Keeping my Mafia Bodyguard (Mafia Devils and their Darlings book 2)

Chapter 9

The water feels like heaven on my skin. The temperature is perfect, the pressure divine, so perfect I could melt into it and never crawl back out. But eventually I twist off the faucet and step out of the shower. I towel myself dry, slip into a bathrobe, and pad into the bedroom.

I have no clothes. No skincare products. No nothing. Just the gold card Niko handed me earlier, lying on the bedside table like it’s winking at me.

The AC blasts cold air at my damp skin, and I instantly feel like I’m about to freeze into a human popsicle. I snatch the remote from the shelf near the TV and shut the unit off.

I scan the room for my dirty clothes, at least I can wash those and have something for tomorrow.

My hair is still damp as I crack the door open, take one glance at the empty living room, then I step out fully. Where is Niko? I turn around again. It's empty.

Don’t tell me he–

The clothes slip through my fingers at the thought. He left me? He abandoned me here alone? What if Craff’s men find me?

My heart jumps when the door opens soundlessly. Niko steps in. He pauses when he sees me, and my breath sticks to my lungs. His eyes meet my wide ones before he quietly shuts the door behind him.

He’s holding clothes wrapped in thin plastic.

“Here.” He lifts them. “I had the clerk downstairs pick you a few things.”

My lungs finally remember their job. I swallow and reach out, my hands embarrassingly unsteady. The clothes slide from my grip and drop to the floor.

We both lunge at the same time. Our fingers brush. We both go still.

It wasn’t intentional. Still, my pulse kicks hard, too hard for a woman who’s supposed to be acting. Like I am seriously getting affected by him. Me.

His eyes drop first, then shift lower. He abruptly pulls back and straightens. I follow his gaze… and realize my bathrobe has fallen slightly open. A tiny smile tugs at my lips. I don’t have Claire’s dramatic boobs, mine barely peek through, but he either has impeccable manners or he’s staring because he likes what he sees. I hope it’s the latter.

I gather the clothes with a softer look. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”

“I don’t know if she got your size right,” he says, still not facing me. “If not, you can get new ones before we leave tomorrow.”

“Has anyone ever told you how thoughtful you are?” I ask, leaning forward, trying to catch his eyes.

He glances at me, quick, almost reluctant, then looks away. “I’ll be outside if you need anything else.”

I catch his arm before he can leave. His muscles are solid under my fingers, so firm I almost forget to breathe. I nearly let my hand glide along him before snapping back to myself.

Men like Niko always pick the soft girls, the ones who need saving. If I push too fast, I’ll lose the only chance I might have with him, if I even have a chance.

I let go slowly, then meet his eyes. “You don’t have to wait outside. There are two rooms here. Use the other one. Isn’t that why you got the suite?”

He only blinks. “That’s what I always get.”

Heat floods my face. So much for special treatment. I thought this was for me, but this is just routine for him.

Still, I straighten. “It’s just me here. The place is too big. And you need sleep at some point. No need for formalities.”

“I’ll sleep when you’re asleep.”

Likely standing. For a moment I just stare at him, unsure what to say. Would it be rude to push him? To insist he stop being so… formal? This might be the only real chance I have to talk to him, to build something, anything, and all I’m getting is closed doors and road blocks.

“Alright,” I concede softly, turning toward the kitchen.

The state-of-the-art kitchen no one ever touches is fully stocked, and of course it has a washing machine tucked neatly against the wall. I shove my dirty clothes inside and set it to wash. By tomorrow they’ll be clean, but now that Niko brought me new clothes, I don’t have to worry about drying anything overnight.

I step back into the living room. Niko holds the door open while the staff wheel in a trolley of food. He stands there with that soldier’s posture, watchful grey eyes, granite jaw, immaculate suit. I can’t help wondering what he looks like when that control finally cracks. When he feels pleasure. Even once, I’d like to see it.

He catches me staring and gives me one brief look. I ignore it and sink onto the couch beside the tray of food laid out on the table. I lift one lid, then a second, a third, a fourth. By the fifth I aim a pointed eyebrow at him.

“Do you actually eat this much, or are you trying to tell me something?”

His expression doesn’t shift. “That isn’t even enough food.”

“You’re not serious. I’ll die if I eat all this.” I shoot him a disgruntled look. Honestly, it’s more food than I’ve eaten in weeks.

“Eat what you can,” he replies, already turning to step outside again.

“Wait.” I sit up quickly. “Join me.” I give him a deliberately bratty look. “You bought all this food I can’t finish, and you know I have no appetite unless someone’s with me.”

He doesn’t turn right away. I sigh dramatically. “No one’s attacking us tonight. Even enemies need dinner, right?”

His lips twitch, barely, but I see it. “The enemies I know only wait until your guard is down,” he says.