Page 30 of The Bratva's Nanny

“Yes, I was.”

I gritted my teeth.

“Your eyes were on the fridge the whole time,” he said strangely in a tone that had the faintest hint of mirth laced underneath.

Hah! As if he could be fascinated or amused by anything.

He pointed to one of the high stools by the glinting black granite. “I was seated right there.”

I studied him and watched intently for signs that would give him up. Signs that would prove that he’d intentionally scared me to feed on my misery.

But I found none.

Consciously, I took a meaningful step back because it suddenly became hot—too hot to breathe, too hot to think. My lungs were working uncontrollably, and when my heart stopped jumping in a crazy frenzy, I became self-aware.

I was standing alone in the darkness with Roman Varkov.

“You were snooping around.”

His voice's familiar hardness returned, and he was accusing, but while I opened my lips to respond, my mouth refused to form words.

I was distracted.

The kitchen lights weren’t on, but silver moonlight flooded through the wide-spanning glass-paneled windows, offering a panoramic view of the night sky, and the pale light illuminated his angular profile.

From the hard lines of his jaw down to the rough edges that fit him better than it could possibly have anyone. I’d never thought anyone could pull off a roguish appearance like my boss could.

Slowly, my gaze swept across and down the whole length of him, taking in his new wardrobe. After drawing my conclusions that the man slept in Tom Ford suits, slacks, and ties, he’d gone ahead and worn a pair of black sweatpants and a snug t-shirt that didn’t care about modesty.

The sharp definition of his broad shoulders seemed to dare me to draw closer yet warned me to keep my distance. A stretch of black ink, running from the crook of his elbow down to his wrist, called my attention, and I had to bite my tongue to stop my curiosity from becoming words.

Tattoos weren’t my thing, but there was no prejudice behind my preference. For me, clear skin appeared more appealing. That was…until now.

And damn, was he sexy.

The strange symbols and shapes etched into his skin and encircling his wrist made my fingers itch; the need to trace them was an instant craving.

I swallowed and fanned my cheeks. “Is it hot in here?”

Shit. Those words should never have made it out.

He lifted a concerned brow. “No. It’s not.”

“Okay.”

I needed to sit down. I’d officially lost my grip on reality and was floating in a world where the man in front of me glowed brighter than a million stars in the galaxy. Every detail, every inch of him, stuck, and I couldn’t shake them off no matter how I tried.

Change the topic, Maria.

I remembered that he’d accused me of snooping around his house and chose that as the perfect way to take my mind off…whatever it was that was going on.

“I wouldn’t call it snooping around.”

“Hm.”

He gave me that look that meant he didn’t believe a word I’d said.

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutinizing gaze.