Page 140 of Bratva Jewels Box Set

Laying down on my side, I wriggle down into the bed and close my eyes. The bed dips and moves as Maxim readies himself for bed. I don’t dare turn around to see what he’s doing. He then settles back into bed, stays apart from me for a moment, and then curses something in Russian and rolls over. His large hand lands on my hip, and strong fingers dig into his t-shirt that I’m wearing to bed as he pulls me to his chest. I can feel every single muscle through the fabric against my back. Once he has me in a position he likes, his hand moves from my hip and pulls up the blanket to just under my chest, where he leaves his hand, gripping the blanket into a hard fist as if he is stopping himself from touching me.

We stay like that in the silent darkness of my bedroom. Can he hear my heart beating uncontrollably in my chest? I open his fisted hand and let it rest against my breast.

“Grace,” he says my name with a groan as his body becomes as stiff as a board.

“Don’t think anything of it. Your fist was digging into my chest, and I can’t sleep all night like that.”

“I promised I wouldn’t touch you,” he whispers against my ear.

“And you haven’t. I’m the one who moved your hand

there. It’s just comfort, nothing more.”

He lets out a heavy sigh.

Then I wriggle against him trying to get comfortable. Now I can feel something else digging into me.

Maxim swallows a couple of times loudly but doesn’t move either.

We both know there’s an elephant in the room, or should I say in his pants.

“Sorry about that ... I swear it will go down in a minute.”

“It’s fine. It means nothing. I know it’s not because of me.”

Another groan comes from him and a couple more curses in Russian. “It’s been a long day. We need to get some sleep,” he says.

And we do, and for the first time since I don’t remember when, I have a restful night.

The sun is blazing through the windows, and I hear birds singing. Did I dream that Maxim was in my bed? I turn over and notice the other side empty, maybe it was a dream. Then I lean over and smell the sheets. They most definitely smell like him. I bury my nose further into them, inhaling his musky scent like some lust-filled groupie. I roll onto my back and shake my head. What’s happening to me? The man is a killer and eventually he’s going to kill me. I’m losing my mind that must be the reason.

The smell of bacon cooking filters through to my room and my stomach rumbles. Today is a new day, I feel rejuvenated from my nightmare-less sleep. There are loads I need to discuss with Maxim, but first, bacon. I rush into the bathroom, relieve myself, and head out into the corridor following the bacon trail. I end up back downstairs and check in on the dining room first. No one is there, but the smell is close. I push through a door next to the dining room and end up in the kitchen.

There’s Maxim, dressed in nothing but gray sweatpants at the cooker totally engrossed in what he’s doing. The kitchen’s huge, all stainless steel, it looks more like a restaurant kitchenthan someone’s home. I take a moment to savor his tanned skin, which is covered in a light sheen of sweat from the heat of the cooktop. Then I notice the scars and lines across his back. Did he get them from killing someone? Shaking those thoughts from my mind my eyes fall further down to his tight ass filling out the sweats.

“You hungry?” Maxim asks.

His question makes me jump and pulls me from my appreciation of his fine body. How did he know I was here?

He looks over his shoulder as he turns the bacon in the frying pan.

“Yes,” I say, shaking the thoughts from my mind. They shouldn’t be there at all.

I take a seat at the island bench and watch as he moves confidently around the kitchen. Not only can he kill people, but he cooks as well.

“Would you like a juice? There’s some freshly squeezed orange in the fridge.” He tilts his head toward the fridge.

I get up from the island and head toward the industrial-sized fridge. Opening it, I noticed it’s filled with fruit and vegetables as well as leftover pasta, meat, and cheese.

I pull out the large jug. “Would you like one?”

“Yes, thanks. Glasses are in the top cupboard.”

I reach up and grab two, then pour us some juice.

When Maxim turns around again, he sets down the bacon, eggs, and croissants on to a tray.

Then I notice the scratch marks across his chest.