Arrogantly Obsessed: Those Malcolm Boys Book 3 Read online

  Delilah

  My lips still tingle from when Crew kissed me this morning. He didn’t push for more like I thought he would. He was kind of sweet, actually. He made me feel all the things he said. The moment was so raw, so real, that when I retreated, he allowed me to. What’s more shocking is that I didn’t want him to stop.

  I wanted more. I craved more. Needed it like my next breath of air. I can’t ask for it, though. I can’t ask him for anything. I must keep moving forward. Build myself up before I can even dream of holding onto a man like Crew Malcolm. A man who likes a woman who knows how to respond to such a virile man like him. That’s not me. I barely even know what I like behind closed doors, let alone with him.

  Maybe that’s what I need to do?

  Date.

  He does. I should be able to as well.

  But I wouldn’t even know where to start.

  Pouring the mixture for my new cherry blossom bath bombs into the molds, I place them on the table and begin to clean up while debating this dating conundrum and if I want to do it. I know I’m pretty; I get complimented a lot on my hair and eyes. I also get asked out frequently by Crew’s employees and even some of his single customers. My problem is, I don’t trust easily. And despite my claim to Crew, I am broken. Beyond repair.

  My serial killer father tried to murder me to avoid arrest; what else am I supposed to be?

  Dropping down onto my sofa after getting my mess put to rights, I drag out my phone and search dating apps. Tinder is the first to pop up. Chewing my lip, I bite the bullet and enter enough information without giving away everything about myself.

  Swipe left or swipe right.

  It seems simple enough.

  But I find myself swiping left on everyone. Even the ones who seem interesting because if I’m being honest with myself, they’re not the one I actually want.

  Crew.

  My boss. The one man who is seriously off-limits to me. Except then the feel of his lips moving across mine and his tongue slipping through the crack of my mouth to play ignites my body in ways I’ve never experienced and reminds me he’s not as forbidden as I once thought.

  Shaking my head, I know I can’t pursue anything with him. He isn’t the settling down type, and I’m not the friends with benefits type. I don’t know what type I am exactly, but I know it’s not that. If, and that’s a big if, I ever meet a man worth giving my heart to, he has to be all in. Not a player or someone who just brushes me off as some silly girl because I’m afraid of opening myself up to him.

  “You’re being ridiculous.” Muttering to myself, I swipe right on the next profile that interests me and instantly regret it. He’s a few years older than me, which isn’t necessarily a big deal. His eyes are kind, I think. What do I know?

  Putting my phone down, I go back to the kitchen to finish what I was working on and make dinner. Which only depresses me because making a meal for one isn’t the most enjoyable thing in the world to do. Hearing my phone ding as I’m washing the lettuce for a salad I don’t even want, I argue with myself over answering the incoming message. I’m almost twenty, I can date. But I don’t know if I want to.

  Hatred for my father bubbles to the surface, and I drop the colander filled with vegetables in the sink and answer my phone. Okay, I will go on at least two dates, if only in protest for the way my life has turned out. I need to know what it’s like and that I can do it when I’m actually ready for it. I want to be normal like other women my age. I want to be wanted. To feel desire. I’m so tired of being alone all the time. The only friends I have work with me, so I think that makes them more like acquaintances.

  Exhaling, I open the app and read.

  Matt: Cute pic. Wanna do dinner?

  I’ve barely read the words when I get another message. This time from a Jeff, and it’s filled with emoticons that, if I’m guessing correctly, imply that he wants to hook up. I ignore Jeff.

  Me: Dinner would be nice. When and where?

  I don’t immediately hit send. Analyzing every word I’ve typed, I wonder if I sound desperate. “Oh my god, Li, just stop it already.” Berating myself is something I do all too often. Tapping the send button, I bite my lip.

  I get two more messages while waiting on Matt to reply. I don’t open them because I’m kind of afraid to see what I’ll find. Maybe this whole dating app thing isn’t for me. Plopping down on the sofa, I turn on old episodes of Grey’s Anatomy and get lost in the drama of Meredith and Derek working through a relationship that probably shouldn’t have succeeded but did in the end.

