Page 68 of The Bratva's Nanny
“Every fucking thing.” He dropped his phone beside him and folded his arms across his chest. “Well, except for the identity of his client. And that includes the most recent attack at the school.”
They still didn’t know who had contacted Finn.
My eyes followed the inked-black lines on his skin before I stared back at him. “Then, let’s wait.”
“Wait for what exactly?”
I shifted my weight from one foot to the next. “Let’s wait until we know who asked him to do it before you, uh…before you eliminate him. You never know; keeping a close eye on him could help us reveal a lot. We’d be two steps ahead—”
“You’re talking in the plural,” he interrupted, a questioning brow raised.
I matched his glare. “Because I’m as involved in this as you are.”
He didn’t argue. Didn’t move or say anything else. So, I opened my mouth to finish my proposal. “I have a plan,” I started saying. “Maybe we could—”
He didn’t let me finish. His hands grabbed my hips, bringing me closer between his legs, and he planted me firmly on his thighs.
The air in the room shifted and grew thick with tension.
His eyes locked onto mine, his gaze burning with intensity. “You’re so smart,” he said, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down to my toes. “It’s even more sexy and alluring when you’re like that.”
My heart raced with excitement.
I looked at his face, admiring the strong lines and chiseled features. His eyes seemed to see right through me, and I felt like I was drowning in their depths.
Honesty was key, or wasn’t that what they said?
I had to be real, to accept that I couldn’t resist him anymore, couldn't deny the attraction that had been building between us. He was teasing me, reminding me of how I had been earlier, how I had thrown myself at him.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “Teasing me, making me squirm.”
His smile grew wider, and I wanted to take a photo and frame it like the portrait in the hallway. How could a man be so enchanting?
“Maybe a little,” he admitted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “But you have to admit, it’s fun.”
“It is,” I whispered, trembling with need.
I put my arms around his neck, traced the collar of the cloth, and slipped a hand through to feel his skin.
He tucked my hair behind my ears and cradled my cheek in his hands; his eyes burned with longing and a desire that was not as destructive as the storm I always saw.
This one was clearer and more foreign. He knew I could see it, so he let me see it.
“And I like it when you talk in the plural,” he whispered right before he kissed me.
Unlike most of the kisses we’d shared, this one was slow.
Roman Varkov had set a new record.
He’d exuded patience.
Chapter Nineteen – Roman
We laid on my bed with her back pressed against my front, like two spoons clamped together in the kitchen drawer.
I scooted closer, basking in the steady rise and fall of her chest. She wasn’t asleep. And even if she drifted off, I knew she’d want me to shake her back.
She snuggled up, moved her hip, and arched her backside over my erection, teasing me. Her silky nightdress hitched up, baring a smooth curve of perfect ass when I grabbed her waist, stopping her motion, and whispered at the back of her ear, “I’m not going to do anything unless you ask nicely.”