The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

I swallowed. “Trying out a new career of bird-calling.”

“Ah. It seems you’d better stick with gambling,” he said, as the pigeons all h

eaded in the opposite direction.

“Everyone has to start somewhere.”

“Usually, that somewhere is a little higher than an aspiration to hang out in a park and feed fat pigeons.”

“You sound like an impressionist.”

A smile touched his voice. “I think you mean pessimist.”

I finally met his gaze. Blue. The look grabbed hold and hung on. It wasn’t just ice anymore; it was late nights, rough hands, Russian words, and heavy hearts. His suit and hair were immaculate, as always, but something tired lingered behind his eyes.

“You didn’t come home last night,” I said quietly.

“I stayed at work.” His jaw tightened. “Can’t sleep across a hall from you.”

“I slept in your bed last night.”

Conflict and confusion waged in his eyes. “Why?”

I stood and moved toward him. “I don’t care about what happened in your past. It doesn’t matter to me. And if you think I would see you differently because of what happened to you as a child, or even what you might have done, you don’t know me at all.”

His gaze coasted above my head, his jaw ticking in thought. “You reacted differently.”

“That wasn’t about what you told me . . . but because I’m pregnant, Christian.”

His gaze dropped to search my face and then it filled with something dark as sin and satisfied. “You’re sure?”

“One-hundred percent. I know it might come as a shock and all, considering how careful we were being—”

He cupped my face with a palm, running a thumb across my cheek. “Moya zvezdochka.” I felt the intensity of his relief in the way his hand shook slightly, and it made my throat tighten. I suddenly knew this was the only man I wanted to do this with. Happiness pinged off the walls of my chest, leaving me feeling raw.

He wiped a tear from my cheek. “Are you happy?”

I nodded. “So happy.”

“Good.” His voice was coarse.

He ran his arms around my waist and pulled me closer until I could feel his fast heartbeat. He rested his forehead on mine, cocooning me in his heat and heady, familiar scent: sandalwood and money.

“You don’t think I’m only here now because I’m pregnant?”

“I don’t care why. Just that you’re here, with me.”

“That sounds like an unhealthy mindset.”

A half-smile pulled on his lips. “You have no idea.”

I rose to my tiptoes and kissed him. Heat burst in my chest, sinking into my blood. He held my face and kissed me back. Soft and slow yet deep enough it touched my heart.

I breathed against his lips, “Tell me you love me again.”

“I love you, malyshka.”

“I love you, too, you know?”