His Secret Obsession by Nichole Rose

Prologue

Cyrus

Six Years Ago

 

"Dammit, Jess," I growl, stomping up the steps to my mom's front door, which is standing wide open. It doesn't matter how many times I tell my little sister to lock the door when she's here alone, she never listens. She's sixteen and stubborn as hell. She says I'm being overprotective, and no one is going to break-in in broad daylight.

She's wrong. Most break-ins occur during daylight hours when everyone is at work or school. There's less chance of anyone being home. Not that she listens when I tell her that. I love my little sister to death, but her utter lack of regard for her safety drives me up the fucking wall.

I push the door closed behind me and then move to set the alarm I had installed a couple years ago. Since I'm in the Air Force, I'm not always here to keep an eye on my mom and sister. The alarm gives me peace of mind. Or it would if either of them would use the damn thing.

A female voice rings out, halting me in the act of punching in the alarm code. She's singing an old blues song I've never heard before. She has a country twang to her voice, but it's incredible. She sounds like an angel singing from on high.

"Trouble, trouble, I've had it all my days," she sings, belting out the lyrics.

My entire body erupts in chills. I follow the sound down the short hallway and then through the living room into the kitchen. As soon as I catch sight of the girl standing at the sink, staring out the little window into the backyard, my heart floats up and lodges itself in my chest. My dick goes rock hard in my pants.

I only see her face in profile, but it's enough to knock me flat on my proverbial ass. Jesus. She's pretty. No. Pretty doesn't do her justice. She's ethereal, like a storybook princess brought to life. She's African American, with flawless tawny skin and curves for days.

Part of her dark hair is braided tight to her scalp, with the rest of it in loose curls that reach her shoulders. Her nose turns up a little at the end. Her body is a goddamn wet dream come to life. Her top is some sort of halter or whatever-the-fuck the ones with the tiny, complicated straps are called. It hugs every single one of her curves. Her shorts do the same to her round ass. They're short, leaving her thick thighs on display. She's maybe five-four, but her platform heels and shorts make her legs look miles long.

Her voice doesn't match her at all. She's so tiny, but that voice is all power. I've never heard anything like it before. The control she has is insane as she drops into low notes and then effortlessly lifts into higher notes.

I stand in the doorway to the kitchen like a creep, just listening to her sing. It's strange. My whole life, I've felt restless. That restlessness in my soul is the reason I joined up right out of high school. I thought I'd find purpose or peace out in the world serving my country like my dad did. Listening to her, I feel something else. Settled and unsettled at the same time, like there's a storm brewing outside while I'm tucked up safe and sound in my bed. It's an exhilarating dichotomy that reverberates through me, shaking me all the way to my bones. I think I just found my purpose, standing in my mom's kitchen belting out a song that's decades older than her.

I must shift or something because she breaks off mid-word and spins around to face me, her hand on her heart. Her pretty eyes—which are more cinnamon than brown or hazel—are wide as she runs them all over me. I hope she likes what she sees.

God knows I sure as shit like what I'm seeing.

She may sing like an angel, but there's a hint of mischief lurking in her eyes, as if she's more than capable of raising hell when it suits her. I recognize it as soon as I see it because I see the same damn thing in my reflection every time I look in the mirror. This girl isn't a shy little wallflower. She knows she's a queen.

That's sexy as hell to me.

"You shouldn't sneak up on people," she says after a moment. "I almost threw the knife block at your head."

"Not a knife?"

"I figured the whole block gave me better odds."

We both look at the knife block on the counter for a moment. She's right. Eight wicked sharp knives sailing through the air is better odds than one, especially when the target is my size. I'm six-five and almost three hundred pounds. Working out is a necessity when you're in the military. It's also something I enjoy. It burns off energy and helps keep me focused.

"Didn't want to interrupt your song," I mutter.

"Huh?"

"I didn't want to interrupt your song."

"Oh." She shakes her head as if to clear it and flashes two dimples at me. Her gaze skirts down my body again. "You're not the annoying older brother I expected."

"You're here with my sister."

"Yeah."

Ah, hell.

My stomach sinks all the way to my fucking combat boots. She's one of Jessa's friends. Which means she's about nine years too damn young for me. Figures. My dick would finally stand up for the one person he can't have. I was beginning to think all my time at war broke the bastard.

"Didn't know she had company," I say, though it comes out more like a growl.

She blinks those wide eyes at me.

Shit. I'm being rude.

"I'm Cyrus," I say, stepping fully into the kitchen and holding my hand out to her.

She slips hers into it. Both of us startle when built up static electricity shocks us. And then she laughs. The sound is so pure and sweet. It's the complete opposite of her throaty voice. My heart lodges itself in my throat again.

Jesus, she's something.

"I'm Gwen London," she says. "It's nice to meet you."

"Where's my sister?"

"She's in the shower. We have a thing later."

"What thing?"

"If you'll let me have my hand back, I'll tell you."

"Shit. Sorry," I say, and then hold onto her for another minute before reluctantly letting go of her hand. I don't want to do it. She's so soft.

"It's a school thing," Gwen says, still staring at me. "A bonfire before the football game." Her tongue skates across her full bottom lip. She'd make a shit poker player. Her face is an open book. She's attracted to me. So much so that the pulse in her throat thrums wildly.

"You go to school together?"

"Yeah. I just transferred for my junior year. You're in the Army?"

Fuck. She really is too young for me.

"Air Force."

"Thank you for your service," she says, flashing those dimples at me again.

I shove my hands into my pockets and take a step back, trying to put a little distance between us. I feel like a complete asshole. My dick is still standing at attention. I can't help it though. She smells like strawberries and looks like a goddess. Plus, she has the voice of an angel.

"You're welcome," I say, taking another step away from her.

