Sweet obsession, p.1
Sweet Obsession, page 1
Copyright © 2026 by Harmony West
Cover Design © 2026 by Qamber Designs
Published by Westword Press
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
ISBN (paperback): 979-8-9881181-9-0
Also by Harmony West
Saint and Sinner Duet
Her Saint
His Sinner
Diamond Devils Series
If You Dare
Drown in You
Devil You Know
Die for You
Standalones
Always with You
Captivate Me
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Read More From Harmony West
Acknowledgments
About the Author
One
SUMMER
I’d be terrified of the intruder in my home if he weren’t asleep on my couch.
Maybe he’s not even real. I only had a few margaritas tonight, but I get tipsy faster now than I did in college. I still haven’t learned my new limits at twenty-five.
My intruder flips onto his side, and my heart stops at the sudden movement. He’s very much real and very much alive.
He’s too tall for the couch, knees bent and legs folded up. At five-foot-four, I’ve never had to worry about fitting on a couch. His profile alone could render someone speechless. A hard jawline relaxed in sleep, pouty lips parted slightly, nostrils on a strong, aquiline nose that flare with every faint snore, tousled brown hair that looks soft enough to burrow in.
What the hell is wrong with me? The last person I should be salivating over is a man who breaks into women’s apartments. I’m officially done with margaritas—they’re too dangerous.
“This is crazy.” I clap a hand over my mouth, but my intruder doesn’t stir as he mumbles something incoherent into the back of the couch.
My survival instincts must be nonexistent because I’m finding it hard to be afraid of a man who snores like a kitten and talks in his sleep.
Hands shaking from a mix of adrenaline, fear, and intoxication, I pull out my phone, call Hazel, and haul ass into my bedroom. What if he did something to Prick? My poor baby must be traumatized.
I don’t dare turn on any lights, guided only by the nightlight plugged in next to the storage cabinet with a built-in cage.
A huge sigh of relief whooshes from my lungs when I hear the squeak of his wheel over the phone still ringing in my ear. Prick runs merrily, completely unbothered.
“It’s okay, Prick,” I whisper. “I’ll make the bad man go away.”
At last, the phone stops ringing, and a raspy voice answers. “Somebody better be dead if you’re calling at one a.m.”
I beeline back to the living room, trying to keep my footsteps as light and soundless as possible as my pulse thunders in my ears.
In my line of work, there’s risk involved. I knew that when I signed up. But I never once considered I’d come home to find a stranger on my couch.
Maybe he’s not a stranger. I’ve run into clients and not recognized them before. I just didn’t think any of them had become obsessed with me, certainly not to this degree.
“Actually, I may need help moving a body.” On the couch, the intruder remains fast asleep, adorable kitten snores huffing from his nose. No, not adorable. Terrifying. Everything this intruder in my apartment does should terrify me. “I came home to find a man asleep on my couch.”
“What? Who is it? One of your clients?”
“I don’t know.” I cup my hand over my mouth, hoping the intruder doesn’t hear me and wake up. “I don’t recognize him.”
“You don’t know?” Hazel screeches in my ear, and I flinch. My intruder doesn’t stir, thank god, though I’m sure even Prick heard Hazel’s shout. “What the fuck, Summer? Why are you calling me? Call the cops!”
“But he’s sleeping! I should only call the police if it’s an emergency, right?”
“A strange man is in your apartment! It’s an emergency!” Hazel’s voice reaches new, pitchy heights. “Go grab a bat or a knife or something right now.”
“He’s asleep. He’s literally snoring. I actually don’t think I’ve ever seen someone sleep so deeply.” Maybe I should be concerned for him. What if he’s comatose? “I might think he was dead if his chest wasn’t moving—”
“Summer. Knife!”
He wraps his arms around one of the throw pillows, tucking it close to his chest. Almost adorable. There’s no way a man who is this cute while sleeping could possibly be a violent criminal. My heart melts a little.
Until he thrusts his hips and moans.
My spine stiffens, cheeks burning. Not only did this stranger break into my apartment in the middle of the night, but now he’s humping my pillows. Corrupting them. Defiling them.
“Sir, not my favorite pillow!” I sneak over to the couch, trying not to wake the horny, unconscious stranger, and move carefully to grab my pillow and rescue it from his depravity.
My fingertips are about to graze the yarn when Hazel’s voice grates on my eardrum. “What the hell is going on?”
“My mother crocheted that pillow for me, and he’s humping it!”
Hazel lets out a guttural growl. If she were here, she’d kill me herself. “Fuck the pillow! Get a weapon! If he wakes up, he could hurt you, Summer.”
