Page 12 of Unexpected Bratva Baby

She laughs. “Planning our second date already, are we?”

I move a bit closer. “I’m certainly hoping there will be a second date, and a third, and many more after that.”

The air between us feels charged with electricity. Her breath catches as she looks at my lips. I want nothing more than to close the distance between us, to taste her, and lose myself in her warmth, but I hold back, not wanting to rush things. Instead, I stand, offering her my hand. “Would you like to see the rest of the yacht?”

She nods, slipping her hand into mine. I guide her through the yacht, resting my hand lightly on the small of her back. She blinks when we enter the main salon, taking in the opulent surroundings.

“This is incredible.” She runs her fingers along the polished mahogany table.

“I’m glad you like it,” I say as she explores with childlike wonder. “The craftsmanship is exquisite. Each piece was handmade by artisans in Italy.”

She turns to me with a bright smile. “You must have quite the eye for design. Everything is so beautiful.”

I shrug, feeling a hint of pride at her admiration. “I appreciate quality. Shall we continue the tour?”

We move through the yacht, and I point out various features. There’s a state-of-the-art entertainment system, a fully equipped gym, a swimming pool, and a sauna. Phoebe asks intelligent questions, appearing genuinely interested in every detail. She’s smart and I like that about her.

Approaching the master suite, I hesitate for a moment. “And this is the main stateroom,” I say, pushing open the door.

Phoebe steps inside, and I hear her sharp intake of breath. The room is a masterpiece of luxury, with its king-sized bed draped in fine linens and a panoramic view of the ocean through the wall made completely from glass.

“Oh, my,” she murmurs, her gaze drawn to the bed. She stares at it for a long moment, and I do the same. The air between us grows thick with unspoken tension. We’re clearly sharing similar thoughts.

I clear my throat. “There’s an en-suite bathroom as well,” I say, my voice sounding rougher than I intended. “Would you like to see it?”

Phoebe tears her gaze away from the bed, a flush creeping up her neck. “No, that’s okay. I think I get the idea.”

We stand there for a moment, the silence stretching between us. I’m acutely aware of how close she is, and the scent of her perfume. My fingers itch to reach out and touch her, to pull her close and?—

“Should we head back to the deck?” she asks, breaking the spell.

I nod, perhaps a bit too eagerly. “Of course. The night air will be refreshing.”

We make our way back to the deck, and I pour us each another glass of wine. Phoebe rests against the railing, gazing out at the twinkling lights of Miami’s skyline.

“This view is breathtaking,” she says, taking a sip of her wine.

I move to stand beside her, our arms almost touching. “It is, though not as breathtaking as the company.”

Phoebe turns to me, smiling. “You’re quite the charmer, Mikhail.”

“Only when properly inspired,” I say, raising my glass in a small toast.

We fall into comfortable conversation, and I’m increasingly captivated by Phoebe’s passion for her Scottish heritage.

“Tell me more about Scottish cuisine,” I say, genuinely curious. “You mentioned experimenting with traditional dishes earlier.”

Phoebe’s face lights up. “Oh, there’s so much more to Scottish food than most people realize. It’s not all haggis and deep-fried Mars bars, you know.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Haggis? I’ve heard the term, but I’m not entirely sure what it is.”

Phoebe grins, a mischievous glint in her eye. “You ate it tonight in those haggis bon bons. Delicious, by the way. Compliments to your chef.”

I nod. “I’m not sure what haggis is though.”

She seems delighted to tell me. “Haggis is a traditional Scottish dish. It’s made from sheep’s heart, liver, and lungs, mixed with oatmeal, onions, and spices. Then it’s all stuffed into a sheep’s stomach and boiled.”

I watch Phoebe’s face light up as she enthusiastically describes the intricacies of haggis. Her passion is infectious, and I smile despite my stomach turning at realizing I ate that earlier, and I didn’t die. That’s a bonus.

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