Page 60 of The Bratva's Christmas Bump

I want more. I want everything she’ll give me, and the hunger is almost overwhelming when all that’s happened is a kiss. My hands fall to her thighs, stroking from her knee to her hip and then following the curve around to the swell of her ass. I pull her against me, and she gasps against my lips, then jerks her head away.

Her face is flushed and we pant together. The tension’s so thick that my head swims, and she blinks so slowly that I want to surge up and kiss every lash that brushes her cheek. Before I can move, though, the car slows to a stop.

We’re home.

And I still don’t understand a thing.

21

HOLLIE

Hot tea warms the mug in my hands, bread toasts in the toaster next to me, and soft music drifts through the penthouse while I stare off into space.

All I can think about is Maxim.

Since learning the truth a couple of days ago at the club, everything I thought I knew has changed. As the daughter of a cop, I never considered murder justifiable growing up. Dad was always pretty clear in his beliefs as to right and wrong, and while we sometimes argued about the morality of it, I mostly agreed with him.

Until now.

Those women at the club are scared. Scared because the protection they gained from Maxim was ripped away by two monsters. The few details Nancy gave me were enough to turn my stomach, and now when I think of the man dying in front of me in the pizzeria, the guilt doesn’t appear. Only disgust. And hope that he suffered more than what he put those poor women through.

Does that make me as bad as him? Maxim kissing me in the car was doubly unexpected and I can’t explain to myself why I thought it was a good idea to go with it. I just… did. It felt nice. It felt right. I can’t explain it.

Grumbling to myself, I bury my thoughts in my tea until my toast pops, then I aggressively butter it. Maxim hasn’t mentioned the kiss since he was called away to whatever mysterious work he gets up to for the Mafia, but the few times we crossed paths like silent ships in the night, he smirked at me.

That smirk lingers in the forefront of my mind and ignites an alluring warmth up and down my bare arms.

It’s ridiculous. I should hate him.

IthoughtI did.

Now he’s a savior and a man who offers countless business opportunities to women in need. He protects people and refuses to harm the innocent. It explains clearer why he married me rather than just killing me like I feared.

What an odd way to move. He’s almost more ethical than some of my Dad’s cop buddies.

Biting into my toast, I wander through to the empty lounge and drop into one of the plush leather sofas just as music rises from my phone.

“Dad?” I say as soon as I answer. “Everything okay?”

“Hi. I thought you weren’t working today?”

Another bite of my toast. “I’m not.”

“Well, are you going to let me in?”

“Huh?” Sitting up slowly, I glance toward the door. “You’re here?”

“Yes! I wanted to come and see you.”

Confusion swirls in my chest. How does he know where to find me? I never—oh! It hits like a sharp sting where the confusion stems from, and I groan softly, almost choking on my next bite of toast.

“Wait there! I’m just at the store!”

“I can come and meet you.”

“No, honestly, I’m like two minutes away. I’ll be back in a sec!”

Hanging up, I abandon my tea and toast and fly into the bedroom, grab my coat, and sprint for the elevator. Toto answers my call on his second ring.