Page 24 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

“Of course.” One last spoonful of puree over the fruit and they’re ready. “Let me just see if he’s available.”

The phone in the kitchen connects to several main lines within the house; all it takes is a press of a few buttons to connect to the office. While I know he’s surely busy, I try anyway. The call connects and rings through to the office, but as I stand there, no one answers. Fyodor is likely still too busy.

“Dariya, I’m sorry,” I say as I hang up and turn back to her. “It looks like he’s?—”

The kitchen is empty and two tarts are missing from the cooling rack. She wouldn’t go looking for him by herself, would she?

I know the answer as soon as the question pops into my mind.

“Shit.”

Cursing aloud, my stomach drops. One of the most straightforward rules I must follow is to ensure Dariya never goes anywhere alone. There is a rule about making sure she doesn’t disturb Fyodor, but as I sprint from the kitchen and down the hallway, I know that rule pales in comparison.

With any luck, I can get to her before she barges in on her father.

My heart races and my lungs complain as I run down two corridors and skid around the corner to Fyodor’s office. I already have an apology on my lips in case I’m not in time.

The door is ajar. My heart sinks and races in my gut, causing fluttering behind my belly button as I run into the room.

Dariya sits on Fyodor’s lap, licking cream from her fingers as he bounces her lightly on his knee. A couple of crumbs cling to the corner of his mouth, the only evidence of where the second tart ended up. He’s talking sweetly with her and doesn’t even look up when I arrive.

“Fyodor,” I gasp, pressing a hand to my breastbone. “I’m so sorry!”

How did she even get here so fast? The little rascal.

“Naomi!” Dariya lurches upward, held safely by Fyodor’s hands. “Daddy loved them!”

Finally, Fyodor lifts his head and his intense eyes lock onto mine.

“I’m so sorry,” I gasp, struggling for air from the running and the weight of his attention. “I shouldn’t have taken my eye off of her. I turned my back for just a second and she was gone. She really…” I gasp in a breath. “She really wanted to give you a tart.”

“So good,” Dariya explains, then she yawns widely.

Fyodor doesn’t reply. Instead, he looks past me to one of the guards hovering near the wall. “Can you take Dariya back to the kitchen and get her a drink to wash down the tart?”

Only in front of his daughter does he ever pose an order as a question.

The guard steps forward and holds out one hand, which Dariya rushes to take after being kissed by her father and sliding from his lap. As they leave, I turn to follow and briefly close my eyes.

Somehow, Fyodor not saying anything is almost worse than being yelled at.

“Not you.”

Two words from him and I’m frozen in place. Maybe he does want to yell after all.

“Look at me.”

He holds such command with so few words, and I’m powerless to resist even if I wanted to. I turn on the spot and come face-to-face with Fyodor who got so close to me without making a noise. His warm scent fills my nose and my eyelashes flutter. From here I can see the soft curls of dark chest hair peeking out from the top of his loosely buttoned shirt.

I choose that as my point of distraction for when the yelling starts.

“Naomi.”

My eyes flick up to his own and air punches out of me when his gaze locks onto me. He’s so beautiful. This close, it’s difficult not to look everywhere. I hunger for every detail of his handsome face and ache to trace each swirl of ink with my lips.

“Daniil tells me you met with your mother.”

Oh.

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