by Leigh, Lora
She was terrified of the exact reason why though. Had he learned her true identity? Did he know she was Craig Taite’s daughter? Surely he hadn’t, or he would have killed her by now. Ivan wasn’t known for playing with his enemies. He was known for striking hard, fast, and with utter mercilessness.
“When you tell me who was in that van coming for you.” The mocking dare wasn’t lost on her. “Tell me, my little Syn, who else is chasing you?”
Who else was chasing her? She’d need a notebook for that one, she thought wearily.
She didn’t need this now. Not when she felt so weak, when everything was so hopeless. She just wanted to find a place to hide, to sleep without dreams, either of the sexual or the terrifying, and find some peace.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
At least it wasn’t a lie. She had a feeling he could see through any lie she tried to tell. That was a distinctly uncomfortable feeling.
Lowering her head, she stared at her fingers, her thumb rubbing over the small circular scar that marred the inside of her left index finger. It was always there, a memory she couldn’t escape, couldn’t forget.
She didn’t know who was in the van, she didn’t know who sent them, but she knew her father was the reason they were after her. And if they caught her, they’d destroy her.
“What are you running from, Syn?” His voice wasn’t filled with lust and it wasn’t teasing. It was chilly, as cold as she felt inside.
“What I’m running from doesn’t affect you or Amara,” she told him, shaking her head because she knew the truth wasn’t something she could tell him.
God, he was the last man in the world she could ever tell. He’d throw her to the wolves so fast it would make her head spin. There was no lust deep enough, strong enough, to still the hatred Ivan Resnova would feel for the youngest granddaughter of the man who had nearly destroyed his life more than once. Her grandfather hadn’t been alone either. When her father had come of age, he’d been right there helping Stephen Taite in the depraved, horrendous acts committed.
“Let me be the judge of that,” he advised her, his tone warning. “If what I saw tonight is an indication, you’re not going to be able to hide for long. This makes twice I’ve managed to slip you from beneath the noses of whoever’s chasing you. Run from me again and you may run out of luck.”
The thought of that terrified her. The thought of Ivan ever learning her identity and staring at her with hatred though … It wasn’t just the fear of what he would do to her; it was the fear of seeing the pure distaste that would fill his expression. For some reason, the thought of that hurt far more than the knowledge that he would likely kill her.
“Eventually, that’s exactly what will happen.” She was smart enough to know that. “You should have never come after me.”
But if he hadn’t … She had to fight the hitch of her breathing that would assure him of her pure terror. Whoever they were, they were determined; she gave them credit for that. They had somehow found her in Boulder and managed to stay on her ass ever since.
She couldn’t figure out who they were or who had sent them. She was too damned busy trying to stay one step ahead of them.
“Hmm,” he murmured, and that sound sent a chill racing up her spine.
“Look, just take me to the bus station so I can leave.” That sound he made, the tone of it, the hint of knowledge in it, had panic raging inside her. “If I had wanted your help I would have asked for it, don’t you think?”
She would have never asked for his help; she didn’t dare.
A dark, amused chuckle had her lifting her head, watching him cautiously, that fear rising inside her, tearing at her. There was no way to run, no way to escape him. At least not yet. And the danger that suddenly filled the interior of the SUV had the hairs prickling against her arm in warning.
“Ivan…” she whispered, wanting to beg now. “Just let me go.”
She tried to force back the anger, the fear. They rose inside her pretty much neck and neck. Her mother had warned her for years that her temper was going to get her in trouble, and Journey had realized years ago she was right.
“No,” he stated implacably. “We have a rather long drive ahead of us; would you like Ilya to stop for something to eat?”
He asked the question as though the earlier conversation had never existed. As though there weren’t a chance that he knew who she was, that there weren’t someone determined to kidnap her and do only God knew what.
“No, I’m not hungry, dammit…” the anger slipped.
“You’re rather testy; perhaps you are.” He smiled coolly. “If I’m not mistaken you’re even thinner than you were in Colorado.”
She clenched her fists, certain she wanted to hit him. Again.
“Don’t play games with me, Ivan,” she demanded, knowing she’d never survive if he kept this particular game up for long. “Give me the courtesy of that much at least.”
Something shifted in his expression until his gaze was somber, intent. She wished she knew what he was thinking, what he saw when he looked at her. Something besides the ragged, exhausted woman she’d become.
“Then you do the same, baby,” he demanded. “Tell me what I need to know to protect you.”
That shocked her. He couldn’t know who she was, no matter the certainty she’d felt for a moment that he did. If he did, he’d never offer to protect her, never want to protect her.
She shook her head wearily. “I don’t know who it is. I swear it.”
“Tell me what you’re hiding, and we’ll figure out the rest.” His expression was devoid of emotion. It was cool, almost polite.
Journey stared back at him, taking in every nuance of his expression, recalling everything Amara had ever told her about her very dangerous father. And one thing she remembered was that the other woman said he was at his most dangerous when he appeared cool, polite. When he watched a person without a hint of emotion. Not hatred, not compassion, no hint of warmth.
