The Bratva's Baby (Wicked Doms 1)

“You were showing me the way,” he says quietly, seemingly unaffected by touching me. He points toward the back of the library.

I blink. “Yes,” I murmur. Where is the poised, intelligent heroine from my novels? Haven’t I read enough that I could assume the grace and dignity they possess? Clearly not.

I walk in silence next to him, and he has to slow his strides so he doesn’t walk too fast for me. My mind whirls. It’s just a simple task. I shouldn’t feel afraid like this, but the further we get from the entrance to the library, and the more isolated we become, the more nervous I become. The little hairs on the back of my neck rise and my skin prickles with awareness. I’m not sure why. He’s done nothing to earn my distrust, and yet my instincts are warring with my need to be near him. Something inside tells me run.

On the one hand, I like being near him like this. He’s magnificent. Handsome. And I like the attention of this beautiful, dangerous man. On the other, I can’t help the instinctive desire to get away from him. My body thrums with need and pleasure while my brain screams at me in warning.

“Are we near?” he asks, taking a step closer to me. I inhale the masculine scent of expensive cologne that takes me by surprise. He’s dressed in workman’s clothes yet he smells like he stepped off of Wall Street. It’s incongruous. Disarming.

“Yes,” I whisper. “It’s just three or so more rows ahead.”

“We’re so far away from everyone else,” he says, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. He laughs. “They really hide these books.”

My pulse quickens, but when I look at him, he’s looking away, and not interested in me at all. My imagination is insanity. I quicken my step. He gives me a tight smile.

“Yes, here we are,” I stammer. “Biographies.” I nearly choke out the words. “Please, take your time.”

He smiles and nods his thanks. “I will get what I came for,” he says, giving me a curious look, “and then I’ll help you put that stack of books away.” He places the stack down beside him and nods to the books. “Leave them until I’m finished here.”

No. I need to get away from him. I can’t handle my loss of control while in his presence.

I go to protest but the look he gives me makes my words freeze on my lips. As if bewitched by his power, I have to obey him. I stare at the books, trying to compose myself, but my gaze wanders. I watch as he peruses the titles and carefully chooses a few.

Stalin.

Lenin.

Robespierre.

“Light bit of bedtime reading,” I murmur before I clamp my mouth shut. I didn’t mean to say that.

His brows rise heavenward and his lips tip up, but the smile doesn’t meet his eyes. He’s surprised. Curious.

“Revolutionaries,” he murmurs respectfully. “They were the greats.”

“Some were terrible, though,” I say, curious about who he is and why he admires tyrants.

He looks with interest at the books in his hand. “Some of the most powerful leaders we’ve ever known have been terrible,” he says, before he places the books under his arm and bends to take my stack as well. I don’t offer to help this time, though I want to.

“Show me where these go,” he instructs. I show him, and he lets me put some away. If he notices the trembling in my hands, he doesn’t let on that he does. When we’re done, he follows me to the front and checks his books out. I glance at the name on his library card, but it’s smudged and illegible.

“Kazimir,” he says, when he catches me staring at his card.

I raise curious eyes to his. “Excuse me?”

“My name,” he says, those eyes smiling at me. “Pleased to meet you, Sadie. Thank you for your help. Until tomorrow.” He reaches for my hand and gives me a brief shake, before he leaves.

I stare at his retreating form and wonder what on Earth just happened.

Maybe I’ll be sick tomorrow.I think of him as I go about my duties. When I begin my latest Highlander romance, I read in rapt attention, as this hero sounds a lot like Kazimir, with his heavy beard and commanding presence. I’m somehow both intrigued and afraid of the tall, stern man who looks like he could’ve descended from the leaders of old. Sometimes I let my imagination get the better of me, and as I drift off to sleep, I wonder when I’ll see him again.

I consider not going into work the next day, but when the sun rises, in the light of day, I realize how foolish that is. I get very few vacation days, and I can’t take a day off because of a maybe visit from a patron.