Page 8 of Plus-Size Bratva Bride

"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 thetingling 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-

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