Kostya: A Dark Mafia Romance (Zinon Bratva) by Nicole Fox (open ebook .TXT) 📗

He passes his phone over to me, and when our fingertips brush, I feel something like a jolt of electricity pass between us. This is getting out of hand already. If I don’t figure out how to build an immunity to this attraction, I’m going to end up literally purring at him and losing my cushy job. My sister will never be found. My mom will blame me. And I’ll be unemployable once every other employer in Los Angeles finds out I’m the girl who drooled on, panted over, dreamed of, and ended up falling at the feet of my boss, who for all I know could have one or more women waiting to pounce on him somewhere in this sprawling twelve-bedroom, fifteen-bathroom, with-a-home-gym, movie-theater and guesthouse mansion.

As soon as I’ve finished with his phone, I’m careful to drop it into his hand and not touch him again. My sanity demands I keep my fingers to myself.

“Okay. Great.” He can see Tiana and I can smell the remnants of his cologne. The world is a pretty good place. “How about I give you the guided tour?”

At home, he’s relaxed, smiling, friendly, so different from the man who overpowers the atmosphere in the east tower of the Zinon Enterprises building. He’s traded his suit for a sweater, his slacks for a pair of jeans, his perfectly combed hair for something artfully ruffled. For a moment, I can almost forget that he’s an ass.

“You’ve seen the living room and kitchen?” I was given a tour earlier by Marianne when I arrived this afternoon. We picked out Tiana’s room—the one adjoining mine on one side and Kostya’s on the other—and a place for the toys Kostya wants me to order.

I nod.

“Good. This is your home now.”

I nod again. He makes it sound so easy. But I doubt I will ever just walk in and kick my shoes off inside the front door. Or leave the dishes until morning because I’m exhausted from being at his beck and call until all hours.

I can’t forget: this is my workplace now.

He leads me from room to room, discusses décor, tells me the historical importance of paintings and furnishings. It’s as if he’s reading from a script for all the emotion he puts into it. He has million-dollar artwork and a chair that belonged to the last Russian czar, but I’ve seen more joy in an unemployment line.

We stop at a door close to the living room. He swings it open. “What do you think about this one?”

It’s a home gym with rowing machines, a weight set, stationary bicycles, an elliptical trainer, three treadmills, and a wall of mirrors. It’s three or four times larger than the bedroom I chose for Tiana.

“I’ll have this cleaned out for her. She’ll need toys, books … I want her to have everything she wants.”

Of course he does. But unless he wants one of those spoiled monster children, he will have to rein in his fatherly enthusiasm and put the checkbook away. But I’m not quite in the position to tell him that.

Yet.

Instead, I walk beside him through the room and out the other side to the pool area.

“Probably have to seal off that door,” he remarks.

I nod. “Probably” isn’t a strong enough word, but I’m glad he’s sensed the danger. “Yes, that’s a good idea.”

“And I need a fence for the pool.” He turns to me. “It’s so much to think of. Her safety. Her happiness. I’m responsible for all of it.” His brow crinkles, and he sits heavily on the edge of a plush chaise. “Being a father is … what do I do?”

It’s not an easy question. I have no experience with parenting, but I was a child once. So … “Just make her feel loved. Every minute. Figure out a way to slay her dragons without becoming one of them. Be tough and fair. Show her kindness and discipline.”

His breath is shallow and—I can’t believe I’m even thinking this, but I’m certain it’s true—Kostya Zinon is afraid.

It’s in his eyes, in the slouch of his shoulders as he struggles to hang on. “And don’t introduce her to anyone who isn’t going to be in her life for more than a few months. Her heart’s not quite up to protecting itself yet, so you have to do the protecting for her.” And I will, too. I will make sure nothing—like my attraction to her father—jeopardizes her happiness.

But now, I’ve scared him. Or worried him. Or maybe … his eyes are narrow and his mouth a tight line. I’m the one who put that look on his face and I want to make it disappear. “It’s okay, Kostya.”

“Okay? I don’t know anything about children.” His voice is pained, and I hear the fear he will never verbally admit to.

“Yes, it’s going to be okay.” I nod and watch him, then hold out a hand. This is a guy who needs comfort. I can give him that. To a point. “Come on. We’ll get you a book.”

“A book?” He looks at me with his clear blue eyes full of hope now. “They have a book?”

I don’t want to laugh, but I can’t help it. He’s the definition of fish out of water, of parental insecurity. “Several, actually. And they’re helpful, but you’re going to be okay. You’re nervous because it’s new, but you’re going to be fine.” I smile and stroke the back of his hand with my thumb. I look up at him and see the passion burning in his eyes.

Kostya is off-limits. I need to remember that, but he’s so … vital and beautiful and … standing so close to me …

He reaches out and takes my chin in his palm softly. His eyes are twinkling as he brings his lips close to mine.

Closer, closer …

“Charlotte?”

I snap back to reality so hard I get whiplash. “Uh, um, yeah, mhmm,”