Page 21 of Owned By the Russian

Then she saw him. Standing at the stove, shirtless, with a pair of low-slung sweatpants riding dangerously low on his hips. His back was to her, pale skin, broad and annoyingly sculpted, muscles flexing effortlessly as he flipped something in the pan, like a domestic god.

His dark hair was slightly tousled, and there was a faint sheen of steam in the air, the smell of coffee swirling all around her.

“Morning, Sunshine,” he said without turning around before she could blink. His voice was deeper than usual, warm like honey but laced with an unmistakable smugness. “Sleep well? You looked cozy in my bed.”

Valentina scowled, hating how her mouth went dry at the sight of him, how her eyes shamelessly ogled him from behind. Then he turned around, leaning against the counter with his usual infuriating ease, a plate of pancakes in one hand.

Valentina wasnotprepared for what she saw.

His chest was broad and well-defined, each muscle subtly outlined beneath smooth skin that caught in the morning light just right. His shoulders were strong, tapering to a lean torso with a faint dark trail disappearing beneath the low waistband of his sweatpants.

Every inch of him was fit, a body honed with just enough imperfection to feel real. Ilya Nikolai was temptation personified, with a casual confidence that made looking away nearly impossible. And Valentina hated him all the more for it.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, ripping her eyes away from his body even though her treacherous brain was against it. “I’m ready to go.”

Ilya placed the plate on the table and squirted maple syrup on it. “Go where?”

“Don’t play dumb. I’m ready to go home.”

“It’s not safe yet,” he replied, casual as ever, as he snapped the cap of the bottle shut. He grabbed a spatula and began arranging bacon beside the pancakes, the rich aroma wafting closer, making Val’s stomach twist again.

“I don’t care. I’ll take my chances.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yes, I will.”

“You’re marked, Valentina. You’re not safe. You’ll be followed wherever you go.”

“I’ll sneak in,” she argued. “It’s my home we’re talking about. I know every corner, every blind spot. No one will see me.”

Ilya laughed, low and infuriating, as he slid the pan off the heat. “Sneak in? What is this, some kind of spy movie? You think they won’t have eyes on you the second you step outside? Be serious.”

Val clenched her fists, her frustration bubbling close to the surface. “You think this is a joke, don’t you?”

“I do,” he replied, amusement in his tone. “A very funny one, in fact.”

“You don’t get to decide what I do. I’m not staying here.”

He turned back to face her, his expression losing its smug edge, replaced by something heavier. “You’re not leaving, Valentina. Not until I know you’re safe. Sneaking in is not only a dumb idea but a dangerous one. I’m not going to let you do that.”

His words hung in the air, thick with tension. Her pulse quickened at the way he said her name, so firm, so deliberate. She hated how it made her stomach flip, and not just from hunger.

“Don’t act like you care,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “This isn’t about me.”

“You’re right,” he said, his tone softening just enough to unnerve her. “It’s not just about you. But if you step out that door right now, you’re putting more people in danger than just yourself. You’re not a prisoner, Val. Come here, sit down and eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” she said through gritted teeth, but a loud growl erupted in her stomach, cutting through the tension like a slap. Her cheeks burned instantly, especially when his eyes darted from her face to her stomach.

“Sure,” he chuckled, cleaning his hands with a napkin. “Suit yourself, but you’re missing out. I make orgasmic pancakes.”

Val looked away, her cheeks hot as he left her alone in the kitchen and headed for the living room. Instead of feeling disgusted by his crude comment, she was undeniably turned on, heat scalding her inner thighs like lava.

She ran her hands down her face, letting out a sigh as she surrendered to her stomach’s need for food. She would eat and give it a few more hours. Surely, by that time, the coast would be a little clear for her to go home. The sooner she was out of there, the better—for her sanity, if nothing else.

Grabbing the plate and the freshly made cup of coffee he’d set out for her, Val turned on her heel and headed for the living room. She made a beeline for the couch farthest from him, sinking into it with a determined huff.

The large LED TV was already on, displaying the familiar opening scene of her favorite show. Normally, she’d be thrilled, but today, the screen blurred into meaningless colors and noise.

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