The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

“Can’t I do something nice for someone?”

“For me?” I raised a brow, forcing amusement. “Please.”

His jaw ticked. He shook his head, his gaze dropping to the ground. When it came back up to me, it was so heavy and humorless it pinned me to my spot.

“I had every intention of coming back for you three years ago, Gianna.”

My small smile fell. Shock rocked me at my center. He could sometimes be so blunt when least expected, it stole my breath.

“I was in Moscow those two weeks. But if I had known, I would’ve stopped it. Your marriage.” He looked around the cemetery, at the tent where my husband’s casket lay. “All of this.”

My lungs felt tight. “It wasn’t your responsibility to save me.”

His gaze was steady. “Nonetheless, I would have.”

“Savior complex?” I joked to lighten the mood.

“No.” It was a harsh word.

My throat burned, making my voice bitter. “Why are you telling me this?” Why are you making me feel this way?

“You hate me for that night.”

“I don’t—” I cut myself off. Because there was a part of me that resented him for acting like he’d cared and then disappearing, leaving me tied to another unwanted marriage. It wasn’t rational—none of it had been his fault—but, still, the feeling was there.

We stared at each other as that awareness settled between us.

“I still don’t understand why you’re telling me this,” I told him. “It’s not like it matters anymore.” Right?

He shook his head, letting out a disdainful noise through his teeth.

My heart beat hard against my ribcage.

His eyes lifted to mine, and they were filled with fire: violence, confliction, and a flash of possession. “Ask me why I kiss you.”

I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

I shook my head.

Because I was suddenly terrified of the answer.

With his handsome, aristocratic face, he looked like a pissed-off prince who was darkly amused to be denied what he wanted. “I thought you were braver than this, Gianna.”

I wasn’t. I’m not.

“Remember that the next time you offer me your body, malyshka,” he bit out. “Because next time, I’ll take it. Regardless if there are still tears on your face. Fuck, I won’t care if you cry the whole way through it.”

I swallowed.

He’d once insinuated I was breakable, like a flimsy piece of glass. And that truth was suddenly loud in my ears. I needed to keep my distance from this man; nothing good could come from this chemistry between us. It was explosive and addictive but forged in hate and mistrust. He had always won, and I knew, if I explored this attraction further, he would be the victor in the end.

My silence was my forfeit.

He shook his head. “Get in the car, Gianna.”

He took me home, and we didn’t say another word to each other on the way.

“I think it’s too small,” I groaned.