He couldn’t know, she told herself. If he did, he would have already killed her or he would have left her to her fate and allowed the men looking for her to catch her.
Panic sped through her, racing through her veins and kicking her heart into overdrive. The need to run, to fight, was like a fever inside her. And there was no place to run, no way to run.
“This isn’t your problem,” she told him, the chill that had filled her before he took her in his arms returning now that he was no longer touching her. “I’m not your problem. The best thing you could do for both of us is drop me at the bus station.”
Smoothing her hands down her thighs, she turned away from him and fought the weariness trying to sweep over her. She was so tired. The constant running and fear were finally taking their toll.
“Well, for the time being, I think I’ll make you my problem,” he replied mockingly.
The sheer arrogance of the statement should have had her raging; instead, she could only shake her head at the sheer stubbornness.
Maybe she should just tell him the truth, she contemplated silently. What worse could he do than the men chasing her? At least Ivan would kill her quickly. He might be merciless, but she couldn’t believe he’d torture her.
“You think it’s so simple,” she sighed. “With your money and your power, you believe you can simply buy whatever you want and shoot your way through any danger. For the rest of us, life isn’t always so simple.”
Her life wasn’t so simple anyway. Betrayal filled it. There was no amount of money or power that could protect one from the cruelty of others, especially family. Her father was a monster, her mother a product of the world she lived within. And the one true friend she’d believed she possessed had been lying to her in the worst way.
And in her naïveté, she’d honestly believed she could handle the danger she found herself in after she’d run.
“Well now, baby, let’s see if I can’t help you simplify your life a little bit?” His voice was as dark, as da
ngerous, as his expression. “We’ll just see if we can’t figure out who’s chasing that cute little ass of yours and why they want it so bad.” He leaned closer, the steely determination on his face sending a chill down her spine. “I’ll just settle this little problem for you.”
She shifted, closing the difference between them further as that damnable temper of hers sparked and exploded.
“Fuck you!” she enunciated clearly, teeth baring as she locked her gaze with his. “I don’t need your help.”
His eyes narrowed. “Well now, my little Syn, I don’t mind if I do.”
chapter four
His control was for shit.
He’d known the night he met her what that fire exploding from her gaze did to him. It made him hard, made him crazy.
Before he could stop himself his hand jerked forward, buried in the hair at the back of her head as he pulled her forward, his lips covering hers again. And this time, there was no hesitancy, no reluctance or fight.
Her lips parted, her fingers fisting in his hair as well, holding him to her as he jerked her closer.
Wait to have her? It was going to happen.
His lips devoured hers; tongue thrusting, burying against hers, he took her mouth as he turned, balancing her on the edge of the seat as he knelt in front of her. The snug skirt she wore was pushed to her hips, her panties ripped.
Her hands were at his belt, pulling at it, struggling to loosen it and the clasp of his slacks. Pushing her shaking fingers out of the way, Ivan finished the job himself until he was gripping his cock, the shaft throbbing in demand as he pushed between her thighs.
She was wet. Little cries parted her lips as she stared back at him, her expression filled with hunger, pleasure, and just enough bemusement that he knew she was as surprised by her own lack of control as he was by his.
When the sensitive head of his cock pressed between the bare, slick folds of her sex, he paused. Breathing hard, teeth clenched, he tried to leash the lust just enough …
“Oh God, Ivan. I need you…” The desperation in her cry was like a match to fuel.
He thrust forward, the thick crest burying inside her, sending flash points of pure, fiery bolts of sensation slamming into his balls.
“Fuck. Baby…” He groaned.
He turned her, pushed her back to the seat, and came between her thighs, rising over her and lifting her hips to forge deeper.
“That’s my Syn,” he groaned as the heated, snug inner tissue gripped him tighter. “Let that sweet pussy suck me in.”
She was as tight as the first time, as hot and intoxicating.
Before he realized what he was doing he parted the front of her blouse by the simple means of tearing the buttons from their moorings.
It was a simple matter to release the front clasp of her bra, to lower his head and suck one hard little nipple into his mouth as he thrust inside her again.
God, it was good. Her wet heat clasped his erection, rippling over it, sucking him inside.
He could feel the sweat gathering on his brow, in the small of his back. The interior of the SUV became steamy with the warmth spilling between them as he felt it blazing through his body. She made him so fucking hot he couldn’t bank the heat, couldn’t dim it.
He’d hungered for her until he’d been certain the need would make him crazy. He could remember little else but the need that had tormented him for the past month.
Beneath him, his Syn arched to him, her fingers tight in his hair, holding him to her nipple, her legs wrapped around his back, her hips arching, taking him deeper.
Burying inside her should never be done quickly, he thought with hazy lust. It was done by destructive degrees, each push fraying his sanity as he fought to hold on to just enough to ensure her pleasure.
Groaning, his lips lifted from her nipple, his head falling to the seat next to her shoulder as finally he pushed fully inside her. Buried in to the hilt, balls drawn tight, his cock throbbing, his release hovering at the edge of his senses.
