Page 33 of Owned By the Russian

It was as though she’d been starving for his attention, for his touch?and the bastard had known it. He’d been satisfied, triumphant, soaking in her every reaction like a victory he’d earned.

The thought made her cheeks burn hotter, fury and embarrassment twisting her insides as she reached the cabin and slammed the door shut behind her. She headed straight for the bedroom, intent on putting as much distance as possible between herself and the Nikolai devil.

Her steps faltered the moment she saw the bed. Supplies were neatly laid out, a variety of items she hadn’t expected to see, and the sight momentarily disarmed her. She rummaged through the pile, taking stock of everything.

Her breath hitched when her hands brushed over something soft?black lace. She yanked it out, staring in disbelief at the lingerie set he’d clearly picked out for her.

“This asshole,” she muttered to herself, her cheeks in flames, as her embarrassment reached a new high. She didn’t know whether to be creeped out or turned on by the fact that everything he got was her accurate size. She tossed the lingerie back onto the bed as if it burned her.

Muttering under her breath, she turned on her heel and stormed toward the kitchen, determined to focus on anything but him. After putting together a quick sandwich, she found herself drawn to the kitchen window, her eyes betraying her resolve as they sought him out.

And there he was, outside behind the lodge, chopping wood with a practiced ease. His white wife beater clung to his body, damp with sweat, revealing the cut of his muscles with every swing of the axe. His black shorts hung low on his lips, and his skin glistened under the fading sunlight.

Val hated how her gaze lingered, how her traitorous mind traced every line of him. She told herself it was curiosity, irritation, anything but the magnetic pull she felt when it came to him.

Tearing her eyes away, she clenched her fists and leaned against the counter, determined to shake him from her thoughts.

“He’s just a man, Valentina,” she muttered to herself, biting into her sandwich with annoyance. “There’s nothing special about him.”

But no matter how hard she tried, the image of him?smirking, shirtless, utterly insufferable?was burned into her mind.

Chapter 12 - Ilya

Ilya could sense Valentina’s restlessness. He felt it in the way she moved around the cabin, her footsteps light but aimless, as if she didn’t quite know what to do with herself.

He caught it in the way her fingers drummed against the edge of the counter or fiddled with the hem of her shirt while her unfocused gaze stayed on the small TV. It was in the way her gaze lingered too long on the windows, her thoughts clearly somewhere else?somewhere far from him and this secluded mountain lodge.

For reasons he didn’t entirely understand, her unease bothered him. She was a caged bird, and though he knew he’d put her there for her own safety, it didn’t make the sight of her any easier to stomach.

He knew she needed some company?and his was the worst thing he could offer. He knew she desired to speak with her family and friends, but he also knew she had too much pride to ask him for his phone. He knew she’d rather drown in misery than ask him for his help. And he hated it more than anything.

After watching her pace the length of the cabin for what felt like the tenth time that evening, he sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. “Here,” he said, stepping into her line of sight and holding it out to her.

Valentina blinked, clearly startled. “What?”

“Call your family,” he said, his voice devoid of its usual edge. “Your friends. Whoever. I don’t care. Just take the goddamn phone and sit still.”

Her eyes darted to the phone, then back to him. He could see the relief in her eyes, like dark clouds drawing away, but there was still suspicion etched across her face. “Why are you being nice?”

He shrugged, unwilling to unpack his own reasoning. “Do you want it or not?”

Her hand shot out before he could retract the offer, tiny sparks of electricity buzzing beneath his skin from where their fingers brushed. She clutched the phone tightly, as if afraid he might change his mind. “Leave.”

He arched a brow. “What?”

“I need some privacy,” she said, already turning away from him. She turned back and frowned at him, shunning him with her hands. “Go.”

A humorless scoff left him as he raised his hands in mock surrender. He backed away, retreating to the other side of the cabin, and gave her what she wanted. He busied himself with some meaningless tasks, tuning out the faint murmurs of her voice as she spoke to her family.

He could hear the tension slowly leave her tone, replaced by relief and a hint of warmth.

When she called Rhiannon and Irina, however, curiosity got the better of him. He wandered back into the living room, leaning casually against the doorway as she laughed at something one of them had said.

The sound caught him off guard?bright and unrestrained, so different from the sharp, biting words she usually aimed at him.

She was seated on the couch, her knees tucked under her, the phone pressed to her ear as a genuine smile lit up her face. It was a sight that knocked the breath from his lungs before he could steel himself against it.

The sound of her laughter was a melody, sweet and unrestrained, ringing pleasantly in his ears and settling somewhere deep in his chest. He found himself wanting to hear more of it, to bask in the warmth it created in the otherwise tense atmosphere of the cabin.

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