Sinful Blaze (Chekhov Bratva Book 1)

I duck just in time to avoid getting clocked in the head by a decorative lamp. Son of a bitch still clips my shoulder, though.

“Fuck!”

I have a good feeling I know who’s responsible.

My un-assaulted arm reaches out to flip on the lights, and my guess is correct: Daphne is standing in front of me, wide-eyed and clutching the lamp from the nightstand like a battle ax.

“Give me that,” I growl, snatching the lamp from her hands before she manages to give me a concussion.

“You!” Daphne sighs in something almost like relief. Then she freezes, straightens her back, and glares at me. “I mean, you! What the hell?! What are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

I wait for the news to process. As I do, I have to be honest—I’m not hating the vision standing before me. Her hair is a sexy tangle of silk, her tank top barely covers her breasts, and she’s definitely not wearing any pants.

The pain in my shoulder fades away pretty quickly. The blood flow has better places to be.

“The hell you do!” Daphne gestures to the room. “This is my place. I just got it today after the last guy moved…”

Her voice wobbles and falls away as she looks at me and it all comes together for her.

“You’re him. You’re the neighbor.”

I nod.

“But why⁠—”

“Because you’re carrying my child.”

“No, I mean, why would Marquette…” She pauses again. Then, “Wait, what? The fuck did you just say to me?”

I sigh and shrug my jacket off my shoulders. It’s been a long day and I have a feeling the night is about to get a lot longer. “I own the building. I paid Marquette to take care of you and make sure you’re in the best we have to offer.”

“Your place. Your penthouse.”

“Now, you’re getting it.”

Daphne folds her arms across her chest. She’s grown at least a cup size since our first rendezvous. Her brave little stance only manages to deepen her cleavage and now, I’m way more distracted than intimidated.

“You can’t do this. You can’t be in here.” She waves a hand in the air, then pinches the bridge of her nose. “You’re stressing me out. It’s not good for the baby.”

“Neither is being away from her father.”

She opens her mouth, then shuts it. Then, with more vitriol in her voice: “I’ll leave. Right now.”

“Go ahead.” I even step aside to clear the doorway for her. “I’ll just follow you.”

“That was not an invitation.”

“I know.” I calmly start unbuttoning my shirt as if this is just another conversation between husband and wife. “I don’t need one.”

Daphne is all fire and fury as she stomps her foot and grunts her frustration at me. I catch the way her eyes fall on my chest, then my stomach, and there’s no mistaking the arousal there.

Good. That makes two of us, plamya.

“This is seriously crossing the line!” She’s hissing at me, but still hasn’t looked away from my chest as I tug the shirt off. “You’re… you’re going way beyond what’s appropriate!”

“Then enlighten me: what is appropriate?” I chuckle wryly and toss the shirt aside. “Fucking each other in a storage closet? Having a baby together? Please tell me, because I’m starting to get confused.”

At first, I assume her silence means I’ve got her—which would’ve been much easier than I anticipated.

But then I see the way she’s paled. Her eyes are wide and glued to a spot at my hip.

I glance down, but all I see is my gun holstered in the sidearm belt.

Daphne hiccups. Then wheezes. Then⁠—

Shit.

I rush to scoop her up in my arms before she falls, but that only makes her dissolve into shrieks and squeals as she frantically shoves me away. Every time I try to comfort her, she slaps at me and scrambles to get as far from me as possible.

But her gaze is fixed on my belt. On my gun.

I hold my hands up in surrender and slowly back off. When I reach the bedroom door, she’s clear across the room and breathing a little easier, though not by much. Her eyes are still wild and her limbs are trembling, but at least she’s not hyperventilating.

I unstrap the holster and sling it over the door handle. It goes against every fiber of my instinct—I never sleep without a gun within reach—but at this point, I’d rather take my chances with a cross-room sprint than threaten her health, or our baby’s health, with this fear response.

“It’s okay,” I say. My hands are still up so she can see they’re empty, unclenched, unarmed as I cautiously approach her. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Daphne hiccups another sob and glances between me and the gun now several feet away from me. “Why do you have that?”

“To protect you. You and our baby.”

She shakes her head. I don’t know what else to tell her. By the way, I make these for a living?

Finally, I’m able to wrap her up in my arms and ease her onto my lap. I curl us both up against the stack of pillows on the bed and cradle her head to my chest.

“I’ve got you,” I murmur into her hair. “No one is going to hurt you. Not me, and not while I’m around.” And I’ll always be around.

To my surprise, she actually snuggles into me rather than tries to pull away. I do my best to ignore how perfect she feels like this. How perfectly she fits onto my lap and against my bare chest.

Her soft breath fans across my skin as she gradually calms even more, and I find myself subconsciously stroking her hair back behind her ear.

I have no idea what the fuck just happened. Clearly, she’s not in the mood to explain it, either. So I decide to question it some other time. Preferably when she’s not coming off the edge of clawing my eyes out.

“I protect my family.” I smooth a hand down her arm to comfort her, to show her I’m not the bad guy, not someone she ever needs to be afraid of. Not like my father. “You’re my family now. I will always protect you. Why do you think I’m so determined to be near you?”

No response.

Is she… is she drooling?

I ease myself back enough to confirm that yes, Daphne has fallen asleep against my chest. I should be amazed at how quickly she’s crashed—but then again, she’s pregnant and it’s late and she did just practically panic herself into passing out.

Maybe this was a mistake. I have no choice but to keep her close and keep her safe, but I’m starting to have doubts about any of this actually being a wise decision.

Then Daphne lets out a soft moan and snuggles deeper into my chest.

I freeze.

I… goddammit, I don’t know what to do with this. I’m not the snuggling type. I haven’t been since I was a kid and my siblings would run into my room when the storms scared them (or when our father did).

Maybe this isn’t so different. Something scared the wits out of Daphne, and she let me comfort her.

It’s just what I do, apparently.

I choose—for tonight, at least—not to question it.