Her warning shakes me out of my alcohol-induced psychosis. She’s right. Who gives a shit about a pillow when this man could wake up and hurt me? Kill me. He’s willing to break into a stranger’s apartment and then has the audacity to sleep on their couch while he waits for them to return home. What else is he willing to do?
“Hang up with me, grab a knife, leave your apartment, and call 911,” Hazel orders. “Then call me back when you can.”
“Okay.” I do as she instructs, grateful I have a friend who can talk sense into me when I need it. At least someone in this situation is thinking clearly.
Slipping into the kitchen, I arm myself with my eight-inch chef's knife that’s admittedly gotten very little use. My heart thunders so hard it’s almost painful, and my hands tremble as I sneak back to the living room.
Into the couch, he mumbles something. I’m armed, and though I may be slightly drunk, it’s hard to believe a snoring stranger could be the dangerous one. If he tries anything, I’ll stab him.
I’m pretty sure I can do it. Although just the thought of his warm, sticky blood flowing over my hand makes my stomach turn.
I need to get one last look. If he is one of my clients, I can identify him to the police—
Slowly, I approach, keeping the knife raised above my shoulder as I murmur, “One wrong move, buddy . . .”
Below me, the intruder flops onto his back in his sleep. When his eyelids flutter, my heart stops. Every muscle, every cell in my body, freezes.
He stirs slowly to consciousness, blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings. For a small moment in the silence, my chest squeezes at the watery blue eyes that fall on me. A pair of the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen.
Until they land on the knife in my hand and he lets out a high, earsplitting scream.
Two
NOAH
My head is still spinning when I process the woman looming over me with a knife.
Jesus. A fucking murderer in my buddy’s apartment.
“What the fuck?” I scramble back on the couch, forcing myself upright despite the nausea that churns in my gut. “Why did you scream? Pretty sure I should be the one screaming right now!”
Maybe this isn’t the best time to argue with a deranged killer. I’ve never been held at knifepoint before, and I’ve gotta say, not a big fan.
Her brows furrow, and I’d be tempted to call her the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen if she weren’t preparing to stab me. Blonde hair that falls past her shoulders in messy waves, round brown eyes a little too big for her face, delicately pointed chin, slightly upturned nose. Her tight red dress doesn’t look like something a murderer would wear on their killing spree—she’d draw way too much attention in that thing. The way the silk clings to her every curve, a slit that reveals inviting skin up to her thigh, cleavage that’s damn near about to spill out—
“That was you.” She spins that damn knife in her hand—Jesus, how big is that thing? Ten inches?—and my mouth goes dry.
“But it was so high. And feminine.” I rub at my pounding temples. One hundred percent sounded like a woman. Pretty sure she’s messing with me. The knife-wielding psycho’s got jokes.
Her mouth twists into a wry smirk. “Yeah, it was.”
That smile does something to me it shouldn’t, especially when she’s obviously a dangerous sociopath who threatens a vulnerable, drunk man with a knife and mocks his girly scream. God, that’s embarrassing.
Getting plastered was all I had on my agenda for tonight. Dying at the hands of a knife-wielding psychopath in my buddy’s apartment was not at all how I expected the night to end.
“Are you with Aries?” I clutch a pillow to my chest like that’s going to do shit for protecting me.
“Who the hell is Aries?”
So she definitely broke in.
“The guy who owns this apartment.”
And where the fuck is he? The bastard’s gotta be passed out cold in his room and snoring like a freight train if he hasn’t heard all the commotion.
Her thin brows fold over those bright brown eyes. Somehow, she has the nerve to look pissed at me. “You’re in my apartment.”
Takes a few moments for her words to register, but when they do—
Oh, fuck.
I swing my legs over the couch, even as my head spins. The not-intruder jumps back a step and waves the knife. “Don’t come any closer!”
Aries uses a vintage trunk as a coffee table, while this woman must’ve gotten hers from Ikea. His entryway is lined with a barrier of shoes that I stumble over every time, and he grabbed his lumpy couch from a yard sale about ten years ago that smells like it has dog hair woven into the fibers. How did I not notice the unusually soft, welcoming padding of this couch and throw pillows? The delicate, feminine scent of lavender?
Dropping my head in my hands, I groan. I’ve fucked up before, but this is a whole new level. “I thought this was my buddy’s apartment. They all look the same in the dark. Especially when you’re drunk as shit.” I lift my gaze back to hers and hold my hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Or ruin your night.”
“What’s your friend’s name?” She clearly doesn’t believe me.
“Aries Montgomery. Apartment 2C.”
She sighs, and thank god, drops the knife to her side. “This is 2A.”
