Page 9 of Baby Bump for the Mafia Boss

I look up, and find my boss regarding me, shadows emphasising the hard lines of his face and his always messyblack hair. His stubble has grown out, and despite the rumpled suit, he looks unreasonably good. He’s pulled his tie loose and undone his top button, and my lower stomach does an inappropriate flip at the sight of his throat and collarbones.

But his expression is… I’m not sure. I’ve never seen him look like that. Then it’s gone, and he’s drinking his cup of tea, and staring into the fire.

“How do you think they drugged the pilot?” I ask when I’ve drunk the whole mug and am feeling slightly more human. I don’t ask whether Mr Bridger is okay, but I do wonder. He seems unsteady, but unable to relinquish control.

“The pilot was fine. The rock bit us,” he deadpans.

“Vicious. Just came out of nowhere.” I join in, and for a moment it feels like when we’re across a table at a fancy restaurant when away on business. Just the two of us, joking and being serious by turn.

“I’m not sure how they did it,” he replies quietly. “They must have accessed the water.”

We’re tight on security when meeting other mafias, and as a rule, we don’t eat or drink except from supplies we brought with us around the actual contact. It’s only in other cities that Mr Bridger has me make dinner reservations for two, and we relax.

“Or the food,” I suggest. “I had the last cheese sandwich.” Mr Bridger insisted I take it. “Everyone else had meat.”

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Maybe. That’s a vulnerability. We’ll probably never know exactly how it happened, but it was Volk, and they meant for us all to die in a helicopter crash.”

A chill goes down my spine at how close we were to not walking away. At how Dane could be dead right now, and I’d have never confessed to him that although he’s a demanding and sometimes impossible man, I love him more than anything in the world. He’s been a better friend to me than anyone whomore conventionally fits that role, and my heart patters happily whenever we’re together.

“They’re going to pay for this.” He nods, and the look in his eyes as he stares into the fire is almost scary. “We’re alive. Stranded. But alive.” He heaves a sigh and gives no explanation for his seemingly disconnected thoughts. “I’m sorry I brought you here.” Regret laces his words.

“It’s okay, it’s my job, Boss.” That’s entirely the wrong thing to say. Mr Bridger’s jaw tightens, and his black eyebrows slant down at the reminder that I’m his assistant.

He’s never minded before. In fact, it’s usually him who is at pains to remind me of our relative positions, and that I should claim overtime, or do some small chore for him. He’s a demanding boss, and I thought he liked it when I called him that.

He shakes his head and presses his lips together, flattening their fullness into a line. “I shouldn’t have. I put you in danger. And we’re not out yet. We’re in the middle of a snowstorm, in remote Scotland, and Volk could still come after us. If I hadn’t brought you with me, you’d be safe and snug at home right now.”

“But instead, I’m here, with you. Honestly, I don’t mind.” I’d rather be at his side, even if it’s dangerous.

“You’re okay with being stranded?” His expression lightens slightly.

“It’s a story to tell,” I say in the chirpy tone I’ve perfected over the years.

That plunges him back into darkness. “It might be. If we get out.”

“It’s warm in front of the fire, Boss. I think it could be far worse.” At least I’m with him.

“You should call me Dane,” he says after a pause.

“Dane.” I try it out, and it has such a different mouth feel. Not harsh like his surname. Soft, but dark and strong, like black velvet.

We eat the tinned soup and spam, and it’s not as bad as I anticipated. It’s still snowing, and black outside when we’ve finished. Dane insists that we should go to sleep despite the early hour. I can’t fully see in the firelight, but he seems tired. We gather the blankets and drape them over both of us.

“Go closer to the fire.” He urges me to the side, in the wrong direction. “Keep warm.”

“I’m fine!” Especially since he’s pushing me away from the fire. However much he says he’s okay, I’m concerned. He’s acting weird.

He glares at me and the familiar bolt of longing goes from my belly down to the spot between my legs that’s hot and needy. He warms me even with an irritable look.

“You’re shivering,” he says accusingly, as though I’m lying to him.

I’m not, or if I am, only a tiny bit. Not so he would be able to see. “The floor is cold.”

His arm is over me in a second, and he drags me to him until we’re flush. I gasp and drag in a breath that’s full of the scent of his neck. How is it that despite this being a long, long day, he still smells delicious? Like fresh air and the sea, and some earthy musk that’s sexier than either of those words sounds. My boss defies normal rules in every way.

“If the floor is cold, then lie on top of me.”

I let out a little squeak as he rolls me so I’m leaning against his side. My breasts are right on his chest, my palm on his abdomen, and our legs are tangled, my upper one laid between his.