Page 7 of Caught By the Bratva Boss

My face heats up at the thought of my driver’s license photo, and I’ve never been so happy that I never bring it with me when I sneak into a place. The thought of this gorgeous man seeing that embarrassing photo has my face heating up even more. I swear I see a flash of amusement cross his face when I shake my head no.

“I remember you from the restaurant. You spilled water all over my pants and then tried to cop a feel.”

“I did not!” I say, my anger overriding my embarrassment for the moment.

He smirks and runs his thumb over my clavicle, sending a jolt of pleasure between my legs.

“I have so many questions for you, little thief, but let’s start with the most obvious. How the fuck did you find where I live?”

“Everyone knows where Mikhail Fedorov lives,” I say, hoping like hell that’s true and that maybe I can play to his ego.

“No one fucking knows where I live. How do you know my name?”

His thumb is still lightly stroking my skin, making it damn hard to concentrate, and he hasn’t backed off at all, leaving our bodies mere inches apart. His presence is overpowering enough even when he’s several feet away, but up close like this with his shirt off, he’s all consuming.

“I asked someone,” I finally whisper.

“Who?”

“Just someone at the restaurant.”

“More lies, little thief. I’m losing my patience.”

“Could you maybe step back a bit?”

He gives me a grin that doesn’t even come close to meeting his eyes. “Now why would I want to do that?”

“I don’t know, maybe to be a gentleman,” I say, starting to get pissed because he’s affecting me more than I want to admit.

He gives a soft laugh that I swear I can feel vibrating off the powerful chest that I’m desperate to lick. “I’m a lot of things, sweetheart, but a gentleman isn’t one of them.”

I watch him watching me, and I know that I’m going to have to pull a miracle out of my ass to get myself out of this mess. Remembering the way he’d lightly stroked my inner wrist before letting it go at the restaurant, I muster all the courage I have and reach my hand up, running my fingers over his muscled forearms before dancing them over one hell of a bicep. When I go to trace my way over one of his pecs, his deep laughter has my hand freezing in place and a sense of absolute dread and mortification like I’ve never known washing over me.

“You trying to seduce me, little one?”

He’s still laughing, and I wonder how much humiliation one person can endure.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, giving another laugh that both insults and infuriates me. “That might work on a man who never gets pussy, but it sure as fuck isn’t going to work on me.”

The hand that was just stroking my clavicle suddenly reaches up so he’s now squeezing my neck hard enough to make me gasp.

“I’m losing my patience with you, Charlie, and you don’t want to see me when it’s gone. Understand?”

I nod my head, trying like hell to remain calm. He’s not hurting me, but he’s making it very clear that I can’t move unless he wants me to. There’s something about being in his grip that’s both terrifying and exhilarating, and if I make it out of this alive, I promise myself that I’ll invest in some therapy because I obviously need it. I should be feeling nothing but fear right now and maybe a good dose of anger. I most definitely shouldn’t be turned on, but my wet panties are proof of my guilt.

I squirm a bit, making him raise that dark brow again and study me some more. His lip quirks up a bit, and I swear he can read every dirty thought going through my head.

“Tell me how you found my house and my name, little thief, and maybe you’ll live to see the sun come up.”

“What? You can’t be fucking serious,” I say, fighting against his grip, but he only tightens his fingers. When I claw at his hand, he lets out a groan that’s pure annoyance as he grabs both my wrists in his free hand and pins them above my head, putting me in a much worse position than I was just in.

“You should have done better research, Charlie. You picked the wrong fucking house to rob, sweetheart.”

I nod my head yes, because that’s painfully clear at the moment. His hand is squeezing me tight enough to make me feel like I can’t breathe. I know he’s leaving me enough room, but I also know that could very easily change with very little effort from him.

“How the fuck did you find me?”

I dart my eyes to the right, eyeing the laundry basket I saw when I first stepped in. A pair of dark suit pants are hanging over the side, and I’m guessing they’re the same ones I tagged.

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