Turbulent Sea (27 page)

Joley inhaled sharply, her breath catching in her lungs. She did know—and yet she didn't. She had been drawn to him, mesmerized and seduced by him, by his aura and his song. By his magic—his strength. Oh, God, his strength was what she craved more than anything in the world. That absolute confidence, that aggression that pushed her out of her comfort zone, that took her places she had only dreamt of—places she craved but feared. He would take her over and she would fight him every inch of the way. He was going to make her life hell—or heaven.

She moistened her lips. "Do you think you're going to rule me? Because if you think so, your fantasy is way beyond reality."

He caught her face between his hands, forcing her toward him. Her startled gaze jumped to his. "Don't start a fight with me, Joley. Not now. We've only got a few hours left together." He leaned down and brushed kisses across her eyelids, the tip of her nose, back and forth across her mouth.

Alarmed, Joley pushed at the wall of his chest. He was stealing her heart. He'd taken her body and her soul, she wasn't handing him her heart to destroy as well. He had given her the most fantastic sexual experience of her life, and she knew she would need him again and again. Nothing would ever compare to what she had with him, but it wasn't love-making. She hadn't felt that he was loving her. Possessing her—claiming her—yes. Owning her even, but not loving her, and she could be addicted, she could let him rule her in bed, but she refused, absolutely refused, to hand her heart to a man who might be involved in terrible things.

"Yes," he said softly, kissing her again.

Small, caressing kisses that left her feeling helpless against the onslaught of tenderness. "I won't let you."

He knew what she was afraid of. She could feel him in her mind, touching her inside where there was no way to stop him. He had marked her everywhere, all over her skin, and now he was leaving his mark on the inside.

"It's already too late," he whispered, trailing kisses along her cheekbone to the corner of her mouth.

She was melting inside. Butterfly wings all over again. She wasn't just getting wet and needy, she craved his touch, his voice, the scent of him, but most of all she wanted him to feel that same frightening vulnerability that for her just seemed to grow worse around him.

His hands stroked her skin, memorizing every inch of her, and all the while he whispered to her of faraway places, of being a boy in a cold, hard land, of belonging to her and only her. She could hear the strains of his song wrapping her up in haunting notes, holding her close while she drifted—drifted—on a tide of sex and sin and the fragile beginnings of love.

She went to sleep to the soft murmur of his voice, and woke to the sensual enticement of it only an hour later. He was already hard and moving inside her, his kiss taking her breath while his hands shaped her breasts.

In the tour buses, the trip from Red Rocks to Dallas took a little over fourteen hours. Ilya woke her over and over, until Joley thought she would have to crawl to make it to the shower to relieve the aches in her sore body. He carried her and took her hard and fast up against the wall. Once they rolled off the bed, and he just took her there on the floor. They tried to eat, and he put her on the small table and ate her instead, until she was sobbing for release, and then he sank into her, first with her lying on the table and then bending her over it.

When the bus finally pulled into their space and stopped, and Steve had called to tell her he was going to bed, Joley sat on the floor, her legs drawn up, head back against her mattress, clutching a blanket around her naked body. Ilya sat beside her, holding a bottle of water so she could sip it.

"Are you all right?"

Joley looked at him, his body fit, the long, thick length of him semi-hard against the strong column of his thigh. "You're a freakin' sex machine, Ilya. Nobody can do that. Nobody. You're either downing Viagra by the bottle or you're a cyborg."

He shrugged his shoulders, slipped an arm under her legs and lifted her back onto the bed, placing her close to the wall so he could wrap his body around hers. "I was trained to stay hard no matter what, to ride a woman for hours if need be, to pleasure her and never let it affect me. But in the end,
angel moya
, all that training is for nothing with you. No matter how many times I have you, how many ways I take you, it is never enough for me. I should be sated, unmoved by what we share, and yet I'm addicted to you and cannot get enough of you."

She was exhausted beyond anything she'd ever known but… "Ilya." She frowned, sliding her arms around his neck. "What do you mean, trained? Sexually trained? How? How can someone train you? And where?"

He was silent, and she sensed—knew—he was uncomfortable and wished he could take the revelation back. She held her breath waiting. For the first time she felt he was as vulnerable and naked as she was.

"I was trained in a lot of things, Joley."

"They hurt you, didn't they?" She guessed.

She had seen scars on his body, felt them under her fingertips; she'd caught glimpses of a young man huddled in a corner with blood running down his back and legs. Now she knew for certain it was Ilya. The glimpses of violence, the black aura—there was so much she didn't know, but she was beginning to get small pieces that fit together forming a very ugly picture.

"Don't. We're not going there, Joley."

Her hands framed his face and she kissed him gently, her stomach fluttering, her heart reaching for his. Ilya caught her by her shoulders and yanked her back down to the mattress. "I said no. Don't you pity me."

Fury flashed through her. He had spent hours—
hours
—keeping her vulnerable and forcing her to confront her own failings and needs, her own fears, but he refused to share any part of himself with her. She was so angry her body trembled. She dropped her hands immediately, fingers curling into two tight fists.