“So fucking tight…” he growled, his lips against her shoulder, the taste of feminine flesh touching his tongue as her hips shifted, her sheath rippling along his cock. “Ah hell, be still, baby…”
“I dreamed of you,” she panted, the breathy, needy sound of her voice causing him to clench his eyes closed, to fight to hold on, just a minute. “I dreamed of you touching me, Ivan.”
The husky, desperate tone of her voice, the need rising in it had his balls tightening with the need to come.
God, a minute.
One hand clenching her hip, he thrust against her. Pulling back until the crest remained inside her, he thrust against her, and he was lost. The pleasure was jagged strikes of pure sensation. Working inside her, thrusting, his breath clenching with the pleasure, he felt her tighten, heard her cry out his name, and lost his mind.
He’d never lost his mind in a woman’s arms in his sexual life. He knew the dangers. He would have never allowed it to happen if he’d believed it possible. But as he felt her coming around him, the slick heat spilling along his cock, his senses exploded.
The world was a blaze of pure fiery ecstasy. It was a pleasure he couldn’t resist, and he knew he’d willingly jump into this flame again and again. He’d be unable to stop himself, unable to resist.
Thrusting, groaning her name, he spilled himself inside her, pumping his release into her with a force that stole his breath after it stole his mind.
* * *
What had happened?
Journey fought to make sense of her own actions, her weakness where this man was concerned. As though when he’d taken her the month before he’d opened a part of her senses that she had no idea existed.
She was quiet as he eased from her, his still firm flesh retreating and sending a shudder of reaction through her at the movement.
Lifting her lashes, she watched as he quickly secured his slacks by the means of simply zipping them. His shirt might be missing a few buttons though, she noticed.
Before she could regain her breath or her mind, he reached down to the bag she’d seen on the floor earlier. A second later he eased her thighs farther apart and efficiently cleaned their combined releases from her.
He’d forgotten to wear a condom again, she thought distantly, making a mental note to discuss that with him. The birth control she was on wasn’t the strongest, and she was certain he wouldn’t want to actually conceive a child with his enemy’s daughter.
“I have a shirt you can wear,” he said quietly, reaching down again, and when he straightened he helped her up into the seat.
Tugging down the waitressing skirt, she let him help her remove the tattered remains of her blouse before helping her into the shirt. He buttoned it for her, saying nothing, his expression quiet, almost somber in the shadowed darkness of the enclosed space.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said, moving to sit across from her, his knees enclosing hers as he leaned forward to brush her hair gently from her face. “I can’t even excuse that loss of control, baby.”
Baby. He kept calling her baby, as though she meant something. She’d remembered that during the long, lost nights she’d spent after running from him. The way he whispered the endearment, his blue eyes dark and reflecting a hunger that didn’t always show in his expression.
“It was mutual.” She finally lifted her shoulders when he said nothing more.
Should she be ashamed? She hoped not, because she couldn’t find it in herself to regret it. She’d never known such pleasure, or such power, in simply touching a man. And being taken by him was something she couldn’t have imagined. There hadn’t been a touch or a moment in her life that could have prepared her for the effect Ivan had on her.
“You don’t have to say that…” The regret in his tone made her feel an edge of fear, as though he regretted not just his loss of control but having taken her as well.
“I don’t just say anything,” she informed him, her voice still far too weak to reflect any sor
t of irritation. “I missed…” She started to say him, his touch. “Never mind. But it was mutual.”
He just stared at her for long moments, no mockery or frustration, just a steady watchfulness she found nerve wracking.
“I’m a hard man, Syn,” he finally said quietly. “I’m not a nice man, nor am I the white knight any virgin would dream of. Parts of my soul are so dark, even I refuse to peer into them. But if you trust me to help you, I wouldn’t betray you.”
He always kept his promises. That was the one thing his daughter, Amara, loved the most about him. Her poppa, as Amara called him, always kept his promises. He gave them carefully, with much thought, but when he gave them they were absolute.
She shook her head at this promise though. “I won’t hold you to that,” she promised him instead. “You can’t help me, Ivan. No one can help me. The best thing you can do is release me. Let me go and forget you ever saw me.”
Because it was going to kill her when he learned who she was, and the longer she stayed the greater the risk. The thought of seeing that hatred in his eyes destroyed her.
He eased back in the seat with a heavy sigh, pushing his fingers through his hair before shooting her a brooding look.
“What the hell am I going to do about you, Syn?” he asked her then.
And she didn’t have an answer for him. He wouldn’t do what was best, and that was let her leave. He’d destroy her when he learned who she was though.
He might even kill her …
Ivan watched as Journey rubbed her thumb over the small scar on the opposite hand. Just between her thumb and forefinger, the circular scar looked like a cigarette burn. When she was upset, he’d always know, because she’d rub her other thumb against it.
Reaching out, he gripped her hand and drew it to him until he could see the faint blemish marring her creamy flesh.
“That’s a cigarette burn,” he told her, pushing back the rage. “How did it happen?”
The tension that filled her body had her drawn so tight he was amazed she wasn’t trembling.
“I didn’t move fast enough.” She shrugged as she met his gaze, then dropped hers.