Page 50 of Pregnant By the Russian Pakhan

But it didn’t stop his dick from rising every time she was near. It didn’t stop his nostrils from flaring involuntarily to pull in her unique scent every time he got a whiff of it. It didn’t stop his heart from thumping so loudly in his ears that it was a wonder he didn’t go deaf when Mira was in the vicinity.

His feelings for her worried him. He had denied it for as long as he could, but now he had to admit that he did feel something for her. He wasn’t sure what, and he wasn’t ready to put a label on it.

But the one truth he knew was that he’d never felt this way with any woman in the past—not even Alena.

And knowing that scared the crap out of him.

Their trip to the doctor was brief and encouraging. The doctor was very pleased with all Mira’s reports and kept telling Mikhail to do more of whatever it was he was currently doing, because it was working.

Mira threw his pleased smirk an exasperated glance and told the doctor, “Please don’t encourage him. He never lets me get any exercise.”

The doctor shook his head. “Well, she does need exercise, but nothing strenuous. Just make sure she walks around the house a bit every day. She can also get in some very light dancing or water exercises. Nothing strenuous, just light exercises to keep her limber and in good health generally, okay?”

“Sure thing, doc,” Mikhail agreed.

The doctor wrote out some prescriptions for vitamins and sent them on their way. As they left, Mira was chewing on a banana.

Mikhail hid a grin. She’d been eating nonstop since morning, he had observed. Evidently, a heavy appetite was gradually making an appearance, but he wasn’t about to comment on it and make her panic and start counting calories while pregnant. Heaven forbid.

His kid needed all the nutrition it could get in there, he thought with a proud glance at her mid-section. As they reached their car, he turned around to open her door for her when a solid punch to his solar plexus lifted him clear off his feet and slammed him into the hard pavement. His mouth smashed against the ground and he tasted blood and sand.

Mira screamed and started toward him, but he shook his head. “Run back to the hospital, Mira. Go, go.”

But either she had gone deaf or she didn’t care for her life, because she became still as a statue as she stared at someone or something over his head.

Mikhail turned to follow her gaze and real anger ricocheted through him, propelling him to his feet in one fluid motion.

Oleg Dostoevsky was standing a few feet away with four of his men around him. He was dressed in an all-white suit with a sun hat slammed onto his head. His eyes were cold as they raked Mikhail from head to toe and he seemed to be enjoying himself at Mikhail’s expense.

Mikhail turned to look at Mira and saw that one of Dostoevsky’s goons was already marching toward her to grab her.

“I swear on my mother that if you lay one finger on Mira this afternoon, I will feed you with your entrails and make you enjoy it,” Mikhail warned in a low, furious snarl.

His threat made the man skid to a frightened halt a few inches from Mira. Good girl that she was, she took advantage of his confusion and whipped out her pepper spray. As she sprayed it directly into the man’s eyes, he screamed and jerked away from her.

Mikhail was so proud of her that when he turned to face Dostoevsky, he couldn’t hide his smile. “She’s a real firecracker, isn’t she?”

Dostoevsky’s face went dark with anger. “She is my daughter, you son-of-a-bitch. She is my only child! This fight was only between you and me. Why did you have to drag Mira into it?”

Mikhail positioned himself protectively in front of Mira, knowing even as he did so that she was in no real danger from her father. The man didn’t want to hurt her. He only wanted to extract her from Mikhail’s clutches. Well, he would die before he would let that happen, Mikhail vowed silently.

Mira sidestepped and stood in front of him before he could stop her. “Don’t hurt him, Father,” she pleaded. “Just stop.”

“Mira, you have been brainwashed by that tricky bastard, my dear. This is not your fault. I’ll set you right once I get you away from him.”

“Mira, get behind me,” Mikhail said as he gently reached for her.

She darted away from him and ran straight to her father, wringing a roar of protest from his throat.

“You’ve always been a hard, unfeeling jerk,” Mira accused her father. “And so I’m sure you feel nothing for me. But just once, I’m begging you for something—don’t harm him.”

Dostoevsky gave her such an evil look that Mikhail’s heart clutched in his chest. Then he grabbed his daughter by the arm and hauled her to his side so roughly that Mikhail almost passed out from fear for the baby.

“Kill that bastard,” Dostoevsky ordered his men.

Mikhail moved with such lightning speed that before the words had finished falling from Dostoevsky’s lips, he was already beside the man. He slammed his elbow into the nose of the first man on Dostoevsky’s left and then pirouetted to his other side.

The men were scared to shoot because of his proximity to their boss and his daughter. Thankfully, they were smart enough to know they could hit the wrong target at such impossibly close range.

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