"Cyrus!" Jessa shouts from behind me before I can haul ass out of there.

Fucking hell.

"Hey, baby sister." I wrap her up in a hug and then pick her up off the ground. She hates when I do that, which is exactly why I do it. She's my baby sister. It's my God-given right to annoy the hell out of her at every available opportunity.

I love the fuck out of her though.

"Put me down right now!" she yells, smacking me upside the head hard enough to sting.

I immediately plop her back down and then reach up to rub my head. "That shit hurts," I growl at her.

She shrugs. "Stop picking me up then."

Yeah, that's never going to happen.

"Oh!" she says, spinning to face Gwen, who is watching us with an amused smile on her face. "Cyrus, this is my friend, Gwen London. Gwen, this is my jerk of an older brother, Cyrus."

"We introduced ourselves," Gwen says, her gaze flitting up to mine before she quickly looks away.

"You left the front door open again." I narrow my eyes on Jessa, frowning. "You're going to get yourself kidnapped doing that shit, Jess. You have to start locking the door."

"No one is going to kidnap me, Cyrus," she says, rolling her eyes at me. "Even if they did, they'd just bring me back. I ask too many questions."

Gwen laughs.

"Start locking the fucking door," I growl.

"Fine. Whatever." Jessa cocks her head to the side, her face scrunched up like she's confused. "Why are you so grumpy today? Why are you even here anyway? I thought you weren't driving in from the base until tomorrow."

"I changed my mind."

"Oh." She dismisses me, turning to Gwen. "Do you want to order a pizza before we go?"

"No. I'm on a diet, remember?" Gwen says.

A diet? What the fuck?

There's not a damn thing wrong with the way she looks. She's beautiful from head to toe.

"Jensen Stone needs to suck an egg," Jessa says, scowling. "You aren't fat."

"Who is Jensen Stone?"

"Oh. He's a music producer Gwen met last weekend," Jessa says. "He's a dick. He told Gwen she needed to lose weight if she wanted to make it in the music business."

What the fuck? Who says some shit like that to a teenage girl?

"It's not like he was wrong," Gwen says. "I could stand to lose a few pounds."

"Most people don't make it in the music business because they're not cut out for it. You shouldn't listen to every stupid piece of advice you get," I growl, pissed that she thinks she's fat. She's not. "Be smarter than the people who offer it."

Her lips turn down into a frown.

"Gwen will make it. You should hear her sing, Cyrus," Jessa interrupts before she can say anything. "She has an audition tomorrow for a new singing competition show! She's going to knock them dead, and then Jensen Stone will have to eat his words."

"Already heard her."

"Yeah? What do you think?"

"I think she's wasting her time." As far as I'm concerned, there is no competition. Those shows are a waste of her talent. The people who win are rarely ever the best singers. They're just the most popular. Gwen doesn't need that. Especially if it means listening to dicks like Jensen Stone. He can go fuck himself with his opinion.

"Cyrus!" Jessa says.

Gwen sucks in a breath, looking at me like I just ran over her puppy.

"What? It's true."

"Wow," Gwen says, her back going ramrod straight. If she were a cat, her entire body would be bristling. Fire flashes in her cinnamon eyes, turning them a dark hickory color. "Your brother is an even bigger asshole than Jensen, JJ."

"Yeah, he is," Jessa says, scowling at me like she wants to set me on fire.

I open my mouth to explain that they misunderstood, and then I snap it closed again without saying anything. If Gwen is going to be hanging around with Jessa, having her thinking I'm an asshole isn't a bad thing. It just might keep me from doing something really fucking stupid. Because the longer I'm in the same room with her, the more encompassing that settled feeling grows. And that can't happen. I need to shut it down now. Hard.

"I'm not going to lie," I mutter into the room and then shrug for good measure.

Jessa splutters in outrage, her face turning red.

Not Gwen though. She just looks at me in disappointment and shakes her head.

I'm sorry, princess. It's for your own good.

"I'll be in your room," she says to Jessa before storming out of the room. Her platform heels hit the tiled floor with measured strikes, making it clear she's mad as hell. I feel like a complete asshole for hurting her feelings, but I guess that was the point anyway.

"You are such a dick," Jessa hisses as soon as Gwen disappears. She flings an arm out, smacking me in the chest. "I cannot believe you said that. What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing," I growl. "Stop hitting me."

"I'm telling mom what you said."

I shrug a shoulder, strolling toward the fridge. "I was just being honest."

"I cannot believe you're my brother."

"You love me."

"Not right now I don't. She's been dreaming about this her entire life, you asshole."

"Then my opinion won't stop her," I say even though I feel guilty as hell. Usually, I don't care who I piss off. But it's different this time. Pissing my sister off sucks as much as hurting Gwen's feelings.

Jessa sputters again and then a coaster bounces off the back of my head. It hits the tiled floor with a clatter and rolls to a stop against the fridge.

"What the fuck?" I growl, spinning to glare at my sister.

She sniffs and sticks her tongue out at me before stomping out of the kitchen.

"Real mature, Jessa!" I call after her.

"Go back to base, Cyrus!" she yells back. A few seconds later, her bedroom door slams hard enough to rattle the windows in their panes.

I huff out a curse. I hate fighting with Jessa. And being a dick to Gwen wasn't cool. I'm no better than Jensen Stone, hurting her feelings like that. She should be singing in front of crowds. If she gives up on that dream because of me, I'm going to regret it.

What am I thinking? Of course she won't give it up because of me. She doesn't even know me, and I saw the fire in her eyes. My comment won't stop her. I doubt anything will. It might sting for a little while, but she'll get over it.

More importantly, she never has to know I'm a goddamn creep for thinking the shit I thought with her standing in front of me. And neither does my baby sister.