Page 50 of Innocently Captured By the Bratva

“Careful,” he teases, capturing my finger with his lips briefly. “I might start thinking you're getting attached.”

“Never,” I say, but my heart twists into itself, and in that moment, I know it’s a lie.

***

Later, the day finds its rhythm, and we retreat to our separate corners of this sprawling house—Mark to his office, brimming with shelves of organized folders and hard disks, and me to mine, chaos reigning supreme.

“Quinn,” Mark calls out, suddenly appearing at my doorway with an impish grin. “How do you feel about Chinese for lunch?”

“Only if you're buying,” I answer without looking up from my laptop.

“Like I’d ever let you,” he says, aware that he's leaning against the frame, watching me work. It's distracting to have him here, all that casual power and smoldering looks. Yet, it's also invigorating, like a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart.

“By the way, you type loudly,” he observes with mock severity.

“And you're annoyingly observant,” I shoot back, finally glancing up to catch the humor dancing in his eyes.

“Guilty as charged.” He pushes off from the door and strolls in, placing a takeout menu on my desk. “Pick your poison.”

“Kung Pao chicken,” I say. As I hand him back the menu, our fingers brush. The touch is electric, sparking a warmth that spreads up my arm and settles in my chest.

“Thanks,” he says, holding my gaze a moment too long, his blue-gray eyes searching mine. I swallow hard. It's happening again—that pull, that inexplicable tug at my heartstrings. I'm falling for Mark Zolotov, and isn't that just the most terrifying thing? I quickly turn back to my computer, hoping he can’t see the effect he has on me.

I can feel his gaze linger on me for a moment longer before he retreats, and the soft click of the door signals his exit.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a series of these small interruptions—flirtatious banter, shared smiles, a touch that lingers a beat too long. Each time, I'm left a little more breathless, a little more aware of how deep I'm getting in this game we're playing.

As the sky starts to darken outside my window, I lean back in my chair and stretch. The house is quiet, too quiet, and I find myself wandering toward Mark's office, pulled by an invisible force I can't—and don't want to—resist.

I reach the door, but then stop in my tracks. What is there to say? By now, we’ve run out of excuses. Dinner is behind us, and it’s late. If I go in, I’ll end up in his bed.

I want that tonight. But what happens when I want the same tomorrow? And the night after? And after? What happens when he says he’s done? Charlie Letvin hasn’t been a name I’ve heard around here much lately. Something tells me Letvin has found a new toy, and I’m no longer a target. The goal of keeping me safe seems to be a success, and now that the plan has worked, whatever this is has to come to an end… right? This contract willsee its fruition one of these days, with Mark and I both having fulfilled our side of the bargain.

I feel a lump in my throat and quietly retreat to my office. What was I thinking? Every glance through an open doorway, every shared joke that's too intimate to be casual—it's like stitching a pattern I didn't intend to create. I'm not just playing house with Mark; I'm weaving myself into the fabric of his life. A life I will soon no longer be a part of.

Back in my office, I sink into the chair, wrapping my arms around myself. I can't deny it anymore. My feelings for Mark are deepening, seeping into places they have no right to be. He's a Zolotov, all charm and danger wrapped up in a criminally handsome package. And I'm... what? A girl who runs a dating agency, smart enough to know better than to mix feelings with whatever this is.

Not to mention, it's the deception that gnaws at me, eating away each time I catch him smiling at me like I'm someone special, like I'm his. We're meant to be playing pretend fiancées, nothing more. His family shouldn't be misled by my presence or the lies we're spinning. Yet, here I am, relishing the facade, craving the moments when we forget it's all just an act.

How can I reconcile this guilt, this pleasure, this deceit? His family doesn’t deserve to get their hopes up, only to have it dashed.

I don’t either. I push back from my desk and stand, pacing the room.

My hopes can’t be dashed if I don’t allow them to be. Perhaps I need to live in the moment and savor the stolen seconds, the shared glances, and the one-off night in his bed. Because when this comes to an end—and it will come to an end—I'll have these memories to hold on to. Memories of being wanted and cherished, even if it was all just part of the game.

Mark needs to be taken like a dose of medicine. With caution and warning. He soothes my soul, but it’s only temporary. Sooner or later, we will no longer have Charlie Letvin’s shadow hanging over us as an excuse. This whole situation will end, and his family will find out the truth, and I will have to go back to my ordinary life.

For now, I realize I should enjoy what’s probably the last few days between us and not hold any expectations. Unless I want to get burned.

Chapter 20 - Mark

I pull Quinn close, my fingers tangling in her silky strawberry-blonde hair, and kiss her. She melts into me, her curves fitting perfectly against my body.

“Mmm, good morning to you too,” she murmurs, eyes sparkling with mischief as we break apart. “Someone's in a good mood.”

“How can I not be waking up with you in my arms?” I flash her a roguish grin, my hands roaming over the smooth expanse of her back. Sometimes, it still amazes me how utterly right this feels—like she was made just for me.

Quinn laughs, a breathy sound that pierces my heart. “Always the charmer, Zolotov.” She glides a finger along my jaw, sending shivers down my spine. “If you keep this up, we might never leave this bed.”

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