Turbulent Sea (4 page)

"Is there?" He smiled as he scraped the pads of her fingers with his teeth, sending streaks of fire racing through her bloodstream and sizzling along every nerve ending.

She jerked her hand away and wiped it on her thigh. "You know there is. I'm not going to deny I'm physically attracted, but I have a certain weakness for jerks. Don't ask me why, but I have 'losers apply here' stamped on my forehead. You're just the kind of man I want to avoid."

His palm curled around her throat, a gentle touch, yet it seemed a flame burned against her bare skin. A faint grin touched his mouth, turned his eyes to a deep blue. "Am I really?" The smile was gone, leaving him looking more lethal than ever.

She swallowed the sudden lump of fear before she choked on it. His thumb slid along her neck in the smallest of caresses, sending shivers of awareness down her spine. Sexually, she was very susceptible to him. She suspected him of spell casting, but when she touched him, she couldn't find evidence of it. He often whispered to her at night, urging her to come to him. And she wanted him day and night. Even her songs were beginning to reflect her need of him.

She had come here intending to sleep with him—just getting it over with—but now that she was with him, she knew it would be a terrible mistake. He would own her, she'd never be free of him. Her only hope was to hold out and hope her obsession with him passed.

"You're a hit man. It isn't glamorous or cool. It's disgusting. You kill people for a living."

"Do I?"

He never raised his voice or seemed to take offense, even when she was being deliberately rude.

"Don't you?" She was desperate.
Desperate
. Someone had to save her from herself, because this man had her so tied up in knots she couldn't think straight. She wanted to claw at his face, rake his body with her fingernails, fight for freedom, and yet at the same time, she craved him, needed him, wanted to wrap her body around his and feel him deep inside her, possessing her, claiming her. She nearly groaned in despair.

"Kiss me, Joley."

Her stomach somersaulted. Her gaze jumped to his mouth. He had great lips. Very defined, very masculine. Kissing would get her into more trouble and she was already in way too deep. Ilya Prakenskii seemed so cool on the outside, ice water in his veins, but inside he smoldered like a living volcano, all molten heat and roiling lava.

He leaned close, his lips inches from hers. His warm breath was against her face and he smelled of spice and mint. "Kiss me." The command was low, his voice soft, almost tender. Her toes were beginning to curl.

She didn't know if she moved to cover that scant inch or if he did. She only knew that his hand shifted to shape the nape of her neck and that her body went soft and pliant, molding against his incredibly hard frame. And that his mouth was on hers. His lips were firm and cool. His teeth scraped and tugged at her lower lip and then it wasn't cool anymore. Fire ignited.

He took control before she could think or breathe, the flames sweeping up and through her, consuming her, taking her over completely. She gave herself to him, wrapping her arms around him, sliding one leg around his to bring her body some relief from the terrible tension that built and built along with the firestorm his mouth created.

His hand caught her hair and held her with a tight, ruthless grip, the bite of pain only increasing her need to be closer, to wrap herself up in him. Her hips moved, sliding her body intimately against his thigh. She needed—
needed
—release, a respite from the continual sexual pressure that never seemed to let up. Night and day her body was on fire for this man.

The heat from his mouth spread like flames licking over her skin. She heard herself moan, and he deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth, taking everything she offered and demanding more.

The world spun away for Joley until there was only his strength and his hard body and the racing fire storming out of control. Her breasts ached, felt swollen and tender, the tips sensitive as they rubbed against his chest. The junction between her legs was hot and damp, demanding release. She slid along his thigh, applying pressure, seeking the relief only his body could provide.

"No." Ilya lifted his mouth from hers, his fingers reluctantly releasing her. "Not like this. When you give yourself to me, it's all the way and forever. This is too easy."

Joley flung her head back, glaring at him. "You're saying no to me?"

"We're not doing this, not like this. You want to get off, you can come home with me and get into my bed where you belong."

She studied his implacable expression, wanting to belong to him, knowing he would take her over, knowing she couldn't live with what and who he was. She would end up loathing herself more than she already did.

He was rejecting her
. She'd flung herself at him after months of enduring his constant assault on her senses, she'd given in, driven by an obsession, a craving he'd planted, and
he was rejecting her
. Humiliation fed fury. She took a deep breath and flung back her head, chin up. "Fine. I don't need you. I can walk into that house and go home with any man I want."

Ilya heard the complete confidence in her voice and knew she was stating the absolute truth. She looked passionate, untamed, so sexy his heart nearly stopped. Her eyes were fairly shooting sparks. Her hair was wild and disheveled, as if he had already made love to her. She looked wild and unpredictable and so beautiful he ached.

Ilya caught her wrist again, turned over her palm. "Do you see this, Joley?" His hand slid over her upturned palm, sending shivers along already sensitized nerve endings. "I don't care what happened before I put my mark on you, but make no mistake, Joley, ever since I put this on you, you belong to me. I don't share well with others. Do whatever you feel you have to do, but be willing to live with the consequences. Just know you're going to make things unnecessarily hard on yourself."

