The Maddest Obsession (Made, #2)

by Danielle Lori

Stepping closer, I ran a finger across his jawline, my voice soft. “You have such a handsome face. Does it get you everything you want?” “Almost.”

“You want to know why I don’t touch you?” I shook my head. “Because if I did, I wouldn’t stop. Not until I’d snuffed out that pretty fire in your eyes.” His gaze flashed. “Don’t shut yourself in a room with me again, Gianna.”

Kissing Christian Allister made me feel more alive than any drug ever could.

“Say something in Russian.” “Ty samaya krasivaya zhenshchina kotoruyu ya kogda-libo videl.” “What did you say?” “You’re annoying.” “I would hate to be Russian if it takes that many words to say something so simple,” I mused. I didn’t believe for a second that was what he’d said.

“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’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.”

“Takaya krasivaya,” he breathed, running a thumb across my bottom lip.

“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 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.”

“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.”

I asked him what moya zvezdochka meant. He said it meant, my little star.

I asked him if he kissed all his neighbors or just me. He looked me in the eye and said, “You’re the only woman I’ve ever kissed, malyshka.”

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.

A tear escaped, and he brushed it away with a thumb. “I don’t know what biocoenosis is,” I said softly. “You’re not missing out.” “I can’t have intellectually stimulating conversations with you.” “I was bored out of my mind.” Last-ditch effort to save myself.

“There are plenty of women who could make you happier, Christian.” “You’re the only one I want.”

“God, I want you,” I breathed into his mouth. He made a tortured noise in his throat and pulled back. A thumb ran across my cheek, his eyes conflicted. “Say it again.” I rocked my hips against him, desperation coating my words. “I want you so badly.” “Why?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “Because . . .” I sighed, searching for the reason and then just letting my first thought escape. “Because it’s always been you.”

“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.

Love is an obsession. Some would even say . . . the maddest obsession.”

“How about because I love you, Gianna? Because I think I have since the moment I saw you? Because if you weren’t in this world anymore, I would find a way to take myself out of it?”