Owned by the Mob Boss: A Dark Mafia Romance (Ivanovich Bratva) by Nicole Fox (best romantic novels in english .txt) 📗

yet and here I am letting—what? emotion?—spin out of control. How am I to teach my son to remain levelheaded when I am not doing the same?

I curse myself, wondering when this lack of control started.

“Are you almost done?” I ask impatiently.

“Oh, that helps!” Camille calls. “Why don’t you come and videotape it too? Really give me some encouragement!”

Ever since she woke up nauseous, she has been acting like this: snappish, almost aggressive. It is like she does not even want the child. But then, of course she does not. This is no labor of love; I am paying her. Somehow, I have forgotten that little detail these past few days, as though our closeness is anything but transactional.

But is there not something else, some flicker of feeling?

I almost laugh.

I wonder what the Erik from before would make of that. He would not believe me. He would think I have gone crazy.

Perhaps I have. Perhaps that is what it takes to fall for a woman. But I have not fallen for her, have I? I shake my head in disbelief.

I am standing at the door when the toilet flushes, wringing my hands.

Camille rolls her eyes as she opens it.

“It’ll take a couple of minutes,” she says.

“You don’t seem excited,” I note.

She scoffs. “Maybe I just don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Hmm—”

“What?” she snaps.

“Or maybe you are just considering whether you want this child at all.”

“Jesus Christ, what do you expect? Want me to get some pompoms and start fucking jumping around the place? I’m just …”

“What?” I urge.

“Nervous,” she murmurs.

Whatever bridge we were building seems shakier now. A detached part of me notes that I shouldn’t even be noticing things like that. I have allowed myself to fall too deep. But then, she could simply be nervous, as I am.

I start pacing up and down the room again.

“Do you have to do that?” she jabs.

“Yes,” I tell her. “I do.”

She sighs shakily.

“You’re making me even more nervous.”

I shrug.

“Then be nervous.”

“Why are you being such an asshole?”

I smile fiercely at her.

“Because I can tell how much it bothers you, of course.”

“Ha-fucking-ha.”

I think about the guest bedroom, how it will look once Camille has decorated it. I wonder what my son will look like when he is born.

What started as a quest for an heir has taken on a new significance for me.

“Is it done?” I growl.

“Should be,” Camille says, letting out a breath that seems like she wants it to be negative. Or perhaps I am reading too much into her.

I only realize I am holding my breath when I let it out, looking down at the test.

One sad little strip.

“Negative,” I snarl.

Camille lets out an ambiguous sigh.

“How accurate are these?” I ask.

“Pretty accurate, I think.”

“We should have a blood test, just to be sure. I have noticed some changes in you—”

“What sort of changes?” she snaps.

“Appetite, your body …”

“My body?” She glares. “What about it? It looks pregnant, does it? I didn’t realize you were a medical guru now, Erik. It doesn’t show that fast, so calm your tits.”

I hold back the rising tide of my irritation at Camille as I turn away from her, taking out my cell phone.

“What are you doing?” she demands.

“Calling the doctor. We have to be sure.”

She drops onto the bed, gripping her knees.

“I know my body best, Erik. What the fuck are you talking about, my appetite? Have you been keeping a journal?”

“What harm will it do?” I challenge. “We have to …”

“Be sure, yeah, I know.”

Once I have made the call, Camille asks quietly, “If I’m not pregnant, what will we do?”

“What else?” I reply. “Keep trying, of course.”

I narrow my eyes at her, attempting to read the emotions flitting across her face.

“That is, if you still want a child …”

Her eyes widen as though a revelation has just struck her.

“Yeah,” she says, sounding surprised. “I do, Erik. I really do.”

I cannot account for the relief that moves through me, easing the tension that grabbed me the moment I thought she might be pregnant. I find myself walking over to her, kneeling down, and taking her hands in mine.

“We will make this work,” I tell her, unsure of exactly what I mean.

But a question lingers in my mind, one neither of us wants to address: after the deal is done, what then?

Once the doctor has left, telling us the results will be ready in a few hours, Camille and I return to the bedroom.

It is strange how much I want to be around her. Yet even knowing that I can’t fight the instinct. It is like she is a magnet, pulling me closer.

She sits on the edge of the bed, legs stretched out, looking beautiful in the silk bathrobe. I lean against the door, studying her lithe legs as the animal hunger moves through me.

Is it possible to be addicted to a woman?

I have never experienced it before, certainly not with Alena, nor the ones who came before her. But it is like Camille is turning me into a different man.

It should terrify me. Maybe it does, a little. But mostly I just want her, again and again.

“Getting a good look?” she laughs.

I prowl across the room and lean down, touching her chin and tilting her head up to me. The way she inhales when I kiss her—that frantic, off-guard gasp—makes my manhood press against the inside of my pants. I grab the back of her head and press my lips firmly against hers.

“Don’t you have work to do?” she asks.

“Soon,” I say. “But I don’t see the harm in trying again.”

She loops her arms around my shoulders. Whatever indecision I read in her face before is gone now.

“I agree,” she whispers. “Why wait for the results?”

I shove her softly in the chest, making her lie down, and then smooth my hand down her body to her sex. Every touch produces a ripple that moves through her, as though she is my instrument. I can read the lust in every