Page 60 of The Bratva's Nanny

Stupid.

With just that question, I’d officially crossed the line of sex and nothing else.

Again, what was I thinking?

“Maria…” he called out to me. But I wasn’t listening.

Many thoughts rolled in my mind like a billowing storm. The very same thoughts that had pushed me to ask him that question in the first place.

More Questions. Heaps and heaps of them. Wanting to know more and not heeding the warning to be content with less. I could no longer hold them in. Although I needed a boost to help loosen my tongue.

Right on time, a waiter passed with another tray full of what I assumed to be red wine. I picked out two glasses for myself, threw my head back, and gulped one down on the spot.

“I’m sorry,” I rambled. “I probably shouldn’t be asking you that, but it’s been long overdue. I have so many questions….”

Like how in the world were two enemies so cordial with each other, maintaining smiles and laughter, even if Benjamin had most of the expressions?

Following the macabre details I’d heard about the old man and his nightmarish feud with Roman’s father, it would have made more sense for them to smash bottles on the table once they caught sight of each other and attack.

Their modus operandi needed some querying.

“You said you were going to answer them. Maybe now is not a good time, but if I nurse them any longer, I might explode.”

Roman was calm, as he always was, studying me with not a flicker of an expression. And when he eliminated the distance between us and growled, “The only time you’ll be permitted to explode is when I’m inside you. If not, keep your shit together,” I suddenly felt hot all over.

Like a struck matchstick.

Like a lit candle melting into a puddle of wax under the fire.

Like smoke produced during combustion.

Focus, Maria.

“Fine.” I tightened my lips and squeezed my thighs together—efforts to concentrate. “I won’t. But you have to know being kept in the dark for long only piques a person’s interest.”

“What are your questions?”

I didn’t expect him to oblige so quickly.

I downed the second glass and felt the effect beginning to slowly kick in. His eyes darkened as they drank me in, lingered on my lips, and swept down, touching all the places his hands couldn’t in that space.

He looked mad, tempted, and frustrated at the same time. I guessed that there was a lot he wanted to say. Nevertheless, he bridled his tongue.

That sexy tongue of his.

Focus.

“Let’s start from here: What’s Level One?” I’d heard Lev talking about it in his office and made a mental note to ask.

His shoulder made the most nonchalant shrug before he said, “It would be boring to call it a torture chamber or the dungeon, which were all my ideas, by the way, but Lev thought we’d stick with Level One.”

It made sense that those awful, archaic ideas would be his. I tipped the rim of the empty glass. “Level One is in the house?”

“Yes. There’s a spacious underground compartment in the building plan.” He spoke in a hard baritone, conveying absolutely no emotion. “There’s also a room full of weapons. And cars.”

Silence.

Oh, but I’d accidentally stumbled into the room with weapons one time. Was it sad that I’d been impressed by the array of his up-to-date collections?