Page 14 of Stolen By the Bratva King

“Did you see the bedroom when you were here the other day?” he asks.

I swallow. My throat is dry. “Bedroom?”

David’s brows tip up. “The room where be you’ll sleeping?”

I lick my lips and shake my head. “I haven’t seen it. I only stayed in the living room.”

David places his hand on my lower back to guide me and I tremble with something that resembles delight and desire. “Come. I will show you.”

He doesn’t remove his hand from my lower back as he escorts me out of the kitchen. It’s only when we walk down a small hallway that he removes it, stopping in front of a closed door.

He swings it open, and I peer inside. David is standing right next to me. Our arms are so close they touch, and the heat from his body makes me dizzy, like a furnace turned up too high on a winter day.

“This is my room?” I ask, gesturing inside.

It’s huge, with a bed on a shiny black wood frame and a red headboard. The curtains are black too. The walls are painted a dark pine. Everything screams masculinity in this room. There are no traces of a woman at all.

“Ourroom,” David clarifies.

My breath escapes my lips in a rush. “We willbothbe sleeping in here?”

David’s eyes scan over me, assessing. “Will that be a problem for you? It’s my only bedroom.”

The rushing noise of a freight train runs through my head, but I try to tame it. “It’s okay, I can sleep on the couch.”

“No female guest in my home will sleep on a couch. It’s barbaric.” His eyes trail over my body, making my blood hot.

“I really don’t mind,” I all but insist.

“You will sleep in here.” David declares like a gavel striking a broad wooden table.

I take a deep breath. “Are yousure? We just met.”

“It’s a big bed.” David’s arm brushes mine. I can tell he’s touching me deliberately, even if he’s trying to make it seem subtle.

“Right.” I nod and stare at the bed, my mind going over a million scenarios of him on one side, me on the other, and the electrical current happening in the space between us.

I won’t be able to relax, but I agreed to all this, and I can’t back down. This is his home, after all.

“If you’re not comfortable, we can forget the whole thing,” he says as if it makes no difference to him. “It’s notmystory I’m trying to get.”

“Yes, but you want a clean name for yourself,” I remind him.

“So, you will be fine with it?” His smile reaches his eyes, daring me to say no.

The butterflies return, full force, to my stomach. I squeak out a nervous, “yes,” hating myself for the effect he has over me and hating him for knowing it and using it to his advantage.

I plant on my most convincing smile. “This is strictly a professional arrangement.”

David’s amusement reflects in his grin. “Of course it is.”

“Sleeping will be the only thing we’ll be doing in that bed,” I say.

“Right.” His smirk grows wider.

I step into the room, checking it out. I run my fingers over the down comforter. It’s soft and pillowy. I’m so screwed. I feel David’s gaze patrolling me like a hawk.

I turn my back and walk toward the window, gazing out at the skyline. “It’s an incredible view from up here.”

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