Under His Obsession

“No, I think I have...” We hit an air bump, and before I know what’s happening, Will has me by the elbow and is rushing me to the bathroom. No. No. No. I am not going to throw up in front of the hottest guy on the planet.

Wrong.

Two seconds later I’m on my knees bent over the toilet heaving my guts out, and Will is standing directly behind me. He pulls my hair back, and in that instant, with my head buried in the porcelain bowl, I pray to God I get sucked out into the abyss. But no, I don’t have that kind of good luck.

“I’m...okay,” I say. “Can you please leave and shut the door?”

My hair tumbles gently over my back as he lets it go, and I’m grateful when he leaves me to die alone. I groan, but then he’s back. He’s saying something, but I can’t quite hear with my head in the toilet.

He drops to his knees behind me, his pelvis pressed up against my rear end as he leans over me and puts a cloth to my forehead. I moan against the damp coldness. “That feels soooo good,” I say. Will’s body goes rigid, and a soft hiss leaves his mouth.

Oh, wait, crap!

“I mean the cloth,” I hurry on, my voice muffled as I stick my head deeper into the bowl. “The cold cloth feels good.”

“You probably shouldn’t talk.”

No kidding, since I’m not thinking with any sort of clarity, and my words could be construed as sexual. It’s not like I was saying it felt good to have his pelvis pressed up against me.

Even though it does.

Good God, how desperate am I that I’m enjoying the feel of Will’s body—well, one part in particular—while I’m losing my breakfast in his toilet? Even if I had a chance with this guy, not that I want one, my current predicament would no doubt quash any interest on his part.

“I think you have the flu,” he says.

While I’d like to come back with some smart-ass comment that involves Einstein, the sarcastic retort dies on my tongue. We might have gotten off on the wrong foot, but he’s trying to take care of me as I die a slow and agonizing death. I vomit again, and Will reaches past me to flush the toilet. I heave a grateful sigh and wait to get sucked into space, but no. Like I said, I don’t have that kind of luck.

“Here,” he says, and puts a plastic cup to my mouth. I take a drink of water, rinse my mouth and spit. Not a dainty girlie spit either, if there is such a thing. No, it sounds more like a baseball player hacking up a sunflower seed.

And this, my friends, has become my life.

I moan and lift my head from the bowl.

“Feeling better?”

“A little.” I take another big drink and spill half the water over my shirt as the plane lurches. “Goddammit.” A sound crawls out of Will’s throat, and I glance at him over my shoulder. “Are you laughing?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“Never thought it was. But I have to say, you’re handling it better than most.” Concern dances in his eyes.

Okay, maybe he wasn’t laughing, but I’ve been on the defense with him since I boarded the plane.

“Mouthwash?”

“Yes, please.” He pulls a travel-size bottle from the vanity, opens it and hands it to me. I rinse repeatedly and go back on my heels, only to end up sitting in Will’s lap. I’m about to apologize and slide off when his hand goes around my waist to hold me in place.

“It’s okay. I got you,” he says, and my heart does a ridiculous thump at his thoughtfulness. Truthfully, I’m not used to anyone taking care of me, and this is actually kind of...nice.

Nice? What the hell am I saying? I just vomited in front of Will Carson. There’s nothing nice about that—for either of us.

“You don’t have a parachute on this thing, do you?” I ask.

He chuckles slightly. “No, why?”

“I’d like to get off.”

I’d like to get off.

“I mean...”

“I’m actually getting a complex,” he says, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve met you twice now, and you vomited both times. How’s a guy not to take that personally?”

I groan and reach for a paper towel. My cheeks burn from sheer mortification. “I am so embarrassed.”

He puts his hand to my forehead. “You’re cold and clammy and slightly warm.”

“Pizza for breakfast,” I say. “Wasn’t my best decision.”

“If it was food poisoning, it would have hit you earlier. How about some ginger ale?”

“Not a bad idea.”

“Maybe some toast? It might help settle your stomach.”

“I don’t think I can eat anything.”

“Do you think you’re going to be sick again, or do you want to go lie down? The sofa opens to a bed.”

“I think I’d like to lie down. I guess now I know why I was so tired when I met with James today.” Worry grips my stomach, and I clutch Will’s arm. “I hope I didn’t give it to him.”

Will holds me by my hips and repositions himself so he can stand. “I’m sure he’s fine, but I’ll call him just to make sure.” He hauls me up with him and turns me around. With infinite tenderness, he slides a strand of damp hair from my face, and I let out a shaky breath. His arm drops, but his gaze stays locked on mine. His gorgeous blue eyes bore into my face, his gaze probing, searching.

“I’m okay,” I say. “My stomach is settling.”

“Yeah?”

I nod, and he slides his arm around my waist, but the damn plane hits another air pocket, and Will stumbles backward. I fall with him, until he’s splayed across a table and I’m on top of him.

