Page 22 of Owned By the Russian

Val focused on cutting into the pancakes, trying to ignore the weight of his presence in the room. She could feel him moving, the occasional scrape of the coffee table, or the clink of his fork against his plate grating on her nerves.

His casual dominance was maddening, as though he knew exactly how much he was affecting her and relished every second of it.

Her eyes flicked to the TV, trying and failing to follow the plot. She noticed everything: the way his pants clung to his thighs, the lint at the waistline, the way he tilted his head as he watched the show, the thickness of his eyelashes, how they rested on his cheek when he looked down at his plate.

She noticed the few old scars scattered across his back, the six defined abs on his stomach, the deep V on his hips, the old wound on his neck—the same she had noticed that night. A frown touched her brows as she remembered everything that transpired between them after that

She chewed slowly, deliberately avoiding any glance at him before he could catch her. But it didn’t help. The tension in the room was charged, crackling silently between them like static, neither of them addressing it, both pretending it wasn’t there.

It was driving her crazy with every second, and the thought of staying back for a couple more hours seemed impossible.

Her stomach twisted—not from the pancakes, which tasted annoyingly good—but from the emotions she couldn’t unravel. Frustration. Restlessness. Something sharper, too, like resentment.

This wasn’t her. She wasn’t the type to sit around and wait for someone else to dictate what she could or couldn’t do. Especially not someone likehim.

Her thoughts raced back to her father’s estate and an idea formed. Sneaking back was reckless, sure, but she knew that property better than anyone. She’d spent the last twenty-five years of her life there. She’d snuck out to more parties than she could count, even when her father placed an insurmountable security to prevent her from doing so.

The guards, the blind spots, the hidden entrances—it was practically second nature to her. She wasn’t about to let Ilya dictate her safety, not when everything she needed to sort out this mess was out back there.

Like he knew she was cooking up an escape, his teasing voice floated in the space around them. “Something on your mind, Valentina?”

“No,” she said curtly, her fingers tightening around the fork. “Even if there was, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”

“Of course,” he chuckled softly, the sound irritating her as he got to his feet and headed to the kitchen. “I’m going to take a shower, Princess. Care to join me?”

“You wish,” she shot back, her pulse ticking faster as sensual images began to form. “And don’t call me princess.”

His feet bounded up the stairs, his voice following as he disappeared. “Whatever you say, my queen.”

“Jesus,” Val murmured as soon as he was gone, releasing a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She stood up, her guts stirring uncomfortably as she ran her fingers through her hair.

It had only been a few minutes, yet his presence managed to rattle her this much. She couldn’t even bear the thought of staying back.

Fuck him. I’ll do this my way, she thought as she quietly padded the stairs. She wasn’t sure just how far away they were from the Romano estate. She also didn’t have a phone to call an Uber, so the odds were against her.

But, if she was lucky enough to snag his car keys while he was in the shower, she could hightail out of there before he could even realize what was going on.

With that thought in mind, Val gently opened the door to his room, her movements quick and silent as she slipped through the narrow opening. The room was empty, sheets still disheveled from her sleep.

The bathroom door was shut, the sound of rushing water masking her footsteps as she tiptoed to the bedside table where the keys sat, waiting for her.

Easy. Just get out before he’s done.

Her heart raced as she approached the table, her fingers trembling as she snatched the car keys. But as she turned toward the door, the shower abruptly shut off.

Panic surged in Val as she quickened her steps, slipping out of the room immediately. Her bare feet barely made a sound against the floor. She made it to the hallway, almost at the stairs, when a shadow loomed behind her.

“Going somewhere?”

She didn’t think. Her feet carried her quickly as she took off in a sprint, skipping steps like she was in a video game. But Ilya was there, impossibly fast as he outran her, still glistening from his shower and only in his pants.

He came to stand in front of her, blocking her completely.

“Fuck off,” she cursed, pushing at his invading chest. “If you think I’m going back in there, then you’re terribly mistaken. I’m not staying one more minute here. I want to leave.Right now.”

“Fine,” he nodded, his jaw clenching. Then he caught her wrist, spun her effortlessly, and before she could even gasp, his arm wrapped around her waist.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Put me down!” she hissed, thrashing as he hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

---