Page 37 of Oops Baby for the Mafia Boss

I’m about to let go of Markov’s hand and reach for the book, when there’s a click from beneath me, and the whole ladder slides to the side.

I shriek, and simultaneously pull myself towards the ladder and Markov, until I realise it’shim that’s doing this. He has a naughty, boyish expression on his face.

The ladder is on rails, and he’s set it in motion.

Then he’s sliding me along behind him, and I’m giggling because this is all so crazy and unexpected. I’m doing the gliding on a library ladder thing!

My cheeks ache with smiling by the time he’s slid me all the way down one side and then back, and I swear the delight is contagious, because he appears as enchanted as I am. Maybe even more so, as the light in his eyes is totally unlike him. Usually so grumpy.

I don’t dare think that this is all for me. Every book girly has seen that cartoon film where she’s in the library, but it’s a crazy coincidence. Right?

“How did you know I’d love this?” I’ve never said anything about libraries to him.

He brackets me with his arms, and because of the height difference, for once I can look him straight in the eye. His face has gone serious, no playfulness or youth now.

Every inch the powerful mafia boss, the silver at his temples glints. A reminder that he’s rich and older, and this can’t work.

He really is outrageously handsome. Those long lashes and his square jaw make my tummy flutter. Or perhaps that’s the way he’s staring at me. Hungrily. Like I’m a tasty morsel he’d like to consume whole.

13

MARKOV

I spent weeks making this for her. Months.

I listened and hoped and looked in online book groups to understand more about what she would like.

The answer? Morally grey men. No problem there, I have that down. Special editions with coloured edges to the pages and sparkling text, and libraries with ladders. Oh, and indulgently comfortable chairs that are basically beds. And sweet treats.

“I knew,” I say dryly.

She’s so gorgeous in that pink dress, and gold in her eyes as she looks at me. Despite all the shiny objects that could distract her, she gazes at me as though I’m a book she can’t stop reading. Compulsive.

I bring my hand to her free one, and take it to the ladder above her head.

“Hold,” I direct. My voice is low and raspy from being used more than usual.

Her expression goes quizzical, but she does as I say.

“Good girl.”

Her mouth falls open, and her eyes go wide. But not in a bad way. In a glowing, shyly pleased way. Like I’ve given her a gift.

Huh. Guess the meme on the book group was right. I’m looking forward to trying the next versions of that phrase.

“Don’t let go.” I sound as though I’ve been smoking Cuban cigars since I was a toddler.

She lets out a high-pitched mewl as I bring my hands to her dress, and slowly drag it up her thighs, revealing creamy skin, and fuck I’ve missed her so much. She’s even more perfect than I remember, and my cock is throbbing with desperation to be buried inside her.

Her exposed legs are good, but I have to see higher. I almost moan as the silky fabric reveals innocent white knickers. I brush my knuckles over the cotton with a promise. I’ll come back for you.

“Markov,” Emily says nervously as I go on exposing her.

I lift my head and gaze into her uncertain but aroused—with a layer of trust, because I note that she hasn’t moved her hands—eyes.

Leaning in, I place a gentle kiss on her lips. It’s a lie. I want to ravish her. But there are things to do first.

Underneath the fabric, my fingers continue a few more inches until I can feel the defined curve of her bump.