The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

The air sparked in the small space between us, and it made me so uncertain I opened my mouth again. “Or maybe harassing women is on the daily agenda—”

“Shut up.”

I glared at him.

My hair slipped through his fingers, and his gaze focused on my face. Something dark and lazy played in his eyes.

“You’re going to tell Knox it was not nice to meet him and then go join your group of friends.”

I laughed, realizing which game this was. It was the one where he pretended to be my keeper, and it was the most annoying one we’d ever played. “Tempting as that demand is, I’m going to have to pass.”

The intensity in his eyes was like staring directly into the sun, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I dropped my gaze to his tie. It was perfect, like always, and while I would usually adjust it anyway, I didn’t reach for it now. His presence radiated tension, and it sent a nervous tremor through me.

“You don’t know a single thing about him, Gianna.”

“You don’t need to know anything about someone to sleep

with them.” I wasn’t even planning on having sex with the man with dull eyes, but Allister goaded the words straight from my mouth.

A small growl sounded low in his throat, and I stared at him, frozen. Someone was taking this game a little too seriously.

His palm slid from the wall, and his voice was calm and final. “You’re not going home with him.”

I stared at his hand running the length of his tie and knew my libido was completely out of control at the moment, because I imagined his hand on me—in my hair, on my throat, covering my mouth. Heat pulsed between my legs.

“I’ll leave with him if I want,” I finally managed.

“Try it.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“I just did.”

This was exactly why I hated this game. A small noise of frustration escaped me, and I ducked underneath his arm and headed toward the ladies’ room.

“You heard me, Gianna.”

I’d heard him, all right.

Didn’t mean I’d listen.

I had always tried not to do things out of spite, because every time, it only led me down a rabbit hole of regret. However, the moments after Allister’s stupid game pushed me straight into the underworld’s own version of Wonderland.

I washed my hands after using the restroom, and then halted at the end of the hall.

A bad taste filled my mouth.

The lighting was dim, but, as though they were the most perfect couple in the room, strobe lights danced across their forms.

A brunette had a hand on Allister’s chest as she stood on her tiptoes to say something in his ear. It wasn’t an odd scene—women were always all over him—but it was rare when he acknowledged them, unless they were one of his socialite dates. The sight that sent an odd sensation tightening in my stomach was his hand coming up to rest on her hip, in the most natural way, like he’d done it before.

He was touching her.

Why wouldn’t he? She was classy, composed, everything I was not. He wouldn’t touch me, not if he were hanging off a cliff and I was the only one who could pull him up.

I couldn’t keep it in—spite grabbed me in its electric embrace and wouldn’t let go.

Allister wasn’t going to win this game.