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I looked away, fighting off a sudden bout of heartburn. I frowned. I hadn’t even eaten much today while trying to fit into this dress. It seemed my health was always in question whenever Christian was present. That should be enough warning to stay away.
His girlfriend stood by his side for goodness’ sake, yet every time he looked at me, he might as well have announced to the room we’d had unprotected, adulterous sex.
And, dammit, that sin should stay between me and the Lord.
“I need a drink. And this time, hold the bitters,” I told her. “Honey, that’s a Moscow Mule. There isn’t any bitters.” “Well, something’s bitter.” “Yes, something is
She snapped her compact closed. “We will marry, and you won’t get in the way.” “I don’t have any designs on him.” “Good.” She headed to leave. There was something on my mind I hadn’t been able to get rid of. “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.”
“Who touches me is none of your business.” “It’s always been my business.”
“Why do you kiss me?” My lips parted as he ran a thumb across the seam. “It shuts you up.”
“Christian . . . no condom,” I breathed. “Again.” “I’ll pull out.” “I think that’s how my cousin got pregnant with three of her kids.”
“I’m not worried. I’m sure your body temperature is too cold for any STDs to survive.”
“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’d told Aleksandra I wasn’t interested in him and then hours later sucked his fingers on command.
I’d gone to the bathroom for two minutes and come out to my apartment in flames, while Elena stood in front of the TV, oblivious.
“I changed my mind,” I whispered. He raised a brow. Stretching up on my toes, I skimmed my lips across his ear, and breathed, “I volunteer.”
“I’ll say when this is over, Gianna.”
The woman had no idea. She thought I liked her. I’d gone out of my way and followed her around for goddamn years just to look at her. I’d insulted her just to hear her smoky voice and witty response. And now, after my move to Seattle, it was hard to believe she was here in front of me. That I could reach out and touch her. That she would let me. It didn’t matter if she dressed like a 1970s drug lord’s wife or a die-hard Ariana Grande fan—nothing could make me forget her. What was worse was now, I had the memory of her looking up at me from her knees. That image had burned itself so deep
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I’d gone out of my way and followed her around for goddamn years just to look at her. I’d insulted her just to hear her smoky voice and witty response. And now, after my move to Seattle, it was hard to believe she was here in front of me. That I could reach out and touch her. That she would let me. It didn’t matter if she dressed like a 1970s drug lord’s wife or a die-hard Ariana Grande fan—nothing could make me forget her. What was worse was now, I had the memory of her looking up at me from her knees. That image had burned itself so deep beneath my skin I’d never get it out.
“Please, tell me this plane doesn’t belong to the Bureau.” “This plane doesn’t belong to the Bureau.” “Liar.” As we boarded the jet, she muttered something about getting a rash.
“And if he does?” “I told you, I won’t ever marry again.” She would leave. The life, the city, me
“How are you going to explain why you’re with me?” You’re mine. And I go where you go.
She was scared of her papà. It sent a rush of anger through me. The only one she should be nervous of was me. “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.
I should have known, nothing about Christian Allister was simple. We weren’t expected to fly home so soon, but after my date had casually admitted to shooting one of my relatives, I’d decided it was best if we skipped the reception.
I fought the impulse for a solid three seconds, because who was I kidding? This battle was over before it had even begun.
“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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“Gosh, I’m starving.” “You have no idea what starving is.”
“This is ridiculous.” “You don’t hate me,” he said, voice low and resigned. “But by the time this is over, you might.” “This?” “Us.”
“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, malyshka, and you’re going to thank me when I’m done.”
Christian had a routine. And I’d become obsessed with watching it.
I’d never shampooed my hair so much in my life—my hairstylist was going to kill me—but surely, if she’d had this man’s hands in her hair just once, she’d understand.
“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 dead”—his voice roughened with a slight accent—“because he got that look from you, and I never have.”
“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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“I swear, it’s like talking to a concrete wall with you.” He ran a thumb across my cheek. “Brick wall.”
“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.
Aleksandra. She was thin as a rail, while I sat here in stretchy pants next to a half-eaten bag of M&
“I’m moving back to New York.” My heart dropped. “What? Why?” His gaze touched mine as he said, “I missed the city.” Oh. “You called me flighty,” I breathed. “I meant perfect.”
Another reason I’d lost my cool when I found Gianna laughing with some Abelli who had his hand in her hair. How could I say every strand was mine any clearer than washing it every goddamn night?
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.
“What do you do for the Bureau?” “Whatever they want me to do.” “So . . . say they told you to go set fire to the old lady’s apartment next door.” “I’d set fire to her apartment.” I swallowed, and the next question came out a little breathless. “Say they told you to kill me.” I met his gaze. Possessive blue flames. And something morally ambiguous. His hand came up to my throat and his thumb brushed across my pulse. Then, he lightly squeezed. “I’d have to decline.” The pressure building in my lungs released with my next breath, and I forced a small smile to my lips. “Because I’m too much fun?”
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“Do you eat?” He raised a brow, consuming that glass of green yuck in one drink. “Like, solids? Or do you blend all the children’s souls beforehand?”
“Italian?” “It happens to be my favorite.”
“We haven’t talked about . . . dates, Christian. Don’t complicate this.” “You’re the only one complicating it. If you can’t handle going to one party with me without expecting a proposal, then just say so.” Ugh. He knew I wasn’t going to say those stupid words. Later, I pushed his meticulously-placed toothbrush an inch to the left in retaliation.
The dinner party took place at the same hotel as Elena’s wedding, but instead of well-dressed Italians filling the ballroom, it was crawling with feds. Christian laughed at my expression. My frown deepened. “What if someone arrests me while you’re in the bathroom?” “I’d bail you out.” “If you couldn’t?” “I’d be locked up beside you.”
If there was anything that showed how different and incompatible we were, it was him responding to a question about a new development in biocoenosis—whatever the hell that was—while the deepest thought in my head at that moment was which level of toner I wanted my stylist to use on my hair this week.
“Why am I the only one being practical about this?” “Because you’ve never been in this as deeply as me.”
“There are plenty of women who could make you happier, Christian.” “You’re the only one I want.”
“Would you visit my grave if I died?” His eyes grew dark. “I’d die before you were ever in a grave, malyshka.” I loved his possessive side. And I loved his dark side, too.
And then he turned my face and kissed me on the lips. It was short and sweet but possessive, letting everyone know Christian Allister was screwing me nine ways to Sunday. I thought I heard someone gasp.
“It was supposed to be just sex,” I complained. Val nodded. “A lot of people bring their fuck buddies to church.”
“What do you want from me, Christian?” He turned to me, eyes dark. “Everything.” A shiver trailed down my spine. “This was never about sex.” He reached for his belt and unfastened it, sardonic amusement passing through his gaze. “No.” “You played me,” I accused. “Yes.” “Do you feel bad?” “No.”
“If you make me walk out this door, I won’t come back, Christian. Not until you have an answer for me.” He didn’t look at me. Neither did he stop me.
