Page 23 of Innocently Imprisoned By the Bratva

"Is this some kind of joke?" she asks, still not completely convinced of my sincerity. "Or are you just trying to manipulate me again?"

"No, it's not a joke, Pippa," I insist, my voice firm but gentle. "I know I've been… well, a bit of an asshole. But I'm trying to change."

She studies me for a moment longer, still unsure but willing to hear me out. "Alright," she says slowly. "I'm listening."

"Like I said, I shouldn't have interfered in your money situation," I continue, feeling a bit more at ease now that she's giving me a chance. "It wasn't my place, and I didn't handle it well. You're right; I can be entitled and irresponsible. But I want to prove to you that I can do better. After hearing what you had to say, I think it’s right that you live life on your own accord, without taking… handouts." It stings as I say the last word, remembering the things she said to me.

Pippa's gaze softens slightly as she listens, her arms dropping to her sides as the tension between us begins to dissipate. She purses her lips, clearly mulling over my words and deciding how to respond.

"Okay…" she finally says, her tone cautious but not entirely dismissive.

"So I was thinking," I propose, my mind racing with ideas. "You've been cleaning houses to earn money, right? Well, why not clean mine instead?"

Pippa raises an eyebrow, her skepticism evident in the tilt of her head. “Your house?”

“Yup. Just mine. And later, if you feel you have more time on your hands with this place and your schoolwork, I could introduce you to some of my colleagues.”

Okay, that will never happen. For some reason, the thought of this woman I am enchanted with cleaning homes for other men just doesn’t sit well. But for now, to appease her, I say what I must.

“But cleaning your house won’t cut it for me.” She bites her lower lip. “My expenses, they—”

“I pay my cleaners $30/hour. I’ll reassign the current ones to my other properties. This whole place will be yours to clean. We have over 27 rooms, Pippa. I guarantee you’ll have more than enough work.”

"Is this another way for you to control me?" she asks, her eyes narrowing as she searches my face for any hint of deceit. "Because if it is, I'm not interested."

"Control you?" I feign offense, placing a hand on my heart dramatically. "Pippa, I'm honestly just trying to make amends here. Plus, it's a win-win situation—you get paid well, and I get a clean house without the worry of you trying to run away or being kidnapped by a rival. There's no hidden agenda, I promise."

She seems to consider my offer for a moment, her gaze flicking back and forth between my eyes as if trying to read my intentions. The air crackles with tension as we stand there, both waiting for her decision.

"Listen, Pippa," I say, trying to ease the tension with a lighthearted tone. "I know you think otherwise, but believe it or not, I do understand the value of hard work. And I want you to feel empowered and in control of your own life."

"Empowered, huh?" she raises an eyebrow, her chocolate brown eyes challenging me. "Coming from the guy who practically kidnapped me and made me his payment?"

"Ouch," I wince, rubbing my chest as if her words physically hurt me. "You really know how to hit where it hurts, don't you? But yes, I've made mistakes, and I'm trying to make things right. So, what do you say?”

She hesitates for a moment, still eyeing me skeptically, before extending her hand. "Fine, but remember—one wrong move, and I'll show you hell."

She says it so seriously, with a straight face and I need to muster all my restraint to not laugh at how adorable she looks. The idea of her making my life hell… Impossible.

"Understood," I reply with feigned seriousness, taking her hand in mine. The moment our palms touch, a jolt of electricity shoots up my arm, making my heart race like a wild stallion. Our eyes lock, and I see the same surprise mirrored in her gaze.

"Deal," she says softly, her voice barely audible above the pounding of my heart.

"Deal," I echo, unable to tear my eyes away from hers. We stand there for a few seconds, our hands clasped together, the air thick with anticipation and something else… something I can't quite put my finger on. But whatever it is, I can't deny that it's exhilarating.

At this very moment, it's as if time has slowed to a crawl. Her eyes, those warm chocolate pools, seem to draw me in, daring me to make a move. I can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, she feels the same magnetic pull that has ensnared me.

After all, she’s the first woman who has ever managed to get an apology out of me. There must be something here, beyond the basic fact that I find her fucking beautiful, to have made her hold a power over me enough to convince me to do the right thing. For once.

"Lev," she breathes out, her voice wavering ever so slightly. It's all the encouragement I need. In one swift motion, I pull away my hand and place it on her waist, pulling her close to me. Her lips part and I place my fingers on her chin, pulling her toward me.

“Pippa,” I moan, crashing my lips against her, my fingers digging into her soft waist. In this very instant, the world around me fades away, and I’m lost in her; the taste of her lips, the feel of her curves, the way her hair gently grazes my cheek. My entire body alights in a heated fire, and I feel the blood gushing to my cock, wanting her, needing her… it's overwhelming in the most delicious way possible.

I reach over and slide my hand under the hem of her shirt, just grazing her back a little, and then, to my surprise, she pulls back. For a second, I want to lean in again, but she gives me a small, wry smile. “It’s getting late,” she whispers.

That’s my cue to go. Disappointment seeps through my heart, but I nod and give her a small kiss on the cheek. “Good night, Pippa.”

“Good night, Lev.” She shows me to the door.

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