Page 13 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva
He edged closer, just enough for me to catch the twitch of amusement at the corners of his lips. “I’ll try not to be both at the same time then.”
I smiled into my drink, raised my glass, and took a sip. A little while later, we eased into a small silence—nothing awkward, just the kind that let you breathe for a second without needing to fill the space.
He tilted his head, as if toward the background music. “Is that Sinatra?”
I listened to the beat, eyes narrowing. “Sounds like it.”
“Hmm. I prefer jazz that sounds like it could start a fight,” he said, his tone mild and casual.
My lips twisted into a sly grin. “Somehow, I don’t doubt that.”
“Is that so?”
“Well, you have the look,” I answered, “rugged…dangerous.” The slight pause came when I lifted my eyes to meet his.
His gaze hooked on mine, and he didn’t bother denying it; instead, he just asked, “And that doesn’t scare you?”
I hesitated for a bit. “Should it?”
Yulian scoffed, elbows on the table, eyes never leaving mine. “You’re different, Ester,” he began, his voice gentle like the breeze. “And I’m not saying this to flatter you.”
Too late. Already did.
I could only hope he didn’t catch the faint hue on my cheeks.
He continued, “There’s something…mysterious about you that I haven’t quite wrapped my finger around. Not yet, anyway.”
“That’s ironic coming from a man who tricked me into telling my full name but still won’t reveal his last name,” I said, reclining into my chair, watching him closely.
He went silent, his faint smirk retained. “Fair enough.”
“I guess we’re both more mysterious than we thought,” I said, holding his gaze.
“I guess so,” he murmured, adjusting his jacket.
“I gotta ask though.” I leaned forward, elbow on the table, a palm under my chin. “What do you do for a living?” My eyes narrowed playfully, my expression soft and polite. “You owe me,” I added almost immediately before he could even speak.
He raised his brows, a glint of surprise flickering in his eyes.
“The last time we talked, you said if I agreed to go out with you, you just might tell me what you do,” I explained, not missing the way his eyes crinkled at the corners.
“I did, didn’t I?” he teased, refilling his glass.
“I got you now.” A smile tugged at the corners of my lips. “So don’t bother trying to deflect because here I am, eating overpriced tapas with you under the cold and distant stars.”
He laughed lightly, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “If I recall correctly, I did say that I just might tell you all about it. Emphasis onmight.” He leaned back in his chair, that crooked grin flashing.
I raised my brows. “You really wanna play that card?” My expression darkened by a fraction.
“And risk losing my head?” he teased, chuckling. “Not a chance.”
And with that, I let out a soft, mirthful sound.
“I’m in logistics,” he said quietly.
I blinked. “Logistics?”
“Yeah. I move stuff around. Sometimes people.”
