The Director (Chicago Bratva 1)

I give my head a small shake. “You’re a very smart woman. I’m sure you’ll figure out something to tell her.”

Lucy’s lips thin. “You don’t strike me as insane, Ravil. You strike me as a very reasonable, perceptive man. Why are you doing this?”

I climb in the bed. “You’re a perceptive woman, yourself. Figure it out.” I flick off the light.

She stands still in the darkness for several seconds then pads to the bathroom.

I gaze at the ceiling or where I’d see the ceiling if it wasn’t dark.

Funny. I want her to figure it out when I’m not even sure myself.

Chapter 7

Lucy

I don’t think I’ll fall back asleep because I’m upset, but I do. My dreams are sensual and lush. Like many of the dreams since I’ve been pregnant, they feature Ravil and Black Light. This time, Gretchen and I arrive at the elite BDSM club. It’s my first time back since Valentine’s. I’m looking for Ravil—he’s the only one I want to play with. I’m not pregnant in the dream. Ravil finds me, but he’s angry.

I never called.

He takes me to the big cross structure to tie me up and whip me. I’m scared but also totally excited. He attaches cuffs to my wrists and ankles…

And then I wake up.

Horny.

Disappointed I didn’t get to finish the dream.

And furious that I’m a captive in this man’s domain.

I blink at the clock. It’s much later than I usually sleep. If I were going into my office, I’d be rushing out the door already. Good thing I’m calling in.

Strike that from the record. It’s not a good thing. I’m a prisoner who’s being kept from going in.

Ravil steps out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. He’s solid muscle. Golden skin with a light dusting of hair, tattoos across his chest, down his arms even onto his knuckles. Tattoos are part of the bratva. Markings for crimes, prison time, cells. They were how I recognized what he was when I partnered with him. Why I didn’t want to be paired with a man like him, even though he’d turned out to be an attentive and thoughtful partner.

Too bad he’s still a criminal who thinks he can do whatever he wants.

Correction—who probably can do whatever he wants.

He steps into the walk-in closet and drops the towel, so I have the full view of his naked body. I’m not the type who ogles men’s physiques, but even I know he’s a perfect specimen. Tight glutes that flex when he pulls on his boxer briefs. Muscles that ripple across his broad back when he pulls on a white undershirt.

He’s sexy. Everything about him is sexy, from the accent to the cool, confident demeanor to the ice-blue eyes. I wish I weren’t so affected by his presence. Maybe I’d be able to think my way out of this. Then again, maybe it would make this situation a million times worse. Because the only thing that makes it even remotely palatable is the sexual satisfaction.

“You will call into work this morning,” he says without turning, knowing I’m watching.

I don’t answer.

“Tell them you have preeclampsia. I can get you a doctor’s note if you need it.”

I guess he’s thought of everything.

“A desk will be delivered in an hour.”

I frown but pick up my phone, which I find charging beside the bed. I call into the office.

God, this sucks.

Understatement of the year.

I start with Dick because he’s the asshole who will make the most trouble for me. I put on my most brusque, business-like voice. Nothing like calling the good old boys boss with female problems. “Hi Dick, it’s Lucy. I will call HR next, but I wanted to start with you. My doctor’s put me on bedrest. I will be working from home and fully available via video or teleconferencing. I don’t require any reduction in load and can handle all my cases.”

“Bed rest?” he snorts. “What happened?”

“That, of course, is personal. I’ll be happy to provide my medical records to HR if required.”

“What about when you’re needed in court?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll be working on a plan and will keep you in the loop. All you need to know is that none of my cases will suffer as a result of this change. In fact, they will probably all benefit, since I’ll be saving time on the commute.”

“I see. Well, I hope everything’s okay. You know, with the baby.” He drags out the last syllable like he’s hoping for more information, but I’m not going to give it to the bastard.

“I will be just as available as always,” I say firmly. It’s illegal to discriminate against me for this situation, but I’m certain they will all try.

“You sure? I mean, if you need to take a leave of absence—”

“I don’t,” I cut in and say nothing more, letting the censure of my voice reverberate.