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Because if I touched her again, the deeper this obsession would spread, and I knew where it would end. I’d find some way to keep her. As strong as she liked to appear, she was delicate, flimsy, breakable, and too full of curiosity for her own good. She’d want out, and I’d never let her go. Yet, the more I told myself I couldn’t have her, the more I wanted her. And I wanted her so badly a cold sweat broke out beneath my skin, a tremble starting in my hands.
I spent the next week packing my precious possessions into boxes, though, admittedly, grew distracted more than once while blowing the dust off my old books and magazines. I’d often end up on my divan, burying my face in some long-forgotten fashion journal or a novel with enough drama to put Jersey Shore to shame.
Me: Twenty grand says he marries her. Valentina: Lol . . . you’re on.
I lifted the plate, finding my smile again. “Cake?” He looked at the dessert, then drew his icy gaze back up to mine. “Are you high?” I pursed my lips. “Unfortunately, no.”
I knew the moment he figured it out—the mat in front of the door, saying, “Welcome, Bitches”—might have given it away. And it was oh so painfully clear he was not happy about being my neighbor. In fact, it looked like he’d sucked on something sour.
He looked at the dessert in my hands as though he’d never tried sugar before. He nodded toward it. “Chocolate?” “Arsenic.” “My favorite.” He took the plate from my hand and slammed the door.
“Go find a swimsuit that covers your ass.” I put my hands on my hips defiantly. “Those aren’t in style anymore.” “We both know you don’t follow fashion trends.”
“You look like a traffic cone,” he told me. As we passed a potted tree in the lobby, I pushed him into it. He hadn’t been expecting it—he actually took a step to the side. Satisfaction filled me at the giant leaf that had the audacity to smack him in the head. He shot me an annoyed glance.
“Close, but no cigarette,” I told him, breathless at the playfulness, before we split off in separate directions. His eyes lit with amusement. “No cigar.”
Gianna and I exchanged a look before I stepped onto the elevator. Hers said, Stay out of my business. Before I could stop it, mine said, I’ve been inside that little body and I’ll goddamn say who can touch it. Her eyes flashed. Then, she lifted a finger and flipped me off.
“I don’t bite,” he said, sounding annoyed. “Liar.”
“I’m going to die,” I choked out, not able to drag a deep enough breath into my lungs. “Never, malyshka.” It was soft and vehement. “Come here.”
“What are you afraid of?” “Everything,” I whispered, trailing my finger across the starched collar of his dress shirt. “You’re not afraid of me.” We were so close his cheek brushed my tear-streaked one when he rasped, “And, baby, I’m worse than the dark.”
“Tell me who hurt you, Gianna.”
“We have a saying in Russia. S volkámi zhit’, po-vólch’i vyt’. Say it.” I butchered it. A corner of his lips lifted, but he walked me through it until it sounded somewhat intelligible. “It means, to live with wolves, you have to howl like a wolf.”
“Why do you kiss me?” His gaze dropped to my lips, his jaw ticking in thought. “I wanted to know what you tasted like.” We both knew he hadn’t answered the question. He’d known what I tasted like three years ago, if that had been the only goal. “What do I taste like?” His eyes drifted back up to mine. They were so deep and serious they held me captive. His next two words tugged at my heart, even though I didn’t know the meaning. “Kak moya.”
“I wouldn’t be caught dead in that dress.” The truth always comes out in the bathroom, doesn’t it? I reached into my bra for my lip gloss. “Confidence comes with time. I’m sure you’ll get there someday.”
“Kak moya,” I said, smoothing the gloss on my lips and watching her in the mirror. “What does it mean?” She stopped at the door, assessing me with a look. “It means, like mine.”
“I’ve thought about you so much you’re mine now.” It was a growl that lowered into a threat. “You’re lucky you didn’t let him touch you, Gianna, because I really don’t like it when people touch my things.” I swallowed. “Who touches me is none of your business.” “It’s always been my business.”
“You blushed for him,” he growled. “You really shouldn’t have done that, Gianna. You have no idea what you’ve just unleashed.”
“I’m clean,” he rasped. “I’m not worried. I’m sure your body temperature is too cold for any STDs to survive.” His eyes came up to mine and narrowed. “It sounds to me like I’ve worked you in, malyshka.” He punctuated that sentence with a violent thrust that tore a gasp from my throat.
“Moya zvezdochka.” He murmured the two rough words against my lips. I stilled. Those words . . . I’d heard them before. More than once. And then the memory dropped into place. “You,” I breathed, eyes wide. “You were at my wedding.”
“You sound like an . . . impressionist.” That amused him. “I think you mean, pessimist.”
My voice was a whisper. “I’ll make him love me, you’ll see.” A thumb skimmed across my cheek. “If anyone can do it, it would be you . . .” His voice was soft and rough. “Moya zvezdochka.” And then it went black.
“I’m glad to see you remember, malyshka, because there is nothing I have ever forgotten about you.”
“Takaya krasivaya,” he breathed, running a thumb across my bottom lip.
“You don’t even notice the way women act in front of you, do you?” “I notice everything you do, malyshka.”
“Voy kak volk, malyshka.” Howl like a wolf. Her soft eyes flicked to me. They burned a small hole in my chest. “Voy kak volk,” she whispered. She’d said it right. And I suddenly knew I was going to keep her.