"Why are you doing this to me?" Her palm, the one marked by his brand, itched to slap the tough angles and planes of his face. He led her on and then rejected her. "You can't tell me no and then say I can't be with anyone else. Damn you to hell for this."

"You need a man, and I don't mean some spineless wimp who is going to give in to your every whim. You need someone who can rein you in and control your tendency to act before you think."

"That's so sexist. As if I can't take care of myself." She gave a little sniff of disdain, furious with him. "I'm a famous, highly successful woman who's been all over the world, Prakenskii, and I do a darned good job of taking care of myself."

He shook his head. "You don't and you know you don't. Everyone thinks you're tough, Joley, because that's what you want them to believe, but you're not. And you're way too impetuous. You rush in to act without thinking. The Reverend and his pathetic excuse for bodyguards are a perfect example. What did you think would happen when you exposed him for his sleazy crimes on national television? He intends to pay you back. A man like that doesn't forgive and forget. He gets even."

"And you think I need a man to protect me?"

"Yes. Call me sexist all you want, but in the end, it won't change the truth. You're running because you know you need me and you don't want to need anyone."

"Joley!" Brian called her name and she spun around. Denny, her drummer, was walking with him toward her, looking guilty.

Joley loathed herself in that moment. She wasn't any better than Denny. She'd come here for sex with a man she was certain was the worst kind of criminal. And he had rejected her advances, humiliated her, threatened her, and she still was on fire for him. What did that say about her? She pushed away from Ilya and ran to meet Brian and Denny, choosing to escape before she did something she couldn't take back.

Chapter 2

"I'VE done something so stupid, Hannah." Joley paced back and forth, skirting the furniture in her hotel room as she held the phone to her ear. "Really, really stupid."

"I'm not going to mention that it's three in the morning and you're scaring the hell out of me," Hannah said amid a great deal of covers rustling and her husband Jonas whispering in the background. Hannah shushed him. "I know you're not hurt because all of us would know."

"I
am
hurt." Joley kicked at the bed. She'd already thrown the pillows and every other thing she could find in the room that couldn't be destroyed. "I can't sleep. I can't eat. All I do is think about
him
."

Hannah might be completely across the country, but she didn't have to ask who
him
was. "What happened?" She tried to send her sister waves of reassurance, but the distance separating them was too great.

"I couldn't sleep. I ached, Hannah, inside and out. I swear I feel like I'm in heat or something. Nothing satisfies me. I don't know what to do anymore. When I do sleep, which is rare, I dream about him. And they're not just any dreams, either. Total erotica. I loathe him. I despise him. How can I want him like this? What's wrong with me? I desperately want to be normal, Hannah. Make me normal."

"You sound scared. Tell me what happened." Hannah used her most calming voice and breathed slowly, in and out, in the hopes that her sister would follow suit.

"He's like a drug addiction," Joley said, "I can't get over him no matter how hard I try. I need to come home. I need to be with you. I'm drowning here."

"Do you think your obsession for him will be better if you come home?" Hannah asked, her voice cautious. Joley was volatile when it came to Ilya Prakenskii. The connection between the two of them was strong, and seemed to be growing stronger.

Joley put her hand over her face, shaking her head, even though Hannah couldn't see her. "No. No, it won't. I went to a party tonight. I told myself I went because I couldn't sleep and I was bored, but I really went to see him."

"Did you go home with him?"

"No! I didn't, but I would have had sex with him." Joley squeezed her eyes shut tight. "He said no. He
rejected
me, Hannah, and that made me want him even more. He knows he has power over me. I feel like I'm caught in his trap and I can't get away."

"Is it possible he used a spell on you?"

"All of you examined me. You didn't find one. There's nothing but the zap on my palm and his voice in my head. He talks to me. His voice is so sexy, it turns me inside out. Except now he isn't talking and that feels so much worse. I'm really in trouble, Hannah." Joley knew she was talking too fast, but she couldn't stop herself. "I have to hear his voice, or I go crazy in my head. But if I reach out to him, he's won." She sank onto the bed. "Hannah. Tell me what to do."

"I'll come out."

Joley shook her head, forcing herself to do the right thing. Hannah had been brutally attacked and nearly died just a few short months earlier. The last thing she needed to do was to fly anywhere in public when she was still trying to heal. "No, no, we're leaving for Chicago in the morning. I can do this. I can get him out of my head."

She rubbed her palm frantically up and down her thigh. Ilya Prakenskii was already deep inside her and he wasn't going to let go of her without a fight. "Why do I go after men who bring out the absolute worst in me? I don't understand why I'm so different from all of you. Look at Libby. She wouldn't be attracted to a man like Ilya. Only me. Just me."