  Until he died. I annoyingly remind myself of another great love lost.

  It doesn’t take long before I’m drifting off, and I find myself back in my nightmares that were once my hellacious reality.

  Crew

  * * *

  Glaring at my phone, I chug the rest of my second bottle of beer. Coming across Delilah’s smiling face on this fucking app angers me far more than it should. Especially after that kiss today. She spent the rest of the afternoon avoiding me like the damn plague, but I couldn’t stop thinking about her. How soft her skin was, how eager her lips were for more. I wanted more. I’ve always wanted more with Delilah.

  When I think about her, all I imagine is the future. One with her by my side as my wife, round with a baby in her belly, and more little ones running around our feet. She’s the only woman I’ve ever thought about having more than one night with. Li is different than anyone I’ve ever met in my life. She’s got a vulnerability that attracts me to her, but a strength that makes me admire her. No matter what she’s been through in her life, she is a fighter. A woman to be reckoned with.

  She’s passionate and beautiful and so fucking intelligent it makes my head hurt. Which is why I don’t understand why she’s on this fucking app, and it burns me from the inside out. Eventually, she’ll see that I’m on it too. Which means either I need to swipe right on her now or delete my profile altogether. Either way, I know I’m going to pay hell for it when she finds out.

  Checking the time, I see it’s after ten here and decide to call my brother Cross in Wyoming. Hopefully, Isabella isn’t sleeping yet. It’s halfway through her pregnancy, and she’s been tired a lot. Cross tends to worry more than necessary.

  “Yeah,” he answers in a low tone on the first ring.

  “Tell me I didn’t wake her up?”

  “Nope. She’s out like a light, and unless a bomb goes off next to her, she’s not waking up.” The affection is evident in my younger brother’s voice.

  “Good.” I relax marginally before repeating it again. “Good.”

  “What’s up, Crew?”

  Huffing out a laugh, I know nothing gets past him. “Delilah.” Sighing her name, I lean my head back and close my eyes. “How’d you know Isabella was it?” Cross is quiet for so long that I don’t think he’s going to answer me.

  “When you watch her, do you feel like you’ve been punched in the gut? Like the air has been sucked from your lungs?” Christ, he’s hitting the nail on the head. “That’s how I knew Bella was mine, and I would do anything for her. It’s easy, man. You’re asking, so I suspect you already know. Man up and claim your woman. Don’t give her a second to think you don’t want her because a woman will spin that shit in their heads until they can’t see straight, and then winning them over gets even more difficult.”

  “I don’t think she believes I’m the settling down type.” Not after all the dates since meeting her. And I wouldn’t blame her one bit. I dug my own damn grave with Delilah.

  “Don’t waste time talking to me then.” His laughter fades as he hangs up on me.

  Staring down at Delilah’s smiling face as she sniffs a sunflower, I decide to swipe right and send her a message with a date request. While I’m giving her the choice to say yes here, I don’t know that no is an option or if I’ll listen should she say it.

  When it comes to Delilah Henderson, I’m barbaric and caveman-like. I will stop at nothing to make her wholly
mine because simply not having her in my future isn’t a scenario I’m willing to live with. Shutting the TV off and tossing my phone on the table, I drop my beer bottle in the recycling bin and head upstairs for a cold shower. The more I think about Delilah, about making her mine, the more I want to go banging on her front door and claim her then and there.

  Stripping off my clothes, I jump in the shower before turning it on and taking each blast of frigid water as it pelts my skin. Closing my eyes, I press my hands against the wall, allowing the water to wash down my back and legs. Nothing works to calm my raging libido, though. I want Li here, in front of me. On her knees with my cock in her mouth. Warm water sliding down her perky tits.

  “Fuck.” Hissing the word as I grab my dick, the cool temperature no longer helps keep me in check.

