Page 87 of The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

The sound of a door closing made the hair on the back of my neck rise, and, with a racing heart, I finished locking up and turned around with a contrived smile. It didn’t survive when I saw Christian was only wearing a pair of running pants and a gray long-sleeve shirt. My mouth went dry. I didn’t think I’d seen him without even a tie in all the years I’d known him. And, God, could he ever pull the gym-junkie look off.

I swallowed. “Why, Officer, you’re practically naked.”

I’d been so busy looking at his body, I hadn’t noticed his expression until now. And it was furious.

“Your view on an appropriate amount of clothes is obviously skewed.” His voice was strained. “What are you doing?”

I frowned, looking down at my itty-bitty white bikini. “Is it not obvious?”

“With you, nothing is.”

“I can’t tell if that was a dumb-brunette joke or if I’m so unpredictable it excites you.” I pursed my lips, muttering, “Probably the former, considering you’re as excitable as Jack Frost.”

“Gianna . . .” It was a warning. For what, though, I wasn’t sure.

I rolled my eyes. “Relax. I’m going down to the pool to swim off the entire bag of Hershey’s Kisses I ate last night, not to crash one of your silly meetings.”

He was going to say something—something rude or demanding—but before he could, he gave his head a subtle shake, expression strained, as if he was having to bite his tongue to hold whatever it was in.

He tried to leave me there, but we were headed in the same direction, so . . . we ended up walking side-by-side down the hall. He stared ahead, his posture strained. His jaw ground tight. The tension he put off couldn’t be healthy. He rolled his shoulders. It didn’t seem to help.

He bit out a curse.

His arm wrapped around my waist, he lifted me off the floor, and then he was carrying me back to my apartment like a sack of groceries.

“Hey,” I complained, though it was half-hearted because the heat coming through his cotton shirt scalded my skin.

“You aren’t wearing this downstairs, Gianna. There are kids around.”

“Don’t pretend you’re concerned about traumatized children.” His arm was tight around my waist, his body pressed against my nearly-naked one. My blood was boiling and stealing my breath.

He dropped me to my feet in front of my apartment. Took the keys from my hand and, annoyingly, unlocked the door in a single try.

“Go find a swimsuit that covers your ass.”

I put my hands on my hips defiantly. “Those aren’t in style anymore.”

“We both know you don’t follow fashion trends.”

“Since when do you regulate what I wear?”

“Since you’ve clearly lost the competence to do it yourself.”

I opened my mouth, but before I could protest again, he cut me off with that lord-and-master tone.

“It’s not happening, Gianna.”

“Fine,” I snapped, but I was only listening because the swimsuit was ridiculously risqué, with only a thong for bottoms. Sometimes, I thought I did things just to stir up trouble. Just add it to my list of daddy issues.

Spinning around, I headed to my room, pulling off my bikini top and dropping it in the hallway on the way. His gaze ran down my naked back, cool and electric, like the glide of ice on my skin.

When I returned in a new bathing suit, it was to find him looking around my apartment with distaste. I’d gotten most of the boxes unpacked and put away this week, so I was a little upset I didn’t get Christian’s approval. Not.

“You’ve thoroughly ruined the place, haven’t you?”

“If you mean I’ve given it some life, then yes.” I adjusted my boob in the neon orange one-piece. “Ready?”

He gestured for me to spin around, and, with a roll of my eyes, I did. The suit wasn’t modest either, with slits up the sides, but he seemed to approve—if not a bit reluctantly.