No wonder I couldn’t find the key Aries keeps on top of the door for when Killian or I need a place to crash.
The events of the night come rushing back. One too many shots at the bar, stumbling back to Aries’s place, texting him I was on the way, fumbling for the key, kicking the door when I couldn’t find it, and Aries ignoring drunk, belligerent me while I shoved at the door until it finally swung open. Stumbling toward his couch as the nausea built up, knocking my elbow into the wall while I ran for the bathroom—
“Shit. Um, in that case . . .” I wince. If this woman stabbed me right now, I wouldn’t blame her. ”I may have barfed in your shower.”
She drops her head back and lets out a high-pitched sound that’s somewhere between an exasperated sigh and a guttural screech. “You made it into the bathroom, and you couldn’t puke in the toilet?”
I grimace. “I . . . did. And the trash can.”
“Jesus. No wonder you look like shit.” Her gaze roams over me. “How much did you have to drink?”
The question makes my brain hurt. “What’s four times five?”
Her beautiful brown eyes narrow at me like I’m messing with her. “Are you serious?”
“Do I seem like I’m in the right state of mind to do math?”
“Twenty.”
“Then that’s how much I had to drink.”
“Twenty of what?”
“Four fingers of whiskey. Five glasses. At least, that’s how many I remember.”
She sighs, that formidable knife still dangling casually from her hand. Her mouthwatering thigh peeks out as she turns away from me. “Okay. I’ll grab you a glass of water. You need to drink something before you try to stumble to his apartment.”
“I’ll go clean up the bathroom—” I attempt to stand. A dangerous quest, it turns out, as I sway, my vision goes dark, and I fall back onto the couch.
She’s on me in a second, hand squeezing my arm. “Are you okay?”
When my vision clears again, something in my chest softens. Impossibly, she’s concerned about the well-being of the drunk stranger who literally broke into her apartment. Her perfume drifts up my nostrils, and the sweet nutmeg scent makes me forget about the nausea and fear and adrenaline and pounding headache. “What’s your name?”
She hesitates, not sure how much personal information she wants to divulge to a stranger. “Summer.”
Under my breath, I try the name out, the syllables rolling off my tongue like a lullaby. “Summer. Summer, Summer, Summer.”
Her cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink, a small, genuine smile where her suspicious frown used to be. Shit, I guess she can hear me. How much louder do I talk when I’m drunk?
Oh, no. My torso is drifting toward her. How I managed to stumble here from the bar is a miracle, even if it’s only a few blocks. “I’m Noah.”
“Are you okay, Noah?” she repeats, steadying my shoulder so I don’t fall on her. God, my name on her lips—
“Yeah. I’m all right. That water sounds great right about now.”
Summer nods and scurries off, returning moments later with a glass. Have I stumbled into the home of an angel? I break into her apartment in the middle of the night, and she’s worried about me?
She’s still armed with that knife, but I don’t blame her. If there were a strange man in my home, I’d be armed too.
“Don’t worry about the bathroom,” she says. “I’ll call a cleaner.”
I shake my head quickly. Too quickly. Bad decision. I sip at the water and hope the hydration will help. “No way. No one should be subjected to that. I’ll come back tomorrow when I can stay upright for longer than five seconds.”
“So you still think you’re leaving this place alive?” She twirls the knife in her hand with a sardonic smile, and the sight makes my cock twitch.
Clearly, drinking as much as I did tonight made me both a criminal and a masochist because I’m dying for her to climb on top of me in that paper-thin dress, press that blade to my throat, and make me beg for her.
Summer must confuse my lust for terror because she lets out a musical laugh. “I’m kidding. I’m not going to murder you. At least, not tonight. Unless you fuck up.”
“If you let me live until tomorrow, I’ll bring my toolbox with me in the morning and fix the front door too.” That’s the least I can do after busting through the damn thing. In one night, I’ve managed to break this woman’s front door and completely destroy her bathroom. There’s no coming back from this.
“You couldn’t have just used the spare key?” she grumbles.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She gives me a soft smile, and I’ve won the world. “It would be nice not to worry about some random stranger breaking into my apartment.”
I snort into my glass of water. “I’ll make sure it’s fixed so well that even I won’t be able to break in.”
Her phone pings, making both of us jump. No idea what time it is, but it must be well past midnight. Who would be texting her?
Summer grabs her phone from the coffee table in front of us and types back a response without a word. Curiosity consumes me. Or maybe it’s jealousy. Who the hell is that?
Jesus, I need to calm down. I broke into the poor woman’s apartment. I don’t have any right to wish she’d dump the asshole she’s texting at two in the morning.