“What is . . .?” I trailed off when I realized what it was. And only because I’d worn the same wide-banded black hair ties since I could remember. My heart picked up as the memory came back, of him slipping that hair tie into his pocket while I was naked in his bed three years before. The surprise hit me so hard I went on the offensive. “That’s mine,” I accused, like it was something important he’d stolen from me. I reached for it as if to take it back, but he stopped me by grabbing that wrist, too. “It’s mine now.” He’d kept it—worn it—for three years? I couldn’t figure out if it was slightly
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“We landed ten minutes ago.” “We did?” I frowned. “How did I miss that?” Something sexy played in his eyes. “You were too busy calling out for God.”
“I know how witty and exciting you think I am and that you love spending time with me, but I’m a busy woman. You have to respect my space.” His tone was dry. “You read trashy novels by the pool and spend the rest of your time at Barneys.”
“I don’t know what kind of kink you’re into, but there are some hard no’s for me.” I was obviously a pervert because I couldn’t think of many as I ticked them off on my fingers. “Ball-and-gag-like bondage . . . tickling—hard, hard no on that one—and, preferably, no backdoor action.” He stood, making me look up to meet his gaze. “Is that it?” “I think so,” I answered hesitantly, not liking the look in his eye. “Yes to the first two, no to the last.” He fisted my shirt and dragged me closer, pressing the next words to my ear. “I’m going to ruin every part of your body for any other man,
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Last night, as his hands had been working shampoo through my hair, I’d asked him if he had a weird hair fetish. His reply was, “Only for yours.” “Why?” I’d asked breathlessly. “I love your hair, malyshka. It’s the first part of you I saw—the back of your head at your wedding. And then you turned around and looked right at me. But you weren’t looking at me—you were looking past me, toward your new husband, with this infatuated glow in your eyes. The first woman I wanted to look at me was too busy staring at another man. That was when I started to hate him—and I still do, even though he is
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“We should stop having sex,” I blurted. He didn’t even look at me while he worked on his cufflinks. “No.” “No?” “That’s what I said.” I flushed. “You can’t just say no, Christian.” “Give me one good reason why we should stop,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt, growing closer to revealing that stupid happy trail on his lower stomach. “Because!” I sputtered. “God, would you stop taking off your clothes?” “Because is not good enough.” “Fine! I could name off a whole novel-sized list of reasons. My grande Caramel Mocha, for one—” “I’ve waited all day to fuck you, Gianna. I haven’t been able to think
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“How many women have you been with more than three times?” For a moment, I didn’t think he was going to respond. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to, malyshka.” It was one. And it was me.
“I’m going to feed the pigeons and reflect on my life choices like a true New Yorker.”
“Listen, Christian. All of this”—I gestured between us—“is too much drama for me. I swear, I’ve gained at least five pounds from the stress! And I am not giving up chocolate, dammit!”
“You called me flighty,” I breathed. “I meant perfect.”
I joked about taking a selfie and wondering if he’d even show up in the picture. He told me he showed up just fine while fucking me in front of the bathroom mirror.
I asked him what moya zvezdochka meant. He said it meant, my little star.
“If you’re turning down models over there, I’d love to take a look at whoever’s in your bed.” “She’s Italian,” I said, like that explained everything. “Ah, passionate women. Is it serious?” A sardonic breath escaped me. “She bet twenty grand I’d marry another woman.”
Whether she realized it or not, Gianna would have to make a decision to marry eventually, and I was selfish enough to make her choose me. Because there wasn’t an ounce of me that could let her become someone else’s.
“I know you’ve got some sinister plan in the works, so let’s hear it.” Fuck. I hated how well he knew me. Gianna roused and rolled onto her back. Her soft brown eyes fluttered opened and landed on me. I could feel the heat of them in my chest. Every time she looked at me, it only strengthened my decision. I might have fought it for a long time—for both our sakes—but she was mine now. And she had no idea what I would do to keep it that way. I held her gaze. “Make her fall for me before I fuck it all up. Then, she won’t leave.”
I’d fantasized about her for so long, and the dream couldn’t even touch the reality.
When you’re obsessed with something for so long and finally obtain it? It feels like coming home to God. And nobody gives up their fucking spot in Heaven.
“Was that a dig on me, Officer? I’ll have you know, I have a very busy schedule as it is. You’re lucky I can even pencil you in.” On his way out of the room, he grabbed my ankle and dragged me down the bed toward him. His voice was rough as he pulled my face up to his. “Move shit around if you have to and pencil me in for tonight.” Then, he kissed me, placing a sharp nip on my bottom lip. When he left, I fell back to the bed with a sigh and a smarting lip. I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t. A stupid smile overtook my face.
His voice was soft, but the finest threat wove through. “I can find anyone . . . anywhere.” A thumb brushed my jawline. “Makes me a desirable person to have around. Antonio showed his interest in a partnership, but I had enough obligations and didn’t want to get mixed up with the Italians. I was going to meet with him and decline. But then I saw you.”
“It was a relief, malyshka, because we were everything wrong for each other. But nothing has ever felt more right than finding you like this in my bed.”
When I’d tried to return to my own bed, his response had been a simple, “No,” and then he’d wrapped an arm around me, and I’d forgotten why I wanted to leave in the first place.
“You have never looked more beautiful than you do right now, malyshka.” I flushed, my heart growing ridiculously warm. “I’m trying to be annoyed with you, if you can’t tell.” He smiled. “Ah, my mistake.”
