Page 26 of Owned By the Russian

Ilya straightened, his expression unreadable as he glanced at her. “It’s a mountain lodge, Valentina. What were you expecting? A five-lane highway leading straight to the front door?”

Her scowl deepened. “I was expecting… I don’t know,normal. It's not a death trap that’s impossible to leave. If I’m going to be imprisoned, it might as well be in a nice place.”

“You’re not a prisoner,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “You’re just staying here for now until I’m sure it’s safe.”

“Oh, wonderful,” she shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “So, I’m stuck here untilyou, my lord and savior, decide it’s best for me to leave. Perfect.”

The earlier argument, the harrowing drive, the realization that she really was stuck here?everything felt like it was piling on, becoming too much for her to bear, and she had nowhere to vent but at him.

Her eyes flicked back to the portraits on the walls, now noticing the smiling faces, the way they all seemed to belong here. A family lodge. It was so painfully obvious now, even though she couldn’t fathom the thought of him and his siblings sharing such a tiny space.

She narrowed her eyes, feeling the tension rise in her chest. “So, now that I’m stuck with you till God knows when, what exactly am I supposed to wear? Is there some sort of mountain uniform? Or do you just let your guests freeze to death?”

Ilya gave her an almost bored look as he shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll sort it out.”

She scoffed. “Oh? And how exactly are you planning to do that? Are you going to pick out my clothes for me? You don’t even know my size?do you know my bra size? My panties size?” She gave him a sly smile, trying to rile him up.

Ilya’s lip quirked in a barely restrained smirk as he leaned back casually, his gaze steady and unashamed as it swept over her from head to toe. Val’s discomfort only grew. She was still in the same black lace dress from the night before, now slightly tattered, and her heels were long forgotten back at his place.

She hadn’t had a chance to shower yet, feeling grime clinging to her skin, her hair likely a tangled mess, but Ilya still looked at her like she was a masterpiece on display?and it made her insides twist in a way she wasn’t ready to admit.

“I don’t need to know the details, Valentina,” he said, his voice calm and casual, almost teasing if she heard him right. “I’ve got your body etched into my memory, even if I haven’t seen you naked yet.”

His words landed like jolts of electricity in her skin, and her breath hitched. The heat of his words struck her in a way she hadn’t anticipated, and the unexpected compliment?or challenge?flustered her, reminding her of the night before, how close they were for her to feel the heat of his breath in her face.

She blinked, realizing he was still shirtless from earlier, his toned chest on display. It was hard to ignore, especially now with the way he was looking at her. The shift in the atmosphere made her pulse quicken, but she tried to mask it with irritation.

“I… I didn’t ask you for your opinion on my body,” she managed to say, her voice suddenly tight, though the anger she tried to feign wasn’t as strong as before.

Ilya raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening as he watched her with an almost calculating gaze. “No, but I’m sure you’re used to being looked at. Do you enjoy it, Valentina? The feeling of men watching you, lusting after you from the sidelines? Do you put on tight little dresses like this on purpose? To give them a tease? A taste of what they can never have?”

Valentina’s eyes narrowed, irritation flickering in her gaze. “What’s it to you, Ilya? Does it bother you that I’m not out here wearing rags, waiting for you to decide what’s appropriate and what’s not?”

His smirk didn’t waver, his voice still smooth as silk. “It doesn’t bother me, Valentina. Just don’t pretend like you don’t enjoy the attention.”

Val scoffed, her temper flaring. “You’re just mad because you don’t get to play the game, huh? News flash: Not everyone’s desperate for your approval.”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t put up a challenge for her to strike down. “If you say so.”

She stood in the small living area, feeling the uncomfortable weight of her frustration. She didn’t want to ask him for directions, not after everything that had already happened. So, she stubbornly made her way toward the hallway, glancing around, hoping to figure it out on her own. But, of course, she had no idea where the stupid bathroom was.

Ilya, who had been watching her with mild amusement, finally spoke up, his voice as calm as ever. “If you’re looking for the bathroom, it’s down the hall to the left. First door on your right.”

Valentina’s jaw tightened. She turned to him, her eyes flashing. “I didn’t ask you before entering, did I?” she snapped, irritation lacing her tone.

Without waiting for his response, she stormed past him, slamming the bathroom door shut behind her with a force that made the walls rattle. She gripped the edge of the sink, her tired reflection staring back at her.

She was seething, trying to hold back the scream that had been building ever since she’d stepped foot in the cabin. It was the only thing keeping her from completely losing it.

The cold water of the shower was a shock to her system, but she didn’t care. She let it pour over her, the rust-colored bathtub creaking beneath her weight as she stood there, trying to shake off the tension in her muscles.

The water didn’t help soothe her?it only highlighted the fact that everything about this place felt wrong. The rusty fixtures, the faint smell of mildew clinging to the air, and yet, the small comforts that still lingered in the bathroom?like the new citrusy bar of soap by the sink?felt strangely reassuring in their simplicity.

She spent far longer than she intended in the shower, letting the water hit her skin as if it might wash away the anger and humiliation, but it was of no use. The thoughts wouldn’t stop. When she finally stepped out, her body was cold, and her skin was pink from the chill. She grabbed the soft white towel, wrapping it around herself in a hurry.

As she stood in front of the mirror, drying off, her dress slipped from the precarious position she had draped it over the edge of the tub and fell straight into the water.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath, scrambling to grab it, but it was already too late. The fabric was completely soaked, and when she tried to wring it out, it only clung to her hands, heavy and useless. There was no way she could put this on right after having a shower.

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