Page 24 of Obsessed Mr. O’Brian

“A past lover? One-night stand?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“A roommate or their boyfriend?”

“No. Isaac likes men but he never brings them home.”

Artur closes his eyes, takes a breath so deep his chest flattens my breasts, and exhales before lifting his lashes.

“We’ll address your living arrangements later. For now, promise me one thing,” he demands.

“What?” I ask.

“Promise me you’ll never go back to your apartment without me.”

Certain my mind ran away with me and his concern is just a figment of my imagination, I repeat myself.

“What?”

“You’re mine, Millie. Mine to protect.” My heart stops beating. “Lola needs you as her nurse and guardian angel. I can’t let you get hurt like this again,” he says.

Reality bursts my bubble of happiness. I yearn for Artur on a deeper level, but he only wants me for his daughter’s sake.

I let my overeager mind build an entire a future—one with Artur and I together and in love as a couple—and lost sight of the truth.

Artur O’Brian will never want me as a woman. He’ll never trust me enough to let me into his heart. He’s barely tolerating me as his daughter’s caretaker.

I swallow my disappointment and almost nod, but the thought of him meeting my father shrivels the last of my hope.

I’ve lied to him too many times already. I can’t do it anymore. False promises are worse than lies.

So I decide on a compromise.

The softness fades from his expression before I finish speaking.

My soul cries out for what will never be.

I love Artur O’Brian, but he can never be mine.

I’m merely a passing side character in his and Lola’s life. They belong to Regina. Shame pulses through me as I realize I forgot about my late best friend.

The bruises covering my body can’t compare to the agony in my heart.

Chapter 10

Artur O’Brian

She takes too long to respond. My demand is simple and logical. Having me with her when she returns keeps her safe so this never happens again. It’s purely for her sake.

At least that’s what I tell myself.

A rage I’ve never felt before—not even when she killed me and ran away—burns like ice in the center of my chest. Not even the warmth of her soft breasts and tantalizingly hard nipples—or the liquid fire of arousal in my veins—can thaw it.

I need to look the man who hurt her in the eyes so he knows exactly who I am before I shred every ounce of his dignity and beat him to a pulp.

For a few years after the accident, the weakness and pain in my limbs made contact sports, including boxing and martial arts, too dangerous, but once the doctors cleared me, I tried every fighting style I could find a class for before finding a few favorites to stick with. My rage needed an outlet, and while building my business was often rigorous, it didn’t offer me the same as hitting something.

I will destroy the man who dared put his hands on my woman.