Page 9 of Lethal Obsession

He’s just nowhere near me.

I might have succeeded in getting Alexei and me into the same physical space, but actually conversing seems to be another thing entirely.

I can’t speak for the rest of the partygoers. They’re intent on ensuring I have the best night of my life, which consists of handing me endless shots (most of which I discreetly pour into nearby pot-plants), making me dance, and including me in every conversation except the only one I want to be having.

It’s exhausting.

Which is why I’m currently barefoot on a private terrace in the darkness, surrounded by protective hedges and staring over the dark valley to the Alhambra’s soft curves on the opposite hill.

“To you.” I raise my champagne glass rather unsteadily to the ancient palaces. “After a thousand years, I imagine you’ve seen far worse tragedies than mine.”

“You do realize that’s the first sign of madness, don’t you?”

I freeze.

“Talking to yourself, I mean.” Alexei’s voice, low and amused, comes from the darkness behind me.

I’m torn between the desire to face him and the fear that if I turn around, he will simply slip back into the shadows.

“At least the Alhambra doesn’t disappear every time I try to talk to it.” I take my chances and turn around.

Alexei is leaning against an arbor. To my relief, he doesn’t immediately flee.

“Did you follow me out here?”

“Not guilty.” He gestures to a half-empty bottle of Scotch on a secluded bench behind him. “It was you who invaded my hiding place.”

“Wow.” Hurt makes me sound childish. “I’m sorry my party is so tedious you had to run away from it.”

His low laugh sends a disturbing thrill down my spine. “Says the girl hiding from her own party.”

“I’m not hiding.” I bite my lip to stop the rest of what I was going to say.

“Then what are you doing?” Alexei steps out from the shadows. Not even the dim, distant light can soften the myriad of scars crossing his face, but for once, his mouth isn’t the hard line it usually is when he looks at me. “If I’m interrupting some secret rendezvous, say the word, and I’ll take my party elsewhere.” A hint of amusement stirs behind his eye, the surface blue turned so dark by the night that it’s almost indigo.

“A rendezvous?” I don’t even attempt to hide my sarcasm. “You think that’s what I do in my spare time, Alexei? Have secret rendezvous with random men?”

I stare at him, but he doesn’t answer, just watches me with that annoying look, halfway between amusement and something I can’t quite read.

“I meant what I said earlier.” Frustrated, I grip my champagne glass hard enough to put the stem in danger. “About you being a torturer.”

I take a dark satisfaction at his sharp intake of breath.

“I’ll leave.” He backs away from me, any trace of amusement gone.

“I don’t mean it in the way you think.” I go on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Your comment about me having a secret rendezvous might have been funny—if I’d ever had so much as an actual date.”

Alexei is silent, but at least he hasn’t run.

Yet.

He’s watching me intently, but despite how deeply attuned I am to his every expression, I can’t read this one.

“I wonder if you can imagine what it’s been like.” My voice shakes, but I’ve waited too long for this moment to let fear steal it. “Seeing the paparazzi shots of you in nightclubs, or on your yacht, with a model under each arm. Knowing that you’re probably getting laid more than a porn star—while I’m drinking hot chocolate in my pajamas, with a security detail outside my door.”

Alexei makes an uncomfortable noise. “Don’t talk like that.”

“About getting laid?” My laugh isn’t quite steady. “Why not, Alexei?”