Page 4 of Accidentally Knocked Up By the Bratva

My heart pounds against my ribcage, a frantic rhythm that echoes in my ears. I can't help but stare at him, taking in the sharp angles of his jaw and the intensity in his perfect gray eyes, which remind me of rain clouds. Why does he affect me this way? I shouldn't be feeling this… whatever this is.

"Shall we?" Abram asks, a hint of amusement in his tone. I inhale sharply, willing my racing thoughts to calm.Just work, Zara. It's just work.

I reach with a trembling hand for the doorknob to the bedroom. Abram's tall frame looms behind me, his presence overwhelming in the narrow hallway. I can feel his eyes tracing the curve of my neck, the sway of my hips. A decade my senior, my client—and yet my entire body thrums for him.

The door sticks as I try to open it. I jiggle the handle, but it refuses to budge. I frown, trying again with more force, but the door remains stubbornly closed.

"Having trouble?" Abram's voice is tinged with amusement.

I feel a rush of embarrassment. "It seems to be stuck."

"Allow me," he says, stepping closer.

His chest presses against my back as he reaches around me, his large hand enveloping mine on the door handle. A jolt of electricity courses through me at the contact, and I have to stifle a gasp.

"Sometimes," Abram murmurs, his lips close to my ear, "it just needs a firmer touch."

With a swift motion, he turns the handle, and the door swings open. But he doesn't move away immediately, and for a moment, we stand there, bodies flush against each other, my hand still caught beneath his on the handle.

I can feel the heat radiating from him, smell the intoxicating blend of his cologne and something uniquely him. It's addictive, and I find myself fighting the urge to lean back into his solid frame.

"There we go," he says softly. "After you, Zara."

I feel Abram's hand on my lower back momentarily, guiding me. The touch is light, barely there, but it sets my skin on fire. My breath catches in my throat, and I struggle to maintain my composure. Just as I'm getting used to the sensation, reveling in it even, he removes his hand, letting me pass through the doorway first.

The loss of contact is almost painful, and I have to resist the urge to lean back, to seek out his touch again. I clear my throat, trying to regain my professional demeanor.

"So, this is the bedroom," I say, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears.

"Indeed it is," Abram replies, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine.

I turn to face him, and for a moment, I'm struck anew by his presence. How is it possible that in the short time we've spent together, he's managed to affect me so deeply? I've never reacted this way to a client before, or any man for that matter. Never felt this instant, overwhelming attraction.

But… he’s so goddamn hot. I don’t think I’ve seen a man this hot before. Not to mention intelligent. This whole afternoon, he’s managed to blow me away by how much he knows about art. Usually, when I decorate homes, I deal with rich housewives who have more money than taste.

But Abram is one of a kind. He has the money and the taste—a rare, delicious combination at that.

Pushing aside these dangerous thoughts, I force myself to focus on the task at hand. "Will I be designing this room for one or two?" I ask, trying to keep my tone light and professional.

Abram's eyes lock with mine, and I feel as if I'm drowning in their intensity. "For one," he says, his lips curving into a slight smile.

My toes curl involuntarily in my shoes. Something dangerous awakens in me, primal and reckless. I force myself to look away, to speak of mundane things like convenience and functionality. But at the back of my mind, I feel myself almost shrieking with joy.

For one.

Not that it should matter. I can’t throw away years of hard work into building a solid professional reputation by hooking up with a client. It doesn’t matter if the room is for one, or two, or a dozen. All that matters is what I can do for the space in question.

And so, I force myself to get back to the purpose of my visit, ignoring the way my heart leaps at this information. "I see. Well, that certainly gives us more flexibility in terms of design."

The air between us seems to crackle with electricity, and I find myself holding my breath, waiting for… something. Anything. Abram takes a step closer, and I can feel the heat radiating from his body.

"More flexibility," he repeats, his voice low and husky. "I like the sound of that."

A blush creeps up my neck, warming my cheeks.

"Yes, well," I stammer, "we can focus on designing for your convenience. Perhaps a larger closet space or a more elaborate en-suite bathroom?"

I'm babbling now, but I can't seem to stop. I've worked too hard to build my career to jeopardize it all for a moment of weakness. No matter how tempting that moment might be.

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