Page 20 of Owned By the Russian

Valentina’s breath hitched, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she lifted her chin, glaring up at him. “I’d rather sleep on the floor than do you any favors, Ilya. You’re not worth the effort.” By now, they were both breathing hard, their chests heaving against each other.

But at the last minute, Valentina stepped back, a muscle in her jaw ticking. “And if you think you can intimidate me, you’re sorely mistaken.”

His eyes searched her face, staring past the fire in her eyes and deep into her soul. He wanted to challenge her claim, to ruffle her feathers yet again. But he could tell the incident from earlier shook her. It would explain why she was being more irritable than usual.

So, he gave up, a mocking chuckle escaping him as he stepped back. “Fine,” he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Enjoy the bed. Consider it a favor. But you might need to know that I don’t do those for free.”

He turned away from her, strolling toward the couch, before flopping down with a heavy thud, his arms crossed behind his head with the ultimate show of arrogance.

“I’ll take the couch. It’s not like I need the comfort.”

He watched her lips curl into a triumphant smirk as she walked toward the bed, kicking off her heels before taking her place without a word.

But Ilya wasn’t really as unaffected as he made it seem. His thoughts kept drifting to her—the way her lips curled into that smirk, the fire in her eyes every time she spoke back at him. It was the same fire she possessed when she tossed her drink in his face earlier, the same one when she pointed a gun at his head to get him to turn his car around.

His mind flashed back to the feeling of her nipples pressed to his chest and his fingers clenched against the cushions, his jaw tight as he resisted the urge to glance at her. There were clothing barriers between them, and yet, it felt that good to have her against him.

The heat of their argument made his cock twitch—the way she knew just how to push his buttons, how to keep him on edge. He fucking loved it.

He stared at the ceiling, the low hum of the apartment around him doing little to drown out the thoughts of her. He thought back to the ambush—hoping the sight of it hadn’t messed too much with her mentally. He was used to things like that. Killing men was almost as normal as breathing to him.

But he was sure it was a different story for her. He couldn’t deny the fact that she was skilled enough at defending herself. He saw the way she wielded her knife and the impressive accuracy of her throw.

Still, her experience with incidences like this was nothing compared to his.Ifshe had ever experienced one at all. She grew up in love, with siblings that were ready to lay down their lives for her before she could lift a finger.

No matter how strong she looked, she was still pampered at home. A baby in his ruthless world.

Ilya turned his head slightly, glancing toward the bed. She was still there, her back turned to him, still fully clothed, covered with a blanket with her form curled in the middle of the bed.

Her posture was too stiff for him to believe she was asleep. Even with the distance between them, the tension was undeniable.

He couldn’t sleep—hoping she wouldn’t have a nightmare because of what had happened. But even if she did, he’d be right there, waiting and ready to tuck her back to sleep.

Chapter 7 - Valentina

Sunlight filtered through the curtains, painting the room in streaks of gold and gray. Valentina stirred, her body reluctant to move, cocooned in the unexpectedly soft embrace of the bed.

For a moment, she forgot where she was, her mind hazy from the best sleep she’d had in ages—sweet, deep, and uninterrupted. The sheets were warm, crisp, and unbelievably soft against her skin—even more comfortable than her pink sheets back at home. Something she never thought possible.

Then it hit her. She was inhisroom. Onhisbed.

Her eyes snapped open, scanning the unfamiliar space for any signs of him. The nerves in her ears were on high alert, waiting to pick up any signs of him having a shower.

But she was alone. The room was tidy—infuriatingly so—with no sign of chaos. Everything seemed prim and proper, set in place, not a single thing out of order.

Her jaw tightened as she sat up, the faintest hint of his cologne rising from the sheets and the blanket wrapped around her body. She leaned in, pressing her nose to the fabric, and breathed in his scent—a clean, woody smell, with just enough spice to linger.

She pulled away, frowning and looking around for invisible cameras, resisting the urge to sniff harder—refusing to acknowledge how annoyingly good his scent was.

Her fingers clutched the edge of the comforter as she swung her legs off the bed, resolutely ignoring the small sigh of contentment her body threatened to betray. She told herself that there were more important things to think about than to acknowledge how the faint scent seemed to wrap around her like an unwelcome embrace.

Her bare feet met the cool floor as she stood, brushing off the sensation of comfort that lingered from the night. This wasn’t about him. She was tired. That’s all. Besides, she had every reason to. After what went down last night, the least she could do was get a good night’s rest.

Val quietly opened the door and exited the room, her mind running with different thoughts of where Ilya may have possibly gone. It wasn’t like she cared or anything. She just didn’t think it was polite of him to bring her here against her will, only to abandon her the next day.

But those thoughts vanished when her nose picked up an aroma before she even reached the kitchen—warm, buttery, and rich with the faint sweetness of maple syrup. Her stomach tightened, a low ache reminding her she hadn’t had food for the last eight hours.

Valentina steeled herself, brushing off the tempting scent as she rounded the corner of the stairs.

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