Page 33
Chapter 33 of "Vicious Obsession" begins with suspense: He nodded. “Yeah, I noticed, but you forgot to lock yours.”Duh.“I guess I didn’t expect... Don’t stop reading!
He nodded. “Yeah, I noticed, but you forgot to lock yours.”
Duh.
“I guess I didn’t expect you just to barge through my room,” I fumed.
He shrugged. “Again, it’s my house. They are all my rooms. Where did you stay last night?” he asked.
“None of your business,” I snapped, more reflexive than anything else.
He sighed, making me feel like an irritating child who he’d been put in reluctant charge of.
“That’s where you’re wrong, I’m afraid. I see it’s going to take you a while to adjust to that simple fact, though.”
“I won’t be adjusting to anything.”
“We’ll see,” Brody murmured.
His gaze dropped to my arms, and I panicked. Oh God, they were bare.
“Get out of here and leave me alone!” I protested.
His gaze narrowed on me, trying to see what I didn’t want to share.
“We haven’t finished our conversation.”
“I need to get dressed,” I told him stiffly.
He watched me and inclined his head. “I’ll wait.”
Then he stepped back through the door and pulled it shut behind him. The relief was short-lived when I remembered that he’d let himself into my room.
I pulled on a huge, oversized bathrobe, rolling the sleeves up a little and belting it tightly. Clearly, he wasn’t going to let this conversation he wanted to have slide, so I had to get it over with.
I opened the door to my room and marched out.
Brody stood at the window, gazing out at the view that held the cliffs beyond the house and the sea crashing angrily on the rocks.
“Well, what is it?” I demanded.
He took his time to turn and acknowledge me.
“You said last night that I could threaten you all I wanted, but you had nothing to lose.”
Nerves gathered in the pit of my stomach at his arrogant confidence.
I shrugged, trying not to let him see.
“Shall we test that theory?”
I wet my lips, my mouth dry. “Test that theory how?”
He pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through it. Then he turned his screen toward me. He held an email from someone at Sinclair Industries, talking about paying for Cici’s school.
My heart dropped.
“It’s an expensive school. I can see how your mum couldn’t afford it easily. And, of course, your sister could go to public school; she has before.”
“No. She—she needs that school,” I heard myself say.