  Moving my hand along my length, I keep the image of Li in the front of my mind. It’s her mouth suckling at my flesh, nibbling on my head, and swallowing as the first spurts of cum release into my hand. Slowly pumping my shaft until I’m too sensitive to stand it, I quickly get cleaned up and crawl into bed naked.

  Erotic dreams of Delilah follow me into sleep and last through the night.

  Chapter 3

  Delilah

  Crew: Didn’t know you were on here. Fair game now, Li. I’ll bring breakfast in the morning.

  Sitting behind my desk about thirty minutes earlier than usual, I continue to read Crew’s message for what is probably the hundredth time and wonder what I’m going to do. I didn’t imagine he would be on here, or I would never have signed up. When I woke up this morning to a message from him, I sat staring until my coffee grew too cold to drink.

  I still haven’t responded to him. I don’t know how to.

  “Shit!” I jump as my phone dings with an incoming text.

  Matt: Can’t wait to see you at lunch ;)

  Matt. I completely forgot about him after seeing Crew’s message.

  A breakfast date with Crew.

  A lunch date with Matt.

  I don’t know how I’m going to survive the day. I’m already jumpy and slightly freaked out. To top it off, I received a letter in the mail from my father that I haven’t opened yet. My nerves are not going to last this day. Is it too early for a glass of wine? Probably.

  Replying back to Matt with a smiley face, I lock my phone and place it screen down on top of my desk. I was so wrong about trying a dating app. I should never have done it. I’m not even close to being ready for this kind of pressure.

  “Good morning,” Crew greets as he opens the front door, carrying two coffees and a bag that smells suspiciously like bacon and has the logo of one of my favorite restaurants on it.

  He’s going to win me over with food. I’m so screwed.

  “Morning.” My smile is tight.

  Crew places the items on my desk before coming around to my side, and without hesitation, his lips cover mine. I’m frozen until his tongue licks across the seam, and I moan without thought. Every doubt and insecurity flies out the window as he takes control of our movements. I forget that I’m trying to move on from my crush on my boss.

  As he pulls away, the rapid beating of my heart nearly has me chasing after him to prolong the connection. It’s his cocky yet sexy smirk that keeps me from following him. The confidence Crew has in himself could almost be admirable if it weren’t so condescending.

  “You’re my boss,” I point out as he opens his bag of goodies and lays out a warm chocolate chip muffin and pancake-dipped bacon sticks that I love.

  “So?” His unaffected shoulder shrug as he sits in an available chair across from me, sipping his coffee. It only serves to infuriate me.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this. It’s inappropriate.” A word I feel certain he cares nothing about.

  “How so?” His head cocks to the side, and there’s a twinkle in his eye that screams he’s being deliberately obtuse.

  My mouth waters as I shove the warm muffin to the side and lean forward in my chair. “You’re my boss,” I repeat again. “We can’t date. We can barely be friends. And I’ve watched you date a dozen women in the six months that I’ve been here. I have no interest in being another notch on your bedpost.” Crossing my arms, I sit back and give him my meanest face. Which isn’t that intimidating because I don’t like being rude to people if I can help it.

  “I own this company, and there are no fraternization rules, so your point is moot.” He points a finger at me before twirling it and addressing the rest of my objections. “I never slept with any of those women. I took them out for dinner or a movie and promptly forgot their names as soon as I left.” He almost sounds sincere in his explanation.

  “Why then?” My voice is shaky as I muster the courage to ask why he’s dated so much if not to sleep with the women. I’m sure they would have been willing to share his bed at any time.

  “You wouldn’t look at me unless I spoke directly to you. After that first woman showed up here without invitation and I saw a spark of jealousy in your eyes, I knew exactly how to get you to notice me. Doesn’t mean any of them meant a damn thing to me.” I want to accuse him of being childish with his actions, but I can’t because it’s actually kind of sweet.

  That doesn’t mean that dating each other is a good idea.

  “I can see the wheels turning in your head, Li. Whatever objections you’re going to throw at me, forget ‘em. Because you and I are happening.” His self-assuredness is far more appealing than I would have thought.

