Obsession (The Talisman series)

Sofia Grey

Time and Tide Books

www.timeandtidepublishing.com

1.1 Josh

I live by simple rules: never make any promises, one night only, and always use hotel rooms, never my home. 

The tiny voice recorder captured our entire conversation, such as it was. The hidden camera had crystal clear images of our liaison, and the voice-activated camcorder had preserved every moment from when we entered my room.

Savannah lay back on the bed, practically naked, her eyes glazed with desire. “Josh, I’ve never wanted anyone like this before.”

It would have been so easy.

I fell back on one of my usual lies. “Oh God, I’m really sorry. I’ve got a conference call I need to take part in.” I gave her my shamefaced, little boy look and—as they all do—she melted instantly.

Moving forwards, she kneeled on the bed next to me, stroking my arm through my shirt.
“It’s midnight, who on earth can you be talking to at this time?”

“
My editor set up the call with an Australian publishing house. It completely slipped my mind.” In keeping with my pretence, I ran my hand through her soft hair. She moved her face to rub her cheek against my palm, seeking my caress like a cat. I obliged, but just for a moment. “You need to go, Savannah.”

She pouted, a look of uncertainty crept into her eyes.
“Will I—do you…”

“
You’re gorgeous.” I kept my voice low, husky, as though I couldn’t resist her charms. “But this isn’t right, and you know it. You’re married, sweetheart.”

At this point, there was still a chance her marriage could be saved. I held my breath.

She ducked her head and pleated the edge of the pillowcase. “We have an open marriage. I’ve had lovers before. Alan doesn’t mind.”

I exhaled noisily, felt a moment of pity for her husband, and then took control once again.
“In any case, I really have to take this call sweetheart.”

Ten minutes later she finally left my room, enabling me to switch off all the recorders and check the data I’d captured. When it was all packed away, I sent Alan a text confirming I had what he wanted, and arranged a meeting for the following day.

Was it possible to find a woman who actually understood what it meant to be faithful to her husband?

1.2 Suki

“
Bloody Spiro. I hate his spinning class. He’s as sadistic as Gabe.”

I sank onto the bench and tucked the towel a little tighter under my arms. Thank God for air conditioning in the gym, otherwise I would have melted into a puddle by now.

My friend and workmate, Katy, raised one delicately-shaped eyebrow. “Spiro is a scary control freak with delusions of grandeur. Surely Gabe isn’t that bad?”

“
He has his moments.” It was actually a great description of my husband, but there’s no way I’d admit it, not even to Katy. I took a swig from my water bottle. “Gabe’s a darling. I’m just a little stressed at the moment, don’t mind me.”

“
Ah, the photo shoot.” Katy busied herself with her hair straightener and smiled at me in the mirror. “Come on, Suki, you’re a pro. You and Gabe do photo shoots all the time for one magazine or another. What’s so special about this one?”

I took another sip of water while trying to find the right words to explain.
“It’s
The Day
magazine, and they’re featuring us for their big seasonal colour supplement—
”
Christmas At Home With Gabe and Suki”. Gabe is quite excited about it.”

More like triumphant. He was still seething about his sporting colleague and rival, Jon Craigowan, being featured in
The Day
before us. To be fair, Jon and his lovely wife had been celebrating their daughter’s first birthday, and the pictures were beautiful. Thanks to Gabe alternately raging at and charming the editor, they had finally offered him the prestigious Christmas issue instead. God forbid I appeared less than 100% enthusiastic.

“
How have they made your house look like it’s ready for Christmas? It’s the middle of August, for Chrissake.”

I rolled my eyes.
“Enough holly and mistletoe to sink a medium-sized battleship, a seven-foot Scots Pine tree—God knows where that came from—as well as candles, wreaths, and hundreds of Christmas cards. After I’d dug out all the cards we received last year, the stylist decided we needed more. Sixty seven just wasn’t enough.”

Katy laughed at my dry tone, but I shook my head, thinking again of the Christmas dinner we’d be hosting tomorrow afternoon. Eighteen people arriving for a roast turkey lunch with all the trimmings, right down to canapés and Bucks Fizz, and individual plum puddings. I wanted to weep at the thought of all the work involved.

“People sometimes ask me if your marriage is as perfect as it looks.”  I met Katy’s concerned gaze. “I always tell them, ‘Yes, Suki has the dream husband.’” She hesitated, and then spoke in a rush. “I know Gabe can be difficult. You
are
happy, aren’t you?”

“
We’ve been married for ten years, Katy.”
I don’t know if I love him anymore.
“What can I say?”
I’m scared my life is falling apart
. “We’re good.”
I don’t know if I can go on like this.

No matter what doubts I had in private, I wasn’t going to let Gabe down when it came to this photo shoot. Not when he’d waited so long for this shining moment.

Britain’s latest golden couple.

I’d make it look perfect if it bloody killed me.

1.3 Josh

Driving out of Manchester, I was waiting in a long traffic queue when my attention was drawn to a poster promoting child fostering. A smiling boy stared up at a gooey-eyed woman with some idiotic tagline. If only it was that easy.

I was living in my fourth foster home, probably at the fifth or sixth new school, when I first realised I was different. Not normal. The nameless foster mothers holding my hand and smiling down at me, for the benefit of the overstretched social workers, but all the while thinking about what a repulsive child I was. I learned early on how easily women lied; I could hear their thoughts, just like the guy in that crappy Mel Gibson chick-flick.

The angry honking from behind jerked me back to the present and the gap opening ahead. I held up a hand to acknowledge the driver and concentrated again on my surroundings. Arriving in the affluent suburb of Wilmslow with half an hour to spare, I parked on a quiet side street close to Alan’s office and went in search of coffee. I found a café on the main road, bustling with office workers and mums with toddlers.

The young woman in front of me glanced over her shoulder at the street behind, then at her watch, an anxious frown creasing her smooth forehead.

She looked familiar. Yellow blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, huge brown eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose. Not particularly tall—maybe five-foot-three—she was slim in tight jeans and a t-shirt which hugged her gentle curves. Yes, I knew her from somewhere. I watched covertly as she waited to be served and racked my brain some more. She looked different from when I’d last seen her. Since she stood so close, I couldn’t miss her fresh, clean fragrance. With damp hair and a sports bag slung over her shoulder, she’d probably just emerged from the expensive looking gym next door.

The barista greeted her by name—Suki—asking if she wanted her usual skinny cappuccino to go. She nodded smiling, then frowned as she dug in her jeans pocket, pulling out a vibrating phone. The smile returned and I listened idly to her end of the conversation. Her voice was deeper than you’d expect, slightly husky and well modulated. Attractive.

“I’m just in the café—don’t tell Gabe I stopped for coffee, I’m supposed to have given up caffeine. God, the gym was horrendous.” It was my turn to be served. By the time I’d placed my order, the phone was back in her pocket and she was paying for her drink.

Our drinks arrived at the same time as one of the toddlers wobbled forwards, crashing into the back of her leg. The look of surprise on her face was comical as she lurched into me, trying desperately to keep her drink upright. Mine was safe from the assault, but hers was not so lucky—the lid jerked off, splashing waves of soft white froth down the front of my shirt.