Obsession by Tori Carrington Read Free Book Online Page A

but…”
    “But you can’t imagine a ten-year-old thinking, ‘Gee, I think I’ll sell car parts when I grow up.’”
    He loved it when she smiled.
    Drew had to remind himself to eat his soup as he watched the woman across from him. It wasn’t that the soup wasn’t delicious; it was. It was just that Josie looked even more appetizing.
    He’d thought deeply about not coming to the late lunch. But when the time came and went, and the prospect of standing her up became more fact than possibility, he’d found himself almost running in order to make it back to the hotel.
    The thought of hurting this beautiful creature, of giving her cause to think he wasn’t interested in her, emerged too much of an injustice to ignore.
    And now as he sat there enjoying watching her, all misgivings disappeared.
    Even her question about his career slid off his back with ease.
    And he knew why. His physical need for herwas increasing exponentially with each time their paths crossed, banning his mind from playing any role in what was happening between them on a primal level.
    He also knew there was an answer to his dilemma. He could tell her the truth.

6
    “N O , I DIDN’T DREAM OF BEING a car-parts salesman.” Drew searched for the words to tell her the truth. Tell her who he was and what his intentions were—his client and the consequences be damned. He had to tell her. He couldn’t continue without her knowing the truth.
    “What did you dream of being?”
    The question took Drew aback.
    He could count on one hand the times he’d been asked something so personal. And even then the questions had been asked by people like school guidance counselors whose job it was to steer him toward something more productive than what his upbringing had prepared him for.
    He looked at Josie now.
    “I don’t know,” he answered honestly.
    “There had to be something. A fireman? Policeman?”
    “Indian chief?”
    Her laugh reached in and touched something he hadn’t known was inside him. A sensitive place, a soft spot that absorbed her interest like a dry sponge drank up a drop of water.
    “Funny. You know what I mean.”
    And, remarkably, he did.
    Had anyone else asked the question, he would have come up with some off-the cuff response like “A lawyer, because I used to watch Perry Mason.”
    But he was finding that giving Josie any kind of easy, superficial response was impossible. And that he genuinely wanted to answer her questions.
    “A postman.”
    One of her finely shaped brows rose. “Like in mailman?”
    “One and the same.” He finished his soup and took a sip of his wine. “Our mailman, George, was just about the only positive male influence I had in my life growing up. So I wanted to be like him.” He chuckled quietly, having long forgotten about George and the memories connected to him. “When I was seven I actually went and collected the mail from the neighbors’ boxes, put them in my own makeshift bag, then redelivered the mail.”
    “Oh, boy,” Josie said.
    “Oh, boy is right. A grumpy old man a couple of trailers up called the police on me. Who knewplaying—although tampering is the word that was used—with the U.S. mail is a felony?” He shook his head. “The officer that responded seemed to understand, though. He ruffled my hair—which, of course, I hated. George never ruffled my hair. And he told me to go play kick ball or something else that didn’t involve the mail. Or if I felt the need to deliver, I could make up my own mail.”
    “Did you?”
    “No. By then the shine was off the silverware.”
    Josie leaned forward, placing her hands on the table. “You know, listening to you makes me remember about how I once dreamed of being an actress.” She cringed as if the memory were embarrassing. “I’d watched a movie with Mae West in it, then found an old red boa in my granme’s things and proceeded to strut around the hotel flipping the boa and asking, ‘Why don’t you come up sometime and see me,