Plus-Size Bratva Bride (Vadim Bratva #9)

Chapter 4 - Abe

I stormed into our family estate, slamming the heavy oak door behind me. The almost-kiss with Pippa played on repeat in my mind, her soft curves and bottle-green eyes haunting me. Fuck. What was wrong with me? I ran a hand through my hair, messing up the usually perfect style.

She thought I was toying with her, and god damn it, in that moment, I swear I wanted to kiss her.

Needless to say, I was reeling from how I learned I wanted her. Over the years, I’d been with plenty of women—all of them were as casual as casual can be. Pippa wasn’t the wham-bam-thank you ma’am kind of girl. Of that, I was sure.

So, why the hell did I have to go stir shit up? On one hand, I was disappointed that she couldn’t see what my intentions were. On the other? I was glad we didn’t end up opening a can of worms I might not be able to pack back in.

"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in," my older brother Ivan's voice rang out from the living room. "You look like shit, Brother."

I grunted, making my way to the bar cart. I needed a drink, stat. As I poured myself a generous helping of whiskey, I felt Ivan and my younger brother Vlad's eyes burning holes in my back.

"What?" I snapped, turning to face them.

Vlad smirked, sharing a knowing look with Ivan. "Nothing. Just wondering what's got you so ruffled. Or should I say, who?"

I rolled my eyes, downing half the whiskey in one gulp. The burn in my throat was a welcome distraction from the tingling on my lips where Pippa's had almost touched. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm just tired."

"Tired?" Ivan chuckled, teasing me further. "Since when does the great Abrahim Ustinov get tired? Unless…"

"Unless a woman's involved," Vlad finished, waggling his eyebrows.

I slammed my glass down, causing both of them to jump. "There's no woman. Drop it."

But even as I denied it, Pippa's laugh echoed in my ears, her sassy comebacks making my lips twitch involuntarily. I couldn't shake the feeling of her soft body pressed against mine, the scent of her perfume lingering on my clothes.

"Oh ho, he's got it bad," Ivan crowed, high-fiving Vlad.

I growled, my temper flaring. "I said drop it. Don't make me remind you why I'm the muscle of this operation."

They backed off, hands raised in mock surrender, though the damage was done. Under different circumstances, I would have played along. As I stomped up to my room, their confused looks followed me, along with the realization that maybe, just maybe, they were right.

I slammed the door behind me, relishing the sudden quiet. My brothers' laughter still echoed in my ears, mingling with Pippa's voice in my head. Fuck.

Pacing the length of my room, I tried to think of anything else under the sun, but Pippa kept running right back into my thoughts. My reflection in the window caught my eye—I looked wild, unsettled.

"Get a grip," I muttered to myself, stopping to stare out at the manicured grounds of the estate. Usually, the sight brought me peace.

This time around? Nothing.

I couldn't shake the image of Pippa—her curves filling out that pencil skirt, her green eyes flashing with defiance, that luscious mouth painted red and bright for the taking. She was nothing like the women I usually went for, and yet…

"Dammit," I growled, turning away from the window only to find myself facing the bed. Unbidden, thoughts of Pippa sprawled across those silk sheets flooded my mind. For a brief moment, I imagined what it would be like to see her naked, to knead my hands across her generous curves.

I shook my head violently, trying to dislodge the fantasy. This was ridiculous. She was just another employee, albeit a feisty one. Nothing more.

Besides, Vlad Vadim had her under his protection.

But as I resumed my restless pacing, I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to tame that fire, to feel her soft body yield to mine. To hear my name on those red lips, breathless and wanting.

"Stop it," I commanded myself, but my body refused to listen. For the first time in years, I felt out of control. And all because of one curvy, sharp-tongued woman who was sixteen years my junior.

I needed a distraction, something to occupy my mind before I did something stupid like call her or something. But as I glanced around my room, nothing held my interest.

I stalked over to my desk, determined to lose myself in work. Flipping open my laptop, I scrolled through a sea of unread emails. Profit reports, security briefs, acquisition proposals—all of it blurred together, failing to hold my attention for more than a few seconds.

"Focus, dammit," I muttered, forcing myself to open a document detailing the Vadims’ latest casino venture.

But even as I tried to concentrate on the numbers, my traitorous mind conjured images of Pippa bent over her computer.

"Fuck this," I growled, slamming the laptop shut.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I grabbed my phone. My thumb hovered over Pippa's name in my contacts, hesitating for a split second. This was a bad idea. I knew it. But I couldn't stop myself.

"It's just business," I lied to myself, hitting the call button. "Nothing more."

