Page 4 of Oops Baby for the Mafia Boss (Oops Baby #1)

EMILY

Three months later

I’ve only been at my desk for a few minutes when Markov shadows the door, a little earlier than usual.

“Good morning!” I greet him.

Something dark and knowing in his expression makes butterflies take off low in my tummy. Or maybe tiny dragons would be more appropriate.

But then he smiles, just a small quirk of his lips.

I get a surprising number of smiles out of the big, scary, silent kingpin.

Not toothy grins, he’s a Russian mobster, after all.

But one would be a shock, and what I can’t believe is that he’s begun to regularly smile at me in the last few months.

He even laughs sometimes when I tell him the summary of the parts of the book he missed because I listened on my commute.

It’s my dirty little secret that I’ve started only listening on the way home, so I have the time on the bus in the morning to think up how best to phrase the action. To make it witty and cute.

Because “I fell in love with a penniless girl half my age because of how she summarised a story” is totally plausible.

There’s something about Markov though. He’s such a contrast to everyone else, who never listen to me at all.

And the fact he doesn’t seem to care about my menial archiving work, total lack of life experience and witty banter, and what a bad daughter I am makes me cherish these moments every morning.

Live for them, even.

I might have a teeny crush on my boss.

He saunters into the small office, and I’m struck all over again by his gorgeousness. He’s wearing a dark suit that’s somehow more flattering than his usual, and he’s normally six out of five chillies.

Nothing can spoil this. Not even an icky feeling that Denis will make it awkward after I’ve ignored his suggestive comments for weeks now, and politely declined his offer on Friday afternoon for us to get to know each other better.

He’s not my type. Partly because my type is strong and silent, tall, dark and handsome, and grumpy except when he laughs with me at the audiobooks we listen to together.

The latest book in the Game of Thorns and Dragons series has just been released, and while we’ve enjoyed other books in between times, Markov made his preferences very clear. When I told him I had the new audiobook and asked if he wanted to swap, he had it playing within half a second.

“Solene and Rovaj are stuck in a cave together because of a storm. They’re driving each other batty.”

His eyes sparkle at my terrible pun.

“They’re between a rock and a hard place, and Rovaj better watch out in the dark because Solene might be more deadly than the lightning outside.”

His smile is wry, and I feel my mouth tug up in return. They’re still enemies, but since they’ve been on this mission to find the chalice of life to save the dragon they both want, it has seemed less and less like arguing and more like foreplay.

“It’s cold, and they’ve lit a fire.” I try to control my blush. I’ve been thinking all weekend about this book. I’m desperate to know what happens next, but I’m also worried.

I didn’t listen further, though. That would be cheating.

“And they’re talking as they try to sleep.”

He swallows, and doesn’t quite meet my eyes, the bump of his throat drawing my attention to his stubble-covered jaw.

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.

And I do too. Because this feels amazing.

But the air is thick with magic, so I force the question, a note of panic in my voice. “What’s happening?”

His purple gaze is softer than I’ve ever seen it when he strokes his fingers up and down my neck. “You feel it too, don’t you? Where’s yours? I didn’t see it on your arms the other day.”

The narrator’s tone is deep and as sweet as syrup.

Markov and I are staring at each other, our hands layered over his chest, my head tipped back because he’s so much taller than me, his dipped, and his expression serious. All that delicious focus on me. On my face.

Markov is a hot, dangerous Russian mafia boss. This is insane. I’m vibrating with fear, but I’m held in place by the audiobook and Markov’s grey eyes.

“Where’s my what?” It’s getting difficult to concentrate.

“Your mate mark,” Rovaj says slowly.

“My what?” He can’t have said what I think he did. My heart pounds erratically, a drum of war.

“Didn’t you know?” He skims his hand down my shoulder, over my clothes and the sensation eases.

This must be a dream.

Markov shifts at the same time as the narrator says the line, as though choreographed, and I have the contradictory impulse to lean into his touch, and also to hide.

Because I have a mark too.

“Didn’t I know what?” But that’s a lie. There’s understanding at the edge of my mind. And witches’ curse, he’s in my head. In my blood. On my skin.

“You’re my mate.” But his lips remain still. I hear his words as a low purr that echoes in my mind, and his hand drags at the fabric at my waist.

Arousal washes into me as Markov does the same, curling at my cotton top, not looking away from my face.

And that’s fine. He won’t see the birthmark on my thigh and tease me like the girls at school used to. Nothing to worry about.

“Get out of my head,” I snap, aloud. I don’t mean it. Rovaj’s voice is as seductive as honey and rose petals. And he does. But, it’s only to lean in ? —

Oh my god. Markov gradually closes the distance between us, easily slow enough that if I wanted to, I could duck out of the way. I don’t want to.

He gathers me into his chest until we share breath, his a warm teasing whisper of mountain breeze against my lips. Then he leans towards me, holding my head in place as his lips capture mine.

Our mouths meet, and Markov’s lips are soft and full.

He’s almost tentative as he kisses me in brushes that set me alight.

I didn’t know kissing could feel so good.

I’ve never kissed a man before, and Markov seems intent on luring me with his big, protective body over mine and his lips that are made for this.

But instead of feeling like he’s teaching me, it’s as though this is a mutual exploration, even as I’m freaking out that I am kissing a deadly mafia boss who has never spoken to me.

Our tongues dance together, an equal give and take. His kiss makes my head spin with how right it is.

I realise I haven’t been listening to the audiobook, and they’ve kissed too.

And I just kissed my boss. My stomach dissolves. I’ve lost my mind, but they kissed in the book, so this is okay. It’s just playing along. It means nothing.

As Markov pauses our kiss, his breath warm on my cheek as he slides his mouth away, I want to chase him. Kiss the scary Bratva Pakhan twice my age again.

The logical part of my brain is yelling and freaking out, but it’s almost impossible to hear over the audiobook and the riot of sensation from being held and kissed by Markov.