Page 4 of Hidden Obsession

Chapter Two

Mason had been nursing a beer,reflecting on his recovery from the knife wound that had nearly taken his life when he’d received Emme’s call. He’d heard Cleo’s name, and was out of his building and in his car like a rocket. He lived closest to Alliance, so he didn’t question why he’d been the first called.

All he knew was Cleo, that stubborn, sarcastic, beautiful, intelligent woman, was in trouble. He’d been battling his attraction to her since he’d walked in the very first day at Alliance and saw her sexy ass bent over the desk as she’d tried to connect the printer to her computer and cursing the entire time.

Tonight, he’d nearly had a heart attack when he’d seen a shadowed figure looming over her, pulling at her ankle. If he had been a few minutes later… He didn’t want to think about what might have happened. As she’d sat huddled in his car, shivering and trying not to let him see, her gorgeous lilac hair plastered to her face, he’d never wanted to protect someone as much as he did her.

Cleo was not meek and she was no damsel in distress. To see her so shaken made him feel feral with rage. He’d intended to walk her inside, make sure she was okay, then go to Alliance and check the CCTV from the area. The note on her door instantly changed his plans. His blood turned to ice as he realized two things, one, this was not an isolated incident and two, this sick fuck knew where she lived.

Cleo had herself a stalker. He’d seen too many cases like this not to recognize one. Snatching the post-it note between his forefinger and thumb, he reread it and made a decision. “Pack a bag, Cleo.” His words seemed to snap her from her fog, and he felt his lips twitch at the re-awakening of her formidable spirit.

“What?”

It was as if she hadn’t heard him correctly. He took her keys from her cold fingers and opened her door, which didn’t even have an insurance-approved lock on it. He and Cleo would be having a serious discussion about how she handled her personal safety, but not right now.

He unlocked her door and pushed her through, closing it behind them, barely taking in the abstract paintings and brightly covered purple walls of her apartment. Without waiting, he walked through every room, checking to make sure there was no intruder before returning to stand behind Cleo who was still in the doorway.

Cleo rounded on him, hands on her hips and Mason tried not to look down at her wet clothes and notice the outline of her perky breasts. He tried, and he failed. Cleo wasn’t a client, and he couldn’t employ a professional attitude to the case.

Cleo was the woman he had spent the better part of a year fantasizing about, and now she was in danger, standing before him, all attitude and fire, her body practically begging for his touch.

She let her bag fall from her hand. “Thank you for your help, but I have it from here.”

Mason felt the last thread of control snap at her complete disregard for what was happening here. “Cleo, it may have escaped your notice, but the man who attacked you tonight, the one who was seconds away from doing who knows what to you, knows where you live.” He stepped closer, softening his angry voice slightly as he saw her shiver again. “Now, either I’m staying here, or you’re coming to stay with me!” Mason moved, so they were nearly touching in the close confines of the room. “Which will it be?” He was perfectly willing to stand there all night and argue if it kept her safe.

She seemed to think on it a second before looking behind her at her tiny couch and shrugging. “Fine, I’ll pack a bag but only for one night and only because my couch is too small for you.” Then she turned and walked toward her bedroom.

“Cleo?” She stopped at his call and looked at him. “Who said I would be on the couch?” His wicked grin made his intentions clear. He was done running from his feelings for this little sprite—he was going to make things clear that mild-mannered Mason only went so far. He saw her mouth form a pretty little ‘O’ that made his dick twitch and grinned as she scurried away.

He picked up his phone and dialed Emme to update her on the situation. “Emme, it’s me.”

“So what’s the status?” He heard shuffling in the background as she put him on speaker.

“She opted out of the hospital. Bad news, the attacker knows where Cleo lives. The bastard even left her a note on the front door. It’s a classic sign of a stalker.”

“Motherfucker.” Shane spat the word.

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly.” Mason’s answer revealed his gloom.

“I’ll be right over.” Shane obviously felt she shouldn’t be left alone.

“No need. I have her packing a bag. She’s coming to stay with me.” Mason let the statement hang, waiting for Shane or Emme to say something.

Shane chuckled. “About fucking time.”

Mason had no clue what that was about and didn’t ask as Cleo chose that moment to walk in carrying a small overnight bag. She had changed from her soaked workwear of a chic pantsuit and blouse, which he’d been sure were made to torment men with the way they hinted at every curve and showed nothing and everything at the same time. He was wrong—the yoga pants she was wearing were the epitome of torture. They hugged the soft, round cheeks of her ass before tapering down into long shapely legs that he could picture wrapped around him.

“Mason.” Emme’s voice rose, which made him think it wasn’t the first time she had said his name.

“Yes, sorry?”

“I said, we’ll have Alex and King come over and run some fingerprint searches.” He could hear the definite smile in her voice.

“Good idea, I’ll be in early to get started on this case.”

“Okay, give Cleo a hug from me.” It was the last words Emme said before disconnecting.

“What was all that about?” Cleo came closer, the hoodie on her top half-covering her from his gaze.