Page 14 of Bratva's Secret Girl

I strip them off too, then I’m standing naked in the middle of the room, and my vulnerability slithers down my spine.

Blindly, I stumble to the shower. It’s fancy, and I jump back with a squeak as I soak myself with freezing water when I turn it on, and slap my hand over my mouth as I see red in the water flowing to the drain. Not much. Just droplets.

Then the water turns warm, and I step beneath the massive rain-style shower head, and let it fall over me, thawing me.

There are the sort of toiletries I can’t afford in the glass cubicle, and they smell really good. Expensive.

I’m horrified, but I’m not shaking anymore as I wash myself off, trying to focus on the scent of the shower gel.

My boss saved me. Maxim saved me from… I don’t know exactly what Payton’s boyfriend was going to do, but I’m glad I didn’t find out. Scenes from the attack scroll through my mind.

And yeah, it’s scary. My brain knows this, but also… I replay the furious, protective expression on Maxim’s face when he saw me.

And the way he killed those men…

This is wildly inappropriate, but it was pure competence porn.

I guess I always suspected Mr Zaitsev was powerful, but I didn’t realise just how much, because he’s so nice.

A man like him isn’t going to be interested in the waitress of one of his cafés, even if technically I’m the manager.

I wash until the only thing I can smell is the luxury scent of the shower gel, and Maxim’s face is all I see.

It’s only when I step out and wrap myself in a thick white towel that I realise the problem. Padding over to my clothes I pick up my top. I ripped it as I took it off. The jeans are inside out but I can still see blood, and my stomach rolls, threatening to eject the contents.

I can’t put them on my body.

I can barely cope with picking them up, folding them and leaving them in the bathroom, then washing my hands again. But I have nothing to wear.

It’s a bit entitled to just holler from the bedroom he left me in, so pulling the towel more tightly around my chest, the end tucked under my arm, I venture out. The hallway that’s wider than my bedroom at home leads to a huge living space with a lounge area with white leather sofas, that seamlessly goes into a kitchen which is almost unnaturally tidy, all marble and stainless steel.

An oven is on though, and the scent of warm bread drifts over.

Beyond, there’s a dining area, with a large, solid table covered with a white tablecloth. Elegant pale-blue ceramic plates with a speckled glaze are set. Two places. There’s a small vase with five red roses in it, and a lit candle, the flame dancing. Delicate wine glasses and a pitcher of water stand to the side.

My throat clogs, because it’s gorgeous, laid as though for a dinner date. The sort I’ve never had.

But there’s no Maxim.

“Hi!” I say aloud.

No response. Where is he? It’s a huge place, but open plan mostly, so it’s easy to see he’s not here.

I clutch my towel more tightly around me, and return to the corridor where the bedroom I used the ensuite of is.

There are only a few doors, and one other that’s open. I venture towards it, a little nervous, but also curious. Peeking my head in, I see it’s a bedroom, pale and tidy and cool, and my heart skips.

From it comes the sound of a shower, which makes sense. There’s a closed door that I guess is a bathroom, and Maxim probably wanted to wash the blood off, as I did.

So this must be his bedroom. I should leave, but I can’t.

He saved me, and I’m a bit… Obsessed.

I have this one chance to know him better, and I need it. So I look around at the glass and steel, with windows that look to the north over the river. The sky seems endless from here. And there are no curtains.

“Maxim?” I say quietly. “I’m just looking for something to wear.”

When did I become such a little liar?