  “I have a date,” I blurt out.

  “Cancel it.” Crew sits back with his arms crossed.

  “It’s today at lunch.”

  His eyes begin to crinkle with amusement as a mischievous smile spreads across his face. “He’s taking you for lunch? Where he has a limited amount of time with you, and you have to return to work?” Biting my lip, I nod. “Fine. You’re mine for dinner.”

  I don’t get a chance to respond before he’s on his feet and walking out of my office. His laughter follows him. Confused about Crew’s reaction, I sip my coffee and eat the breakfast he brought me while working on an expense report from one of the crew members that was dropped on my desk overnight.

  Lost in the tedious task, I jump when I hear a knock followed by, “You’re going to be late.” Glancing up, I see Crew leaning against the door frame with his legs crossed at the ankle and playing with his phone.

  Checking the clock on the wall, I see it's almost noon. Suspicious of the man’s motives, I don’t move. “So?” I’m not even sure if I’m dreading this date or anticipating it, so if Crew tries to talk me out of it, I just might allow him to.

  “What’s his name?” he asks instead, finally gazing up at me and shoving his phone in his pocket.

  “Matt.” I begin to tidy up my desk as he steps closer.

  “Got a picture of him?” Surprised, I stop moving.

  My eyes narrow on him. “Why?”

  Crew’s eyes roll as he explains. “If you’re going out with a stranger, someone should at least know what he looks like. In case he’s a serial killer and hides you in his lair.” I know he’s joking, I can see it in his eyes and the twitch of his lips, but I can’t help the way my heart freezes and my chest constricts so tightly that I can hardly take in a full breath.

  “Excuse me.” I push back from my desk and rush to the bathroom, needing a minute to compose myself before facing Crew again. Staring into the mirror, I count to ten, watching as my chest draws in and out with each inhale and exhale. A trick one of my therapists taught me years ago that I still practice.

  Panic attacks used to happen so frequently that I stopped going to school in seventh grade for weeks at a time. Concentration was non-existent, and I was more of a problem than a participant in any of my classes.

  That’s when the beatings began. The bruises and my new klutzy personality were all blamed on what my father had done to me, but that wasn’t the case. I was labeled as troubled within my first six months in the system because, for a
long time, I talked back, spoke up about the abuse I was experiencing. But the foster parents were so used to kids tattling on them that they became expert liars, and no one listened. Once I discovered that, I stopped speaking up for myself. I fell complacent in my brutal life. All I wanted was to make it to my eighteenth birthday. The day I would gain all the freedom I could ever want.

  I kept my head down, my grades up, and became the most obedient child in any home until I turned fourteen and was moved to another house because the couple I was living with were moving closer to their family. I preferred them making a slave of me to the torture I took in the next home, the reason for all the scars Crew saw on my body yesterday. For over a year, I was used as a whipping post and punching bag. I still remember the sting of pain from the first crack of the leather belt across my naked flesh. The feel of skin tearing from muscle. The smell of blood as it pooled beneath me in the hay of the barn. In the middle of nowhere, my cries went unheard.

  After a while, I reconciled that it was punishment for all the girls my father murdered, and I accepted it because, at the time, I believed somebody should have to pay with blood for their loss of life. I just never realized it was going to be me.

  Crew

  * * *

  From the second Delilah stood up, I knew something was wrong. I don’t know what the fuck I said or why it was so frightening to her, but I know I fucked up. There’s too fucking much I still don’t know about Delilah and her past. Letting her go on this lunch date is tearing me up, but I know she needs to do this. She needs to be the one to pick me, even though I’m trying to influence her in my direction. But I’m nothing if not patient when it comes to her, so I can wait. I won’t like it, but for her, I’ll do it.

  Hearing tentative footsteps, I know it’s Li trying to leave without me noticing. I give her that but watch her through the camera on my desk as she exits the building, hops in her car, and drives away. Fifteen seconds is all it takes for regret to take hold, and I slam my fist against my desk. The phone ringing is the only thing to save the piece of furniture from being flipped over.