Page 17 of The Bratva’s Stalked Pregnant Bride

Lots more. I thought I was supposed to be immune to this.

I ducked my head down, and his forehead bumped lightly against mine, resting there, just as his hands were resting on my waist, ever so subtly pulling me closer. That strange confidence he gave me on the dance floor was still riding high, still in control.

He’s your boss, Laurel.

That voice was all my own, ringing out loud and clear through my tipsy, lust-filled haze.

This was something I truly believed I’d never feel again, floating in the clouds and full of anticipation. I thought that part of me died, never to be resurrected.

Just one.

I tipped my head back up, and his lips were right there, connecting with mine. He gripped me tighter as I ran my hand up his arm to tangle my fingers in his hair. A slight twitch under my lap had me gasping. He smiled against my mouth and ran his tongue along the seam of my lips.

Then there was a vibration. Long and angry, coming from somewhere near my other hand, which had slowly begun to work its way up Mik’s chest.

“Damn it,” he muttered, pulling away. “It’s only set to take certain numbers. Sorry.”

Clamping his hands firmly around my waist, he neatly tipped me off his lap and pulled out his phone. I stood on shaky legs as he rose and stepped over the low picket fence like it wasn’t there to take the call in privacy.

I stared at his back, trying to decide if that kiss actually happened or if I was still deciding whether or not to lift my chin. Was the whole thing a daydream? Was I drunker than I thought?

The tingle of my lips and the heat where I could still feel his hands told me the kiss happened. I kept staring at him, wondering if I wished it hadn’t or wished it was still going, and after less than a minute, he turned back, stepped over the fence again, and looked down at me with a frown.

“We have to go.”

“Is everything okay?”

“No.”

In less than a minute everything was back to normal, and I should have been grateful because I probably wouldn’t have come to my senses as quickly as I should have. But did he have to go back to being such a jerk? If there was some unseen switch, I wanted it back the way it was before he got that mysterious phone call.

No, I didn’t. Because then I’d be making a huge mistake. There was no arguing with myself on that one. The kiss would have kept going, and then who knew what would happen back at the hotel.

“Is there anything you left in your room?” he asked.

“Just a new toothbrush I can live without,” I said.

“Good. And, sorry.”

It was too brusque to warrant an answer. Was he sorry we were cutting the trip short and couldn’t visit the other wineries, or was he wishing I was still on his lap? His curt tone and taut face told me it was the former.

Or he was just trying to be polite and failing. We traveled to the airport in silence, and he got back on the phone, pacing twenty feet away from where I sat while we waited for the plane to be ready.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked when the pilot let us board.

“No,” he said, moving to a seat at the front. “But thanks.”

I rolled my eyes at the continued, stiff politeness, unaccountably hurt that he didn’t want to share what was wrong, when something clearly was. Well, why should he? A couple of hours of fun didn’t mean we were suddenly friends. And that kiss was so, so much of a mistake it was better that it was interrupted.

Once the plane landed, he was just as preoccupied on the ride back to the restaurant. I tried one more time to ask if everything was okay. “It’s not Emerson, is it?” I asked, hoping she wasn’t having complications so early in her pregnancy.

He looked completely confused for a second, then shook his head. “She’s fine.” Then he told me to put cab fare on the company card and gave me one final command. “Do not take the bus home at this hour,” he said. “Do I need to wait inside with you until the cab comes?”

“No, your highness. I’ll stay behind the locked door until it pulls up to the curb and then make a run for it. Should I carry one of the kitchen knives?”

He pursed his lips and scowled as he slid back into his car. “Don’t run with a knife.”

Chapter 10 - Mikhail