Page 20 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

“Tired? Do you need me to go down on you again because you slept like a baby after that.”

Air catches sharply in my throat and I cough as warmth floods across my cheeks. Being around Daniil after that hadn’t been as nerve-wracking as I expected, and since he never mentioned it, I’d been semi-convinced it was a dream.

Nope. That actually happened.

“I—” Words fail me.

Daniil’s lips pull into the broadest smile I’ve seen. “All you have to do is ask.”

Truth be told, that orgasm was the most intense I’ve ever experienced. Maybe it was because I was so tired or from the adrenaline of the night, but either way, it was incredible and the sleep afterward was utterly divine. It helps that Daniil is drop-dead gorgeous, and the simmering crush I have on him doesn’t stand a chance.

“Although,” Daniil continues, unaffected by my silence. “You might have to ask Fyodor first because I’m pretty sure he was jealous.”

“What?!” The word squeaks out of me but just as my tangled thoughts come together with questions about why Fyodor matters, the car pulls to a stop once more. Behind Daniil’s head is the cafe and through the window, my mother sits poker straight.

Suddenly, nothing else matters.

“Thank you,” I murmur, clutching at my bag. I open the door but I’m halfway out when Daniil follows. “What are you doing?”

Daniil closes the door and locks the car. “I’m taking care of you, remember?”

“You’re coming in with me?” No. This can’t happen. I can’t have him and my mother in the same place at the same time.

“Don’t worry; I’ll get my own table.” His lips twitch, and then he turns and strides into the cafe, the tails of his jacket flapping in the wind before I can even form a response.

Fuck.

All thoughts of attraction and sex melt away when I approach my mother’s table. Her straight blonde hair rests over one shoulder, and square spectacles balance on the very tip of her slightly crooked nose. Her cardigan bunches around her elbows while she delicately sips a cup of coffee, leaving a ring of color around the rim. Sitting at an angle, one foot taps impatiently against the floor.

Suddenly, I’m ten years old approaching with a terrible report card.

“Naomi!” Her eyes widen and she abandons her coffee, surging upward from her seat. “You’re late!”

Where most would be greeted with an affectionate hug, my mother simply digs her claws into my elbow and pulls me down into the chair opposite her. Then her eyes narrow to pinpoints and she leans across the table.

“You brought one of them with you?”

I don’t need to turn to know she means Daniil who sits near the door, several tables away.

“I had no choice.” An excuse I know she won’t care for. “You know how tight security can be.”

My mother snorts sharply and her lips part, but she holds in her rant as the waitress appears with a pad in hand to take our order. I ask for a chicken panini with a side salad and a cup of tea and she hurries away. The hubbub around us of chatter, clinking plates, and the hiss of the coffee machine near the counter serves as a nice distraction from my mother’s steely gaze.

We sit in silence until food arrives.

“A bit much don’t you think?” My mother eyes my plate over the edge of her cup. “I thought you were watching your weight?”

My cheeks flush. She’s so desperate to talk to me, yet her first point of focus is my weight. Despite years of battling a moving scale and the judgment of a stick-thin mother, her comments still sting.

“They don’t sell it in halves,” is the only response I have.

“Hmm.” She snorts again, a chuffing sound, and then she leans so far across the table that the chain of pearls around her neck scrapes against the sugar containers. “How are we supposed to catch up with that dog nearby? And where the hell have you been? It’s one thing to stand me up, Naomi, but three days I’ve been calling. Three days and not even a message from you. You’re disgraceful. And what the hell happened to your face?”

Two bites in and my appetite is gone. Given how she’s normally like this, I’m not sure why I even bothered to order.

“Calling him a dog won’t do either of us any good if he hears you,” I snap back, keeping my voice light and low. “And—” Zasha flashes into my mind and I bite back a wince. “I was in a car accident.”

“What?” She straightens up, and her thin, penciled brows pull together. “What happened?”

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