The Siren's Dance (27 page)

“But I am.” He gritted his teeth and put his hands on her shoulders, keeping a fragile hold on his determination with an arm’s length between them.

“That’s because you aren’t just a demon. Your appetites would never control you.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“But you don’t have to be sure, because you couldn’t hurt me anyway. Like you always said, I’m strong.”

“You are, but…”

She was unbuckling his belt. “No buts. And you’re strong too. I think you could give in to all those demonic desires and still make love to me, none of that primal, debased fucking you warned me off.” She reached into his boxers and took hold of his cock. “And I think I would like it.”

He hissed. “That would be wrong and selfish and--”

“Stas was wrong and selfish, but he made me crave giving myself to someone completely. Now I want to give myself to you, because I know you love me unselfishly, and that whatever I give you, you’ll always give back to me.”

She dropped down to her knees and licked up the length of his erection. “Like this. I can give this to you, and you can give it back to me.” She sucked him into her mouth, licking and drawing on him, inexpert but exquisite nonetheless.

His balls tightened, and he wanted to lace his hands into her hair and drive deep into her throat. He fisted his hands instead.

She pulled back and licked her lips, gazing up at him with determination. “Show me what you want.”

“You’re sure?”

“Not just sure. I’m going crazy with wanting you, with knowing I can have this thing I craved without destroying myself. Won’t you give it to me?”

Could it really be this simple? Could he give in to this hunger and keep her, protect her the way he craved?

She took him in her fist, moved up and down his length and teased his tip with her tongue.

“Push me away,” he said.

“What?”

“Show me you’re strong enough to push me away if I get out of control.”

She turned up her palm and blew her
vila’s
breath over it, a bit of flourish he knew perfectly well was unnecessary, even if it was really cute. The gentle blast hit him and caused him to stumble backward.

“Harder.”

The second time, she only narrowed her eyes at him and the gust knocked him onto his ass. She was so strong, fierce, and gorgeous, her dark hair loose on her alabaster shoulders.

“Good girl,” he said, and then he pounced on her, pinning her arms over her head, yanking her nightie up over her waist. He dove his fingers into her sex and, God, she was wet, as turned on by her little game as he’d been.

Only, when his gaze fixed on that scar, the dark hunger promised it wasn’t a game.

Anya was offering him her very soul and life, trusting they could find their deepest pleasure together.

Writhing against his fingers, she turned her head to stare at the same scar. “When Stas kissed me there, it turned me on, and I hated it, I was so ashamed. But what you make me feel--it doesn’t shame me.”

He grazed his thumb over her clit, feeling her begin to flutter inside.

“Come inside me. Make love to me and kiss me here. Take what you want.”

“I don’t even know how.” But he had all those pictures Demyan had put into his mind and plenty of raw instinct to guide him.

“I trust you’ll figure it out.”

With his jeans still around his thighs, he thrust into her.

She gasped, squeezing him.

He lowered his mouth to her arm and traced the scar with his tongue.

“Oh!” She clenched around his cock.

He locked his mouth onto her soft flesh and drew gently. A rush of heat poured into him, and she clenched again.

“Harder, Sergey.”

He wasn’t sure what she wanted harder, so he gave her both, filling her body, drawing more firmly on her arm. He burned with a blistering heat that blurred the boundary between them. She spurred him on with her heels, her murmurs, her cries.

He pounded into her with more force than he ever would have dared if he were thinking straight, hard like he’d imagined a faceless Demyan using her against a wall. But he was the one riding her, and her every sound and movement assured him she liked it.

“I’m drowning in you, and it feels so good,” she said.

And then she turned into a liquid vise around him, hot and soft and squeezing so tight. He came, pouring himself back into her, wanting to give her everything he’d taken from her and more.

Sergey leaned against the brick wall of the building and took a swig from his bottle of wheatgrass juice as he waited for his brother-in-law to arrive.

Across the street, the young dancer’s class was winding down inside
Oksana’s Académie de Ballet
.

