he save me in the first place? Perhaps I was mistaken, and my mind was playing tricks on me.
I had to calm down. He couldn’t be the man from my nightmares, because if he wanted to kill me, he would have done so already. Instead, he had saved me from certain death.
“How does it feel now?” he asked.
