Page 9 of Oops Baby for the Mafia Boss

Probably a good thing, since he won’t see I’m turning pink.

This is going to be fine!

“Ready?” I ask, as I always do before I press play on my phone.

Where Markov usually gives me a sardonic eyebrow raise, this time, there’s an intensity in his expression as he nods curtly.

“Your shivers are stopping me sleeping,” Rovaj grumbles.

The first line of this section of the audiobook confirms all my fears and hopes. I can’t even look at Markov. There haven’t been any more kisses—or more—since that original one, but the anticipation makes me squirmy. “Snuggling for warmth” is a common romance trope, and this sounds a lot like a setup.

“I’m sorry my discomfort is inconveniencing you,” I reply sarcastically.The audiobook continues.

There’s a soft sound of fabric, and I instinctively look up, to find Markov standing on the other side of my desk, leaning over to adjust the settings on my phone.

“Come here,” Rovaj says in a tone of reluctant irritation, grabbing my sleeping mat and yanking it—and me on it—right next to his. Then he pulls me into his arms, the blankets bunched between us.

The firelight dances over Rovaj’s face.

This line is delivered slower. He turned the speed down on the audiobook? But why? My gaze meets Markov’s and I’m caught, trapped by his silver eyes.

“Solene,” he rasps, and longing fills me.

There’s a tingling on my thigh as he shifts his hand up my back, and his palm touches my nape. As I gasp, I see him jolt too.

Just like when we brushed fingers as we fought.

But this time, it’s sustained, and his dark gaze searches my face, keeping the contact between us.

I’m not cold anymore. I’m flaming with heat.

This is all my nightmares and dreams mixed together. I squirm. Listening to a romantic scene, with my silent boss.

Straightening slowly, Markov beckons me with one finger.

“Are there bitey creatures in this cave?” I ask in a rush.

That would explain the sensation on my thigh.

Rovaj chokes a laugh, and strokes my neck, curling his fingers over it. “Not yet, no.”

I don’t stop him. I can’t. The tingle enhances. Spreads.

I’m helpless to resist. I’m sleepwalking, led by instinct alone as I rise from my chair, and step around the desk. Markov tugs his tie off and discards it, then flicks his top button open, revealing tattoos over the base of his throat.

I’ve no idea what this is, but it’s getting stronger the more he touches me, and I crave it.

Bringing my hand to his chest, my fingertips brush his bare skin where his tunic collar is open, and he groans,the audiobook continues.

I think I’m drugged, because I obey, doing the same, touching my fingers to Markov.

Whipping my hand away, I’m instantly bereft.

I echo the action, and it makes perfect sense, because Markov’s chest is warm and smooth and alive in a way I don’t think I’ve ever felt.

“No, don’t deny it.” Rovaj takes my hand—the sparks are all around my legs and hips now—and firmly places it onto his sternum, over his heart, and moans.

And Markov follows the audiobook too, trapping my fingers between his palm and his skin, where the rapid beat of his pulse echoes mine.