I yelp and unsuccessfully try to push off of him. “I can’t get up.”

His arms lock me in place. “Hold on,” he says, his voice a degree deeper. What the hell? Why is he still holding me? Does he like me on top of him like this?

“Rough air,” he explains.

Guess not.

The plane bumps again, and for a split second I’m floating over him. But then I drop, press down on his hardness, and arousal slams into me as our bodies collide.

“We need to ride it out for a second longer,” he says.

Ride it out.

A strange, inappropriate giggle rises in my throat and a crinkle appears between his brows at my bizarre reaction. I swallow—hard—and pull myself together. Good Lord, this flu has me acting completely out of character.

Yeah, blame it on the flu, Khloe.

“How long do you think it will last?” I ask, and when a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, my cheeks once again flare hot.

What is wrong with me? No matter what I say, it comes out sounding sexual. Why is that? Oh, probably because I’m flat out on top of the sexiest man alive, and even though I just finished losing my breakfast, everything about this guy reminds me I’m still a woman—one who hasn’t been touched in a long time.

“Shouldn’t be too much longer,” he says. “The pilots will adjust flying height to get us out of the wind shears.”

“I’m probably squishing you,” I say, and wiggle as I try to shift to the side of the table.

“Please stop moving.” His hands tighten around my body, and that innocent touch seeps beneath my skin and burns through my blood. “At least we managed to get you horizontal.”

“For your sake, you’d better hope I don’t get sick again.”

He laughs. An honest-to-God belly laugh. “You’ll give me a heads-up, right?”

“It’s possible. But the words might come out too late.” I emphasize the last word to let him know I’m still pissed off at his greeting. And seriously, James totally misled me with this assignment. I thought I’d be attending board meetings and taking notes, but no. I’ll be getting this man his brandy and whatever else his assistant does for him. Why would I need writing skills for that?

“Khloe,” he says, his voice a bit more serious.

I blink slowly, and when my lashes lift, I’m staring at blue eyes brimming with questions. “Yeah?”

“It’s not my business, but you’re different from the other girls who apply for temp work.”

“I was fired recently,” I say.

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” He goes quiet, his mouth tight.

“It wasn’t my fault.” I roll my eyes and can’t keep the disgust from my voice when I add, “Men in power, they’re all alike.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“My boss wanted me to do something, and when I refused, he canned me.”

His expression turns angry. “Jesus, sorry.”

I know what he’s thinking. That my boss wanted sex, or something equally disturbing. The sudden visual of a naked Benjamin batters my uneasy stomach. I think of a naked Will instead, but that just batters another part of my body.

“Yeah, he was a real jerk, but I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to move forward, okay?”

“Just so you know, I would never put you in any position you didn’t want to be in.”

Even though he doesn’t strike me as a missionary sex kind of guy, I glance down at our vanilla position—the only one I’m familiar with, sadly—and take in the two hundred pounds of rock-solid muscles beneath me. Lord, he’s everything fantasies are made of, and a thousand new ones begin to run through my brain.

“Um,” I say.

He laughs. “Current position excluded. This was for your own safety. But you know what I mean, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I have rules.” His eyes narrow, and the muscles along his jaw ripple. “A lot of them.”

“James warned me.”

“Getting involved with an assistant is a hard no.”

Too bad my nipples didn’t get the memo.

I let out a shaky breath. “Getting involved with my boss is a hard no for me, too.”

“Then we’re on the same page.”

And the same table.

I nod. “I think we can get up now,” I say, throwing up a silent prayer that he can’t feel my pebbled nipples pressing into his hard chest. “The plane has stabilized.”

“Slowly,” he says. “Any fast movement could turn your stomach again.”

I inch up from his hardness. And my God, every movement is agonizing, like slowly tearing a bandage off—if said bandage were covering every erogenous zone in my body. Will follows me up and stays close as he guides me to my seat.

“Sit here,” he commands in a soft voice, and while I’m not one to take orders, a shiver goes through me at his. “I’ll open the bed.”

I do as he says, noting the way his T-shirt strains against his biceps as he opens the sofa and makes me a bed. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and smooth my hair from my face. I glance down, and groan when I see the water stains on my shirt. In all the commotion, I left my blanket behind and now my nipples are staring straight at the man turning my way. Is the universe trying to play some cruel joke on me? I’m a good person. Kind to the elderly and animals. Yet...this.

Before I can cover up, his glance drops, and his eyes linger on my puckered nipples for a brief second.

“Khloe.”

“Yeah?”

“Your blanket,” he says gruffly, but I’m already reaching for it.

Get it together, girl. I might be attracted to him, but clearly I’m not his type. Not only does he date model-thin girls, he made it clear that I was hired to cook, clean and cater to his needs. Those needs don’t involve sex. Which is a good thing. I’m not about to mess around with my boss. Even if he asks me to.

Okay, maybe if he asks me to...

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