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“Andromeda was boasted to be one of the most beautiful goddesses.” He moved closer, so close his jacket brushed my bare arm. His hands were in his pockets and his gaze was on the sky. “She was sacrificed for her beauty, tied to a rock by the sea.”
“They have a word for what you’ve described, Christian.” I paused, my hand on the doorknob. “Obsession.”
The bastard was Russian.
But I knew that was just an excuse for the real reason: he’d fucked her. If I couldn’t fuck her, nobody could fuck her. It was that simple.
“What were your whereabouts at approximately three a.m. last Friday night?” His gaze slid to me, sizing up my stance. “Home. Sleeping.” “See . . . I just don’t believe you.” “Why’s that?” he drawled. “Lucifer never sleeps.”
“Chocolate?” “Arsenic.” “My favorite.” He took the plate from my hand and slammed the door. I sighed. My neighbors sucked.
“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.
“What’s for dinner?” Nico asked a few moments later, while Elena searched the place for her phone. “Fried towel served with a side of half-cooked pasta.” “Huh.” He rubbed his jaw and sat at the kitchen island, amusement playing in his eyes.
How could I say every strand was mine any clearer than washing it every goddamn night?
“Haven’t you heard? Love is an obsession. Some would even say . . . the maddest obsession.”