Holding on to the bar, one arm overhead, Anya bent both knees and lowered herself into a
plié
. The little girls copied the movements. Sergey couldn’t take his eyes off her belly, growing so round over her tutu. She was impossibly graceful, even pregnant. The sight filled him with joy, although they weren’t quite sure what to expect from a half-
vila
, quarter-
zmora
baby.

Dmitri strolled up, his suit uncharacteristically rumpled. He brought a cigarette to his lips.

“Thought you gave those up,” Sergey said, still watching his wife.

“Did. Started again. I’ve got a little problem weighing on me and found myself buying a pack without thinking.”

Sergey understood that compulsion very well. The only appetite he gave in to was the one for Anya, and it was never fully satisfied.

“What’s the problem?”

“Remember a while back, when I accidentally shot that woman?”

Sergey’s memories of that day were sharp. Dmitri shaking, vomiting, despairing. The girl had jumped in front of her scumbag boyfriend and taken a bullet for him. Her death had sent Lisko in to an epic bender that had nearly killed him, until Sonya had appeared.

“I remember.”

“Katya was her name. I guess it serves me right she’s come back as some sort of ghost, and she’s haunting the apartment building where she died, telling everybody Dmitri Lisko shot her.”

Once upon a time, Sergey would have laughed off such an absurd story. Not anymore.

“That can’t be good for business.” Since Gregor died, Dmitri had been working tirelessly to turn Lisko Enterprises into a legitimate company--no more shady deals, bribery, or violence.

Dmitri ground the butt of his cigarette into the sidewalk and lit up another. He stared into the window of the ballet studio. “I don’t know what the hell to do. If it weren’t for Sonya, I’d take a plea, serve some time.”

“But she doesn’t want you to?” Sergey asked.

As he exhaled, Dmitri lifted the corners of his mouth in the hint of a smile. “Nope. She wants to try to help the ghost instead. That’s why I need you.”

“Ah.” Sergey took another sip of his juice. He didn’t mind the idea of helping out a ghost. It went well with his determination to believe justice would prevail, as it had for Sonya and Anya.

At the door to the studio, parents retrieved the little girls from dance class. When the last had filed out, Anya waddled across Pidzemnyy Street--not quite as graceful as when she danced, but damn cute anyway. When she arrived at the curb, she blew a lock of hair off her forehead.

“Gained some weight, harpy?” Dmitri asked.

“Don’t be jealous Sergey has proven himself more virile than you, Dima. I’m sure it’s the wheatgrass. And put out that cigarette. It’s bad for the baby.”

To Sergey’s shock, the ex-boxer obeyed, snuffing it with the toe of his boot.

Sergey grinned. The pair had developed quite a rapport, and he enjoyed their entertaining banter; genuine affection lay beneath it. He was almost as sure that Sonya wanted to finish fashion school before becoming a mother, but he didn’t pry into his sister-in-law’s birth-control habits.

He drained the last dregs of his juice and held the bottle up for Dmitri. “It is very healthy. I recommend it.”

Dmitri showed him his middle finger.

Sergey tucked Anya to his side and kissed the top of her head, his hand automatically curving around her growing belly. Maybe it was the demon in him, but he’d grown insanely protective of her. “Dmitri is asking me to help out another ghost.”

She glanced at her brother-in-law and back to Sergey. “Will it be dangerous?”

“Asks the cyclone starter,” Dmitri scoffed, shaking his head. “No. As far as I know, she’s a simple poltergeist without any evil demons lurking in her past.”

His phone rang and he glanced at the screen. “It’s Sonya. Gimme a second.” He strolled down the block.

Anya tried to free herself, and Sergey resisted for a moment before loosening his hold. She stood face-to-face with him. “You want to help him?”

“Yeah. I think I do.”

She smiled and rubbed her hands together. “Good. Sounds fun. Let’s get started.”

Panic squeezed his ribs and choked his heart. “No. You can’t help. You’re pregnant.”

She blasted him with a cool breeze right in the sternum, and he stumbled into the wall. “You don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, Sergey Yuchenko.”

He inhaled through his nose, trying to calm his protective, possessive instincts. “Okay. You’re right. Sorry.”

