Chapter 21

Twenty-One

R uby

He calls the house tucked into the mountains, surrounded by snow-covered trees, a cabin. It's like no cabin I've ever envisioned. It's more like a remote mountain oasis. A retreat. A luxury condo for only the most wealthy of people.

He tells me the property is family owned, and that there are two more cabins not far from this one. Which is where the guards will stay for the duration of our vacation.

As for me, I feel both numb and overstimulated at the very same time. There's no doubt, I'm in shock. In just a few months, I went from being a young woman with her whole life ahead of her—although suffering with the grief and loss of my mother—to a captive in a cellar, visited daily by a cruel man. Now, I'm the wife to that cruel man. And I'm finding, uncomfortably, that maybe he's not quite as cruel as I thought.

"Would you like a tour?" His deep voice cuts into my thoughts. I tear my gaze from the rustic living room of stone and timber, with its high, peaked ceiling, and comfortable looking furniture, to the man who is dressed in dark jeans and a deep, dark burgundy sweater that clings to his bulging muscles.

He's so handsome. Apart from when he sleeps, mostly naked, it's the first time I've seen him in anything but a suit. I like it very much.

He feels less ominous dressed down like a normal person.

"Please." Why does my voice sound raspy and breathy?

Taking my hand, Kirill leads me from the living room into the attached kitchen. The wooden ceiling is lower here, carrying the upper floor where he tells me there are two bedrooms. Black iron lights dangle over a modestly sized, granite-topped island counter with seating. Much of the cabinetry has been replaced with exposed shelves that, if I weren't here with my kidnapper/husband, I have no doubt I'd be gushing over just how charming they are.

He leads me by the hand up a wide wooden staircase with chunky wood posts and black iron rails that tie gracefully into the kitchen's rustic design. On the floor above, there is another living space, although it's far smaller than the living room below.

Kirill gestures to a room directly off the living space. "The master suite is through there. I've had my service prepare the cabin, so the sheets are clean, and the kitchen is stocked."

I offer him a small nod, but ask, "What's down the hall?"

"The second bedroom, a bathroom, and a gym."

I feel my brows climb. "A gym?"

He nods. "I come here when I'm stressed. When I need to unwind. Physical activity helps me do that."

"Oh." Is he stressed now?

Has he brought other women here to unwind with ? I hate that the question pops into my mind at all. More, I hate that it's burning on the tip of my tongue.

He's watching me far too close for comfort, so to escape his gaze, I step away from him in the direction of the master bedroom. When I step into the room, I can't help the sigh that escapes me. It's beautiful in a deeply dark, richly rustic way. Everything is crafted in different tones of wood, complementing the scene wonderfully.

I finger the black and red plaid comforter. "This is quite the unexpected touch."

My husband smirks where he leans against the door, watching me. "Are you teasing me, wife?"

"No." I overdramatize the words. "I wouldn't dare."

Kirill grunts. I hide my responding smile.

Lifting my finger from the bedspread, I swing it to the large television that has been mounted to the wall over a fireplace mantel. "That's unlike you."

"What?"

"The television in the bedroom."

"I asked the service to put it in."

He's watching me close enough to see my surprise. "You did?"

"I thought we might like to have a lazy night in bed, watching movies."

"You want to watch movies in bed with me?" Who is this man, and what has he done with my husband? I've yet to see him watch anything on screen.

He cocks his head. "Why does that surprise you?"

Dumbstruck, I shake mine. "No reason."

Feeling suddenly like there isn't enough air in this massive room, I move to the drapes that hang closed over the far wall. When I throw them open, I see that they're not covering windows, as I'd assumed. Instead, they cover double glass doors that lead onto a magnificent balcony. Beyond the glass, the view is breathtaking. Mountains and trees for as far as the eye can see, all capped in crisp, glittering white.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" His deep voice is close now. So close, if I turned, I think I might bump into his broad chest.

"So beautiful," I can't help but admit.

"I used to think it was the most beautiful sight I'd ever seen."

I can't help myself. Frowning, I angle my head to gaze over my shoulder at him. "Used to?"

His eyes, already fixed on me, drift leisurely over my face. They linger at my lips until heat begins to bubble in my core. "I've never seen a sight quite as beautiful as you, wife."

I'm starting to think my husband has a split personality. After I fled from the sweet intimacy of his dangerous words upstairs, Kirill had poured me a glass of red wine before telling me he would bring our luggage in from the car. It was as I was swallowing the tail end of a far too healthy sip, that Simba rose from his doggy bed by the unlit fireplace, to slowly meander his way over to where I sat on an island stool.

Giving him a doggy ear scratch, I give him the sweet talk I know he loves, "Your daddy is trouble. Big trouble." Simba blinks lovingly. "He's a menace to society, and he's a menace to me." I take another big swig and say less firmly, "If he keeps up like this, he'll be a menace to my heart. My poor, broken heart."

Simba gives my thigh a gentle headbutt. As though he knows I'm sad, and he doesn't like it. As has become my way, I bend low to press a kiss to the top of his head just as the door opens. Kirill appears with our luggage in tow. He gives the door a swift kick, closing it against the cold before he slides out of his shoes.

"Tell me, wife, have I explained that I'm a jealous man?"

"Um…" What's he on about now?

"You don't kiss other men."

I blink at Simba, and then the man. "He's a dog."

"And yet I've never been more jealous of another male in my life." He has to be teasing me.

I really shouldn't, but I blush. Hard. "You're being silly."

"I'm setting boundaries."

I frown, eyeing him curiously. "I can't tell if you're being serious."

"Test me and find out just how serious I am, Ruby," he threatens as he carries our luggage up the stairs to our room.

I'm well and truly on my way to smashed when Kirill sets down his glass of wine and moves to the fridge. He pulls out two steaks that someone has fixed with marinade before staring into the refrigerator, lost.

Look at me. I'm married to a mafia man, drunk as a fish. What would God say if He could see me now? Surely, not a thing. If He cared, I wouldn't be here at all.

I study my husband, hiding my grin behind my glass as he reaches for a head of lettuce. "How do you feel about Caesar salad?"

"I think if you want Caesar salad, you should use romaine lettuce."

He gives the head a toss, a proud grin on his handsome face. "Got it. What else."

I snort. It just slips out. "That's iceberg."

His brows snap together. "What is iceberg?"

I point to the head of lettuce sitting in his hand. "The lettuce."

He blinks. How is it a man can go from being the most terrifying man I've ever encountered to—to this endearing man who doesn't know the difference between iceberg and romaine lettuce? It's—well, it's adorable.

I slide off my stool, only stumbling a little. "You don't cook much, do you?"

"Only here. Only for myself." He looks almost bashful. I want to poke at him just a little, if only to prolong this sweet side I've yet to meet.

"I love cooking." Sliding by him, I reach into the crisper for the romaine lettuce. "If we want Caesar, we should use this."

He gives the ball another toss, catching it with his mitt of a hand. Really, the man is huge. "And what are we going to use this for?"

I peer into the fridge, finding it very well stocked. "Do you like pulled pork?"

His voice drops a few notes. "Yes."

"We'll do lettuce wraps."

His bashfulness flips on a dime to distrust. It's so raw, so unexpected, I laugh.

His lips stretch in response, and he watches me like—he watches me the way I imagine some of the men in my books watch their women. Like they are truly, and completely, in love.

It sobers me, and I murmur decidedly, "How about I take over the kitchen while we're here? We wouldn't want anyone going to the hospital for food poisoning, now, would we?"