As the phone rang, I paced the room, suddenly unsure what to say. Why the hell was I nervous? I was Abrahim fucking Ustinov. I didn't get nervous over women, especially not feisty little accountants who-

"Abe." Pippa's voice came through, professional but with an undercurrent of surprise. "To what do I owe this… pleasure?"

The fact that she called me by anything other than my full name took me by surprise. Quickly, I stood straighter, composing myself to get out of this conversation with my cool intact.

"So it’s Abe now, is it?" I drawled, aiming for casual indifference. "I trust I'm not interrupting your thrilling night of spreadsheets and actuarial tables?"

"Oh, you know me," Pippa shot back, her tone dry as desert sand. "I live for the excitement of balancing books and crunching numbers. How else would I spend my evenings? Besides, I realized I’m too busy to call you Abrahim when Abe saves me an entire second."

I chuckled, picturing her rolling those bottle-green eyes. "And here I thought you might be out painting the town red. Isn't that what you young people do on weeknights?"

"I'm hardly a spring chicken," she retorted. "Besides, some of us have actual work to do. Unlike certain casino managers who apparently have nothing better to do than harass their employees at odd hours."

Her sass hit me like a shot of top-shelf vodka—sharp, invigorating, and dangerously addictive. I found myself grinning despite my best efforts to maintain a stern facade.

"Harass? I'm wounded, truly," I said, dramatically clutching my chest even though she couldn't see me. "Here I am, calling to discuss important business matters, and you accuse me of harassment. I should fire you on the spot."

"Go ahead," Pippa challenged, a smile evident in her voice. "I'd love to see how you'd manage without me keeping your books in order. The IRS would have a field day. Not to mention, our boss Mr. Vadim might need a sincere explanation.”

I barked out a laugh, caught off guard by her audacity. Most people wouldn't dare speak to me like that, but Pippa… she gave as good as she got. It was infuriating. It was intoxicating.

"You've got quite a mouth on you, Miss Burrows," I said, my voice dropping lower without conscious thought. "I hope you can back it up with results."

There was a pause, charged with something I couldn't quite name. When Pippa spoke again, her voice had a husky quality that sent a jolt straight through me.

"Oh, I can back it up, Mr. Ustinov. Would you like me to show you exactly how capable I am?"

Christ. I tugged at my collar, suddenly feeling overheated. Was she flirting with me? Or was I reading too much into this? I needed to get a grip, to remember who I was and why this was a terrible idea.

So, to reel it back in, I forced myself to steer the conversation to the cover I had planned all along. “Oh, I’d love to see. That’s why I was calling actually. Tomorrow, I need to go over the budget for accommodating high-rollers. How about coffee in the morning? Just you and me? In my office?”

The words slipped out before I could stop them, so unlike my usual calculated demeanor. There was a pause on the other end of the line, and I could almost picture Pippa's green eyes widening in surprise.

"I… that sounds good, Abe," she replied, a smile evident in her voice.

And so, I found myself slipping further into dangerous territory.

We said our goodbyes, and I hung up, staring at the phone in disbelief. What the hell had just happened? Pippa's voice echoed in my mind, her clever retorts replaying on a loop.

"Fuck," I muttered, collapsing into an armchair. I had to admit it, if only to myself—Pippa Burrows had gotten under my skin in a way no woman ever had before. She challenged me, infuriated me, and God help me, I couldn't get enough of it.

I closed my eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. This woman was going to be trouble, no doubt about it. But, I found myself looking forward to the chaos.

As I sat there, my mind wandered, conjuring up a scene of Pippa that was so vivid it took my breath away. It was intrusive as fuck. She was leaning over my desk, her cleavage so enticing. The next thing I knew, I was rising, meeting her gaze. God, I could almost smell her perfume.

"What's the matter, Mr. Ustinov?" Fantasy Pippa teased, her upper teeth grazing over her lower lip. "Cat got your tongue?"

I felt my heart rate quicken, my palms growing damp. Even in my imagination, she had this effect on me. I pictured myself standing, closing the distance between us in two long strides. My hand would cup her face, thumb brushing over her cheek. She'd lean into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed.

"Pippa," I'd murmur, my voice husky with desire. I’d rip off that blouse, bend her over my desk…

The intensity of my attraction hit me like a punch to the gut. I snapped my eyes open, lurching out of the chair with a growl of frustration.

"Get a grip, Abrahim," I snarled at myself. "She's half your age, for fuck's sake. And an employee, no less."

This wasn't me. I didn't do this—I didn't fantasize about women like some lovesick teenager.

And how the hell was I to bring myself to stop?