Page 30 of Bratva's Intern

I really should stop him.

I didn’t stop him.

Just stood there, heart hammering, heat crawling up my neck, completely and utterly overwhelmed by the way Maxim’s fingers skimmed over my skin as he eased my arm free from the sleeve.

God, Ihatedhim.

Ihatedhow bossy and pushy and cocky he was. I hated how he made my head spin while he seemed so calm and confident while undressing me. The shirt fell away, leaving my skinny chest in full view. If he noticed the belly button piercing, he didn’t say a word about it.

“Sit.”

My mind didn’t even question the order. I sat down hard on the bed.

I hated myself for that too.

Maxim crouched in front of me, his eyes sharp.

I braced myself. Years had passed since I needed an inhaler, but right then, it felt like my lungs were squeezing the last of my breath out.

I waitedfor the kiss.

Mr. Morozov gently took my injured arm in his hands, his fingers light but firm as he examined the bandage.

“Does it hurt?”

I blinked, caught completely off guard. “What?”

His jaw ticked. “Does it hurt?”

“Oh.” I let out a breath, the sheer force of my embarrassment making my limbs feel like jelly. “N-n-not now. The painkillers help.”

Something in Maxim’s expression tightened. His grip on my arm didn’t hurt, but it felt different.

Like he was holdingback.

“You could have been seriously hurt,” he muttered.

The way he said it… it wasn’t a casual statement. It wasn’t scolding either. It was?—

Something else.

But what?

I swallowed. “I didn’t think. I just… saw the knife and reacted.”

Maxim’s grip tightened a fraction. He exhaled sharply and muttered, “You little fool.”

Then he stood.

Stepped back.

“Get dressed,” he said, already turning away. “I’ll see myself out.”

I watched, still feeling vaguely off-balance, as he strode to the door.

And for some reason—some stupid, idiotic, self-sabotaging reason—I blurted out, “Wait. Is that all?”

Maxim paused and slowly turned back.

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