Page 9 of Obsessed Mr. O’Brian

Despite basking in my daughter’s hug, I can’t help but believe Millie Grant deserves whatever heartbreak the Casanova can give her. I shouldn’t waste my time and energy thinking about her.

Afraid to move with my raging hard-on even with my underwear compressing my wayward flesh, I close my eyes and pat my daughter’s back as I try to calm the storm roaring in my veins.

The view of Millie’s perfect body will forever remain at the forefront of my mind. Her creamy breasts, hard nipples, slim waist, flared hips, and the tiny bit of lace covering her sex heated my blood as nothing ever has before. The raging inferno demands I lift her high heels off the floor, wrap her long legs around my waist, and sink my cock into her tight, wet heat over and over again.

My imagination stuns me into stillness. I blame my lack of experience for my failure to control my response.

After the accident, as I lay in my hospital bed with my legs cut open for days so I didn’t lose them to the swelling, I thought my passion had seeped out through my open wounds, and as time went on and my loins never stirred, I assumed the electricity shocked all the lust from my veins.

Only the drugging four years ago and today’s fiasco have proved my theory wrong.

When I finally pull my thoughts out of the gutter, I carry my daughter to the opposite side of the gauntlet as Millie and her friend squat to Lola’s level. I open a satchel of rice and coach my daughter through her first few tosses, and I keep my eyes averted from the other side of the party even as the newlyweds walk from the church to their limousine.

Eager to leave the moment Lola empties her satchel, I grind my teeth and offer the lady beside us a stiff nod when she passes another bag of rice to my daughter.

Wonder overpowers my frustration as I watch my baby throw a handful of rice up in the air. The joy and excitement on her tiny features fill my heart so full I fear it may burst. Caught up in the moment, I forget to school my expression before I look up.

Eyes the color of a clear blue sky capture mine. The depth and intensity of Millie’s sadness sucks all the color from the world. She looks away and pins a fake smile on her lips. With my stomach in knots and my mind a whirlwind of uncertainty, I peel my gaze off her stunning beauty and return my focus to my daughter.

My unease doesn’t fade even after Lola empties a third bag of rice and aims expectant eyes up at me.

I glance at the neighbor who provided her with the extra satchel before I sigh and show my toddler my open hands.

“They’re all gone, baby,” I lament.

Panic rips through me as she gears up for a meltdown.

The limousine pulls away from the curb. Lola’s attention shifts to the parking lot.

Fuck. I lunge for her, but despite her short little legs, she’s out of reach before I can grab her.

The sexiest curves in all of womankind step in front of my daughter. Millie bends at the waist and offers three packets of rice on her upturned palm.

“Take these for later, lovie. Maybe if you hug your daddy big enough, he’ll let you toss his too,” she says with a sad smile.

I drop into a low squat behind my daughter and wrap an arm around her stomach to prevent another sprint. Lola takes the rice from Millie.

Not a complete barbarian, I look up to thank Millie.

Our eyes meet. Blinding-white light spears through my brain as past and present collide, the angle and Millie’s face staring down at me transporting me back to the accident. Forgotten memories blast through my mind’s eye. The sky flicks back and forth between clear blue and stormy rain. Too jumbled and chaotic to put in order, I can’t make any sense of the scene.

A woman screaming. Millie turning and sprinting away. The emptiness of death. A terrified, desperate voice begging and pleading for me to wake up. Pretty blue eyes drip tears onto my throat. A blurry face above me. Hospital lights streaking across my vision.

Regina resuscitated me, so why does my heart insist it was this face—Millie’s—staring down at me when I pulled in my first gasping breath?

If it weren’t for Lola, I’d fall on my ass from the pain in my skull, but she’s too precious to put in danger, so I brace a hand on the ground beside my expensive shoe and pull in a steadying breath.

My thank you emerges as more of a growl than individual words, but Millie nods and glides away without a backward glance. Less than five steps later, two women with pregnancy bumps intercept her, and despite the vacancy in her pretty eyes, Millie braces just in time to keep her balance as a boy of about ten years old crashes into her.

By the exclamations of the women around her, Millie is the only one familiar with the boy. When a smiling couple approaches them, Millie begins introductions.

Deciding my curiosity serves no purpose since I’ll avoid her like the plague from here on out, I turn Lola toward me and lift her to my chest as I rise.

Without a backward glance, I carry my daughter away from the woman who released more flashbacks with her face in the span of a few seconds than therapists and doctors have been able to recover in thirteen years.

I don’t need to remember my past anymore. My daughter and work are more than enough.

Which makes my wandering mind as I look after Lola and sneak in a few work-related tasks all the more frustrating. No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop my thoughts from circling around to the stunning woman who woke parts of me I thought dead long ago. Even through a loud and messy dinner—I think Lola deposited more food on the floor than in her mouth—and an awkward bath where more suds ended up on me than my daughter, and the longest bedtime routine in history, I can’t stop thinking about Millie Grant.