Page 27 of The Bratva's Nanny
Irritation flared inside my chest. She seemed innocent, as it were, and could not have possibly known that I wanted to get far away from her as soon as possible.
“You want my advice? Do what your boss tells you to.”
I headed for the door again, but her voice's softness kept my feet planted.
“Okay, Roman, would you like to taste a brownie?”
I froze.
The way she called my name….
A bolt of electricity zapped down my spine and instantly made my dick go hard. I gritted my teeth.
She looked on expectantly as I took my time, holding her breath and hoping that, for the first time, I’d debunk all the crazy beliefs she’d made up about me in her head and prove to her that I was human. Believing that I’d succumb mindlessly to the temptation of tasting what she baked.
“No,” I deadpanned and sidestepped, ignoring the flash of hurt and annoyance on her face. “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, Miss Simmons.”
Chapter Eight – Maria
I wanted to smash something against the wall.
Anything at all.
Maybe having his head would have sufficed?
I mulled it over. Was I angry? I didn’t think I was. Was I disappointed? That didn’t connect either. But if I was upset or disappointed, what could be the reason?
He rejected the fucking brownies; that’s what.
I paused for a moment, considering it—smashing his head against the wall—and after a while, I gave up. The mental pictures were too gruesome to stomach, and I’d never been the violent type, except when the situation called for some adequate amount of ass-kicking.
But having his head bashed against the wall was not the best idea.
If it could even work.
I was almost at the conclusion that the man was made from steel or maybe titanium and was willing to bet that, if bullets were shot right at him, they would crush against his chest and fall on the ground in a folded heap.
His entire get-up was freaking armor.
Several times, I’d tried to wrap my head around it, wondering if he really had a beating heart somewhere inside his tank. But so far, he’d enjoyed proving me right.
The man was almost impenetrable: no emotions—except where his daughter was concerned, and even then, it was always a flicker of light thawing the coldness in his gaze or a ghostly smile on his lips that died down right after ten seconds. No empathy, although there was the quickest spread of anger through his clenched jaw when I talked about Kian and Evgeni.
Plus...he was impeccably rude and obnoxiously egotistical.
And why was I flustered again?
Simple: The tin man rejected my gesture of goodwill, dammit! My brownies.
I’d swallowed my pride and waved an olive branch, but he beat it out of my hand and crushed it into splinters. The nerve of him.
Turning over on the fluffy bed, I stared out the big glass windows at the city lights.
It was late now—past midnight. Somewhere, about three to four rooms away from mine and down the hallway, Polina slept peacefully after I reluctantly promised to make her brownies for lunch the next day and sang her a lullaby.
Tiny dots of stars stretched out across the night sky from a gazillion miles away, illuminating the vast space with gentle sparks. The view was breathtaking, but even that wasn’t enough to distract my mind from replaying the rejected-brownie moment over and over again.
Why did it upset and disappoint me so much?