Page 15 of Baby Bump for the Mafia Boss

Technically nothing did.

And a horrible conclusion slides into my mind. What if shefeltme wanking off, not saw? What if she was horrified and humiliated by my hard-on, which I have no doubt was pressed into her.

I do remember that. Holding her. Trying to calm my heart rate.

I must have taken advantage, and fuck,fuck! That’s the last thing I wanted. I need Stephie to be happy and comfortable with me.

“Honestly, it’s fine,” she says, her face finally smoothing into that mask of professionalism.

I don’t believe her, but I breathe a shaky sigh of relief.

I might have embarrassed her, but if I didn’t do anything she didn’t want, that’s okay.

Touching Stephie is not for the likes of me. I just employ her and take care of her. Claiming my much younger, sweet assistant, is a step too far.

I nod slowly. “Good. Did you manage to sleep?”

“Yes.” Her gaze slides away, and I can’t tell what she’s thinking. “Are you feeling alright now?” she asks, standing and brushing her hands on her wide-leg trousers.

Memory of pushing her knickers down flashes through me. The feel of the fabric. The silk of her skin.

But it’s generic. An illusion summoned by my drugged mind.

“Much better,” I lie. There’s a barrier between us now that wasn’t there before. I stand and grabbing my phone from where I left it last night, turn it back on. “Let’s get out of here,” I mutter.

“Yeah, there’s no television. Can’t survive with that,” she jokes awkwardly. That’s a lie too, because I know that she prefers to read than watch anything.

I ignore the twinge of unease and hold the phone up. Nothing.

“I’m going to find some signal. Stay here until I return.”

I refuse the blanket Stephie tries to insist I take with me, because she needs it more than I do, staying still whereas I’ll be moving. She attempts to come with me, so I snap at her. I’ve put her in enough danger without trudging through the snow again. And if Volk are out there, looking for us, I’d rather she was in here. Safer.

Leaving my heart with Stephie in the cabin, I walk away.

Outside, the cloud has lifted, and it has stopped snowing. A good sign. The burned-out helicopter is just within sight. I scowl at it, the knowledge of having lost two of my best men and how close I was to losing Stephie produces an overwhelming surge of grief and anger.

Then I go in the opposite direction. Up the hill.

I stumble on the snowy ground, holding my phone out the whole time, as though signal is something I can catch, and I’m a hunter of the digital era.

The sound of the helicopter catches me off-guard.

For a second, I consider running. Shooting. All my protective instincts have been triggered. This could be Volk, come to finish the job. Then I recognise it. That’s a Beckton helicopter, and it’s heading for the crash site.

The next few hours are relief and regret. I practically drag Stephie out of the cottage, and to the helicopter with absolute clarity.

I can’t lose her because of a stupid moment of weakness, and I have a lot of revenge to execute.

I know, for sure, that there’s only one way to fix this. No more cosy excuses to be near her with foreign trips. I’m giving Stephie the respect she deserves. And maybe the room to heal.

7

STEPHIE

Four weeks later

I’m pregnant. I stare at the two little lines on the test, and sink to perch on the edge of the bath. I’m not able to hold myself up.