Page 83 of The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

“This place is in my father’s name, which will make it mine very shortly. Stay if you want, but I’ll expect payment.” His beady eyes dropped to my breasts.

“Tempting, but I’ll pass. The maintenance here sucks; my washer’s been broken for a week.”

“Don’t expect a dime from his will.”

I pursed my lips. “I don’t want any of Richard’s money. I have plenty of Antonio’s left.”

He let out a sarcastic noise. “Right. Call me if you change your mind about staying here. I’d give it to you easier than I bet Allister does.” He shut the door behind him.

I looked around my apartment, at the shelf crammed with books and knickknacks, the paintings—from a cheap Marilyn Monroe portrait to an authentic Picasso—my Singer sewing machine and bags of fabric and thread, the haphazard stacks of magazines with circled fashion ideas in ballpoint bell, and way too many decorative pillows. If I was being conservative, I’d say it was cluttered. If I were Allister, I’d say it was a nightmare.

Regardless of that issue, I hated moving with a passion as fiery as the cover of any of my old bodice rippers.

I banged my head against the cupboard.

I didn’t make dinner that night. I ate a bowl of Cap’n Crunch while watching one of my cheesy TV shows in Spanish. Magdalena changed the language a while ago, and I hadn’t yet figured out how to change it back.

My washer really was broken, and all my dirty laundry could rival the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I walked past the pile in a dreamy, restless state. My body was exhausted, but my mind kept finding things about this afternoon to obsess over. It’d been so long since I’d slept with anyone, and my skin was still charged with an excited, breathless electricity.

The faucet let out a squeak when I turned it off with my toes. The bathwater was hot—almost too hot—but I needed something strong to soothe the ache. I was sore, and more than just between my legs. The asshole had left little marks all over me, including that stupid hickey on my neck.

Minus the whole he’s-a-giant-prick thing, there had been something undeniably perfect about sleeping with him. The rough and greedy way he’d touched me. The sound of his voice in my ear. The feeling of him inside me.

A flush drifted down my body.

I dropped my head against the tub. Turned the faucet on with a squeak and let the water run until it threatened to tip over the sides.

What a shame it was that Christian had to be the one to reintroduce me to the world of sex. Because now that I was so close to being a single woman, I didn’t think I’d be leaving again anytime soon, and it was going to be near impossible to find someone who touched me as good as he did.

Me: Tell your husband I have to be out of my place soon, but he doesn’t need to worry. I’m taking care of it all!

I knew Ace would be annoyed if I just upped and moved without telling anyone, and I was already on his shit-list. I’d decided to go through his wife so I didn’t have to face him regarding that silly club incident yesterday.

Elena: He said, “Don’t think you’re getting out of yesterday by going through my wife.”

Elena: What did you do?

Me: Daddy issues.

Elena: We’re about to board our plane, but the strangest expression just crossed his face . . .

Me: What kind of ‘strange’? Joyful? Brooding? Devious?

Elena: Definitely leaning toward devious . . .

Me: Dammit.

Elena: He just said, “I’ve got a place.”

Me: Definitely not necessary.

Me: In any way.

Me: Shape or form.

Me: At all.

Me: Ever.