My eyes coasted over the emergency contraceptives, and I grabbed one to read the information on the back. My hand was shaking. Fucking ridiculous. You’d think I’d just lost my virginity.

Didn’t know if I could have stopped myself from coming in her if I’d wanted to. And hadn’t particularly wanted to.

An obsessive part of me—the one thoroughly fixated on Gianna’s every move—didn’t give a shit about consequences. Knocking her up would make its fucking day. It would finally give me a reason to throw my plans in the trash and make her mine.

Sounded good, sure—but that side of me was as rational as Gianna’s wardrobe. It had the idea she could be this pretty little fuck toy, one who’d be perfectly comfortable warming my bed all day, spreading her legs for me whenever I wanted, while keeping all her questions to herself.

In reality, she’d touch my shit. Reorganize my things. Fill my apartment with sugary cereal. And most importantly, slowly dig her way into my past. And when she did that, she’d hate me more than she already did. Maybe even be disgusted. I couldn’t stomach letting her see me in that light.

Gianna wasn’t for me.

As much as I hated it, she belonged with someone without any skeletons in his closet. Someone like Vincent Monroe.

My chest burned, rejecting the thought.

Maybe I’d take her out to eat first and hold on to the morning-after pill for a while, give the slight possibility a greater chance.

I ran a hand across my jaw.

Jesus. No.

In the end, I grabbed the generic brand.

My Cherie Amour played on the staticky radio, practically mocking me with its romantic lyrics as I set the item on the counter. The teenage cashier wearing a bored expression and chewing gum looked from my purchase to me, pausing on my neck, where I knew there were a few marks from Gianna’s sharp-ass nails.

The teenager met my eyes.

Popped a bubble.

Beep.

Gianna hadn’t said a word to me since we left the parking garage. She couldn’t have made it clearer that the idea of being stuck with me horrified her—she’d had a full-blown panic attack, for fuck’s sake.

I would have found the will to hold myself back if I knew how she’d react. Watching tears fill her eyes was like a stab and a twist to the chest. I didn’t fucking like it.

Gianna wasn’t in the passenger seat when I headed outside—she was across the street, handing money to a homeless man who looked like he’d just been released from the state penitentiary.

Panic bled into my veins. All I could think about was if she’d walked up to me when I was a teen living on the streets. I would have taken advantage of it so fast.

“Gianna,” I snapped.

She tossed me a look over her shoulder.

“Car. Now.”

Her gaze flared with annoyance.

The rain had stopped, but her dress hadn’t dried enough to be decent. Thankfully, she’d had enough sense to put my jacket on and button it before getting out of the car, unlike earlier at the club. I was still agitated about that little scene, aggravated she’d so visibly regretted sleeping with me, and frustrated I couldn’t take her home and fuck her again and again, until she was so thoroughly out of my system I’d forget her goddamn name.

She said some parting word to the man—probably about what an asshole I was—and then drifted back to me.

“He was hungry,” she explained when she reached me.

“He’s heading toward the liquor store as we speak,” I said dryly.

“So, what if he is? Everybody needs something to get them through life.”

“Right. Must have forgotten I was talking to Miss Blow International.”

She rolled her eyes and disappeared into the passenger seat. When I sat beside her, I said, “You’re going to tell me why you used a few weeks ago eventually.”

The slightest amount of tension rolled through her, but she tried to mask it by looking at her nails. “Please hold your breath.”

My curiosity grew tenfold. It was inevitable now that I’d find out.

She looked at the pill I’d handed to her in reluctance. “The last time I took one of these it screwed up my cycle for two months.”

The thought that she’d had to take one before sent a bite of jealousy through me.

“Then don’t take it.”

She scoffed. “I’m not shipping my child to Russia every summer, Allister.”

She wouldn’t be sending him or her anywhere. She’d be in my home, in my bed. I’d give her anything she wanted—anything but my past and some silly notion of love. Although, I didn’t believe she’d be searching for the latter. She’d been burned enough. I hated any man who’d broken her heart, but in the end, they’d made it easy for me. I couldn’t give that to her, and neither would she expect it from me.

“I live in Seattle, Gianna, not Russia.”

She raised a brow. “Seattle is home now, is it?”

“Yes.”

“You’re returning soon, then?” There was relief in her voice, and I goddamn hated it.

“A few weeks.”

She nodded. Put the pill on her tongue and swallowed it dry.

She always had something to say, yet she remained silent for the rest of the ride. The tension had always been there between us—sexual, loathing, and otherwise—though now we’d slept together, it seemed I was out of her system and mind.

My chest tightened in frustration.

I reached her apartment and looked over to see she’d fallen asleep. Her head was resting on the window, her breaths slow and even. She’d always been able to sleep at the drop of a hat, and deeply, too. I knew I wouldn’t get any shut-eye for at least a week, not with the feeling of her hands on me still searing like burns.

I let out a breath.

Swept my gaze over her face. Long eyelashes, smooth cheekbones, pouty mouth—the top lip that was slightly bigger than the bottom—the tiny scar on her chin. She was so goddamn beautiful I couldn’t even stand to look at her some days. Because I didn’t know what to do with her—to make her scream my name or to punish her for making me feel this way.

I needed to back off completely. To leave her alone and let her live her life.

Let her have her Vincent Monroe.

Because if I touched her again, the deeper this obsession would spread, and I knew where it would end. I’d find some way to keep her. As strong as she liked to appear, she was delicate, flimsy, breakable, and too full of curiosity for her own good. She’d want out, and I’d never let her go.

Yet, the more I told myself I couldn’t have her, the more I wanted her.

And I wanted her so badly a cold sweat broke out beneath my skin, a tremble starting in my hands.

“Gianna.”

She slowly stirred, rolling her head to look at me with hypnotic, dark eyes. They grew half-lidded as sleep pulled her back under. Jesus. Today was one of the days it hurt to look at her. A protective urge welled in my chest. Ironic, because it was me she should be fucking running from.

My grip tightened on the steering wheel. “If you expected to be carried inside, you should have fucked someone a little more gentlemanly.”

Her eyes opened and narrowed on me. She started to shrug off my jacket.

“Keep it.”

There was no way I was letting her walk up to her apartment without it.