As she stared up at his handsome face, his ice-cold eyes, the anger drained away. Her breath hitched in her throat, the lump there nearly choking her. Her chest hurt, was too tight, a piercing pain tearing through her heart. He had rejected her again. She could tell herself forever that it had been just sex for her, but she knew better. She had thought he was everything, but he had pushed her away and refused to give anything of himself to her. All his talk was just that—talk. Survival counted now, more than anything she had to survive.

What if he had done what he'd been trained to do? Maybe Nikitin had ordered him to screw her. Well, he'd done a good job. He could go to the tabloids and say he'd screwed a celebrity. She had never felt so betrayed, so ashamed or so stupid. The pain was physical.

She did the only thing possible, she pulled herself back from the brink of that terrible precipice she'd almost gone over. She had to walk away now. This instant. Withdraw and hold a part of herself to her, protected and sheltered, in order to stay alive. He'd taken everything else from her, and she doubted she'd ever get it back, but she wasn't going to give him her life.

She would cry. She would be lonely. She would feel empty forever, but she could survive if she pulled away.

"Joley."

Ilya sensed her withdrawal. Of course he would. He knew her inside and out. He couldn't help but realize she was moving away from him. She did her best to cover.

"No. You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried." She turned onto her side. "I've only got a couple of hours to sleep and then I'll be working. When you leave, please don't wake me up."

"Joley, you're angry with me."

"No, I'm just very tired." And she wasn't angry. She was empty. Not even sorrow could fill her emptiness. She would say whatever he needed to hear so he would go and she would be safe. She flashed a fake smile at him and closed her eyes, waiting for him to leave her.

Chapter 11

"JOLEY. Wake up. Wake up, honey."

Joley groaned and squeezed her eyes closed tighter. "Go away."

There were whispers. She heard them from a distance and tried to turn her head to see who was disturbing her. Her body felt heavy and cumbersome and her eyelids barely opened. Tish and Brian huddled together over the bed. Jerry stood at her table with the shreds of two white packets in his hands.

Joley?

Ilya's voice shredded her heart. That perfect pitch. No one had such a perfect, heartbreaking tone. She closed her eyes and pulled the covers over her head. She couldn't hear him or see him. She needed to stay asleep where he couldn't get to her to destroy her further.

"Joley, what the hell did you take?" Jerry pushed Brian and Tish aside and crouched by the bed, shaking her. "What did you take?" He dipped a finger into the envelope and tasted it, scowled and handed it to Brian.

"She doesn't do drugs," Brian said, repeating the same action and tasting the powder.

"She took something," Jerry snapped. "Joley, what the fuck have you done? I swear you'd better tell me or I'm calling a fucking ambulance right now. Get her up. Walk her up and down the bus. Get some water on her face. What did you take?"

Joley frowned at them, forcing her lashes to lift. "Go away. I'm sleeping."

"You're getting up," Jerry decreed. "I don't expect this kind of drama from you, Joley. Denny maybe, but not you. What the hell did you take?"

Her mouth felt like cotton. "I can't take drugs. You know that. They don't work on my body. They just make me sick." She rolled over and stared at the ceiling, keeping the comforter wrapped tightly around her body.

Tish took the packet from Brian and sat on the edge of the bed. "What is this, honey?"

"Hannah made it up for me. I'm only supposed to use one envelope, but I couldn't sleep so I took two—and it worked." She glared up at Jerry. "Until you decided to barge in."

"What's in it?" Jerry demanded, relief making his voice gruff.

"I don't know. She grows all that stuff. She's like supergardener, and all her powders and creams work." Joley put her hand over her eyes. "Did you have to raise all the screens?"

"Only two," Brian said. "I'm getting you something to eat. I'll be right back."

"Get her moving, Tish," Jerry said and awkwardly patted Joley's head.

Tish waited until the men had left and shut the door. "You're covered in bruises, Joley, you have marks all over your body. What happened? Do you need a doctor?"

Marks all over her? Ilya's marks. Inside and out. She could feel him touching her, whispering to her, his breath warm against her skin, his hands like magic. She pulled the comforter closer to hold the marks tight against her skin. The absolute compassion and caring in Tish's voice was her undoing. Tears burned in her eyes and clogged her throat. She shook her head. "I'm all right. Nothing bad happened. I was just stupid, the way I'm always stupid."

"You're never stupid, Joley. You might be attracted to the wrong men, but you're careful. You know to keep a distance."

"Does it look like I kept my distance this time, Tish?" Joley raised her head and looked straight at the other woman, letting her see the heartache, the betrayal, the pain that wasn't going to end just because she was smart enough to walk away. She had committed herself to Ilya. She had given herself to him—all that she was, everything—and he'd stolen her heart even when she tried to protect herself. "I'm such an idiot. I know my own weaknesses. I do, Tish. I laugh at them and guard against them. I've never allowed myself to fall in love.
Never
."