The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

I faltered. “Like, a Federal Bureau hosted event?”

“Yes.”

I let out a half-laugh. “No way.”

“I always have a date, Gianna.”

I swallowed, hating every word about to leave my mouth. “I’m sure if you put an ad in the paper, you’ll have a variety of blondes lined up down the hall.”

He set his phone down a little more aggressively than usual. “If I wanted someone else, I wouldn’t be asking you.”

“How would you even explain why I’m with you? Some of the feds at this party might recognize me.”

“No one questions me, Gianna.”

“What if they did?”

“I’d tell them to fuck off.”

I sighed. “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.

After an hour-long deliberation, I settled on a Marilyn Monroe-esque black sequin gown. Sophisticated but flashy. I smoothed the dress over my hips, relieved it fit.

I was locking my door when he stepped into the hall behind me. Turning around, I quelled the nerves inside me and raised a brow. “Well, does His Highness approve?”

His heated gaze ran down my body, but something besides lust passed through his eyes. Disapproval? Displeasure? Whatever it was, it sent a burst of annoyance through me. I’d even worn my hair down for him, dammit. I spun around to go back inside and slam the door in his face, but he grabbed my wrist.

“No, malyshka, I like it.” He ran a thumb across my cheek. “This is just new to me.” He paused, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “And I haven’t figured out how to deal with it yet.”

“With what?”

“You.”

I still didn’t understand what he meant, but as he brushed a piece of hair behind my ear and told me in a rough voice I was gorgeous against my lips, all my anger escaped with my next breath.

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.”

I couldn’t stop a smile from appearing.

Women stared at Christian like he was the messiah. Married women, single women, old women, young—didn’t matter. Thankfully, only a select few—the bravest ones without a lick of intuition in my opinion—actually approached him. He was polite but distant with them, and I suddenly wondered what he’d be like with them in bed once we came to an end. The thought put a bad taste in my mouth.