Page 15 of Claimed By the Bratva Brothers

It’s rudimentary software that needs time to process in order to deliver at least one reasonable scenario. The last time I checked, it was still doing its thing, so all I can do is keep my focus on work and on writing the rest of my dissertation. I’m doing exactly that when Max shows up at my library desk.

This time, however, he’s brought coffee and a lovely box of French pastries, along with his debonair smile.

“I figured you could use a little pick-me-up,” he says. “Something tells me you skipped lunch again.”

“Again? Have you been watching me?” I ask in surprise, trying to keep my eyes on the computer screen. It’s hard to concentrate when this mountain of a gorgeous man is standing so close to me.

“Gotta keep our eyes on the prize,” Max replies, half-smiling as he looks down at me.

I take a deep breath and muster the courage to meet his wild, green gaze. “What are you doing here, Max? Don’t you have a hostage to tend to? A ransom to negotiate? I don’t know, people to torment and kill?”

“Is that what you think the Bratva does?”

“Your reputation precedes you.”

He scoffs, but he doesn’t seem all that offended. “Truth be told, my brother and I are trying a different approach these days. It’s people like Bowman and his lackeys who make it harder for us to turn the page.”

“The former head of Chicago’s FBI field office? He’s the one getting in your way?” I let a dry chuckle escape. “It couldn’t be the century of crime sprees that you and your predecessors are notorious for.”

“Is that playful tongue of yours always that sharp?” he narrows his eyes at me. “I don’t remember… oh, wait, it was busy doing something else during our brief time together.”

That’s enough to bring fiery roses to my cheeks. Heat spreads through my throat as I raise my chin in defiance and hold his gaze. “What do you want from me, Max? I haven’t said anything to anyone.”

“I know.”

“Okay, so?”

He leans forward and his cologne captures my senses again. There must be something in it, some kind of pheromone designed specifically to rattle and distract me. I have no other explanation as to why I seem to melt so easily in his presence. At least my tongue is sharp enough to not make me look like a mumbling fool. I just feel like one.

“Lyric, I’m just being courteous and checking in on you.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that’s all it is?”

“Truth be told, you’re hard to stay away from,” Max admits. “Not for lack of trying. I drove around the block three times before I decided to come in.”

“You’re the one who said I had no place in your world.”

“Yet here I am.”

“Here you are.”

Max smiles again. This time, there’s an inviting warmth about him that lingers as he subtly moves around the desk and comes closer. I swivel in my chair to face him, my gaze darting all over the place, wondering if anyone is paying attention to us.

Thankfully, there’s barely anybody here. A couple of high schoolers bumbling through the geography section, a few kids on the other side of the aisle, perusing the comic book racks.

“I wonder if the universe brought you to that hotel room on purpose,” Max says.

“I had a meeting with Bowman.”

“There you go, killing the mysticism right away,” he chuckles softly.

I shrug in return. “It’s the truth.”

“Then it’s clear.”

“What is?”

“The universe wanted this to happen.”

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