“Good. Now that we’ve gotten that sorted out…” She took a step and rose up on her toes to kiss him, her round belly pressing him into the wall.

He placed his hands around her waist and drew her closer, slid his tongue into her mouth. She tasted sweet, like she’d been eating chocolates. Probably had.

A gravelly throat clearing sounded to his right. “Come on, you two. This again?” Dmitri grumbled.

This time, Sergey didn’t break the kiss, and he answered his brother-in-law with his own middle finger. He would make out with his little
vila
whenever he wanted, and for however long she would let him.

Amber Belldene grew up on the Florida panhandle, swimming with alligators, climbing oak trees, and diving for scallops—when she could pull herself away from a book. As a child, she hid her Nancy Drew novels inside the church bulletin and read mysteries during sermons—an irony that is not lost on her when she preaches these days.

Amber is an Episcopal Priest and student of religion. She believes stories are the best way to explore human truths. Some people think it’s strange for a minister to write romance, but it is perfectly natural to Amber, because she believes the human desire for love is at the heart of every romance novel and God made people with that desire. She writes paranormal, historical, and contemporary romance in every spare moment, and she lives with her family in San Francisco. To hear about Amber’s new releases, sign up for her newsletter at http://eepurl.com/WF3j5. You can also find Amber online at www.amberbelldene.com, www.facebook.com/amberbelldene and twitter.com/AmberBelldene.

Don’t miss the first book in Amber Belldene’s Siren’s romance series!

One touch can change everything…

Hitman Dmitri Lisko is determined to avenge his father. Once he takes out the man he believes is responsible for his family’s tragedies, he’s done killing for good. But a mysterious woman may tempt Dmitri to change his plan.

Sonya Truss was murdered in a Ukrainian village in 1968. Now she’s reappeared in San Francisco as a rusalka—the ghost of a wronged woman. And she’s thirsty for the blood of her killer. But she has to make things right before she’s trapped between worlds forever.

Sonya's enigmatic siren powers stir Dmitri's long-buried chivalry, and he finds himself compelled to help her. He also can’t resist giving her a taste of the pleasures she never experienced while she was alive. Soon they discover that touch has surprising consequences. Yet when their shared mission comes to cross-purposes, they must choose between deadly sacrifice—or surrendering to the one act that can save them both

Available now at
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/book.aspx/31578

Just one bullet and it would all be over.

But first Dmitri had to find him.

And for sure, his target wasn’t in there. Dmitri scanned the front of Auntie Elena’s cutesy, forest-green house. He hadn’t seen her since she’d moved to the US all those years ago. She could wait a minute longer.

He patted his chest for his pack of Davidoffs, and shook one free. The dry, toasted odor of unlit tobacco promised some relief. But his lighter hand shook so badly the flame danced past the tip of the cigarette twice, three times, and went out. Damn. He took the kind of deep breath that never failed to steady his aim and stilled his hand just long enough to nail the target. Finally, the end glowed bright orange and his lungs filled with nicotine, making the whole world a little more tolerable.

Only a drink would stop his shakes, but the smoke had to do. No more vodka until he’d completed this mission, and after that—a hell of a lot less.

He buttoned his coat against the wind and paced the sidewalk in front of Elena’s place, which was squeezed tightly between two other old, well-kept houses. The curlicues and scallops all over hers reminded him of the illustrations in children’s books—fairytale gingerbread cottages, the ones where Baba Yaga lured unsuspecting children with tempting sweets. Not that anyone had ever read a book like that to him, but he’d seen them somewhere, school maybe.

He marched along the sloping stretch of sidewalk, staring at his feet and savoring each inhalation. A pair of beat-up gray sneakers appeared in front of him. His gaze traveled up a pair of legs clad in purple sweatpants, an oversized jacket, all the way to the wrinkly face of an old lady frozen in place.

“Pardon,” he said, his accented English strange and rough to his ears. He sidestepped and gestured for her to pass him with a flourish that, in Kiev at least, hinted at chivalry.

The pleasantries had no effect. She jumped aside like a pack of angry dogs was snarling at her and dragged her handcart away fast, making to cross the street.