She didn't see Ilya as evil—he didn't have that sick taint to his color—but neither was there light. There was power, far too much of it. Power corrupted, and he overflowed with control and authority. Strength and violence swirled around him, almost interchangeably. Where most people were a blend of light and dark and shades of all colors, Ilya was all shadow, and most of that was impenetrable and murky, so dark she couldn't see through the unrelenting blackness.
"Joley, answer me. Why would you think I would hurt you?"
His melody was wild and turbulent with the guitar riffs, fiery and passionate with the keyboard, so controlled with the percussion instruments, yet splashed with the violence of cymbals. There was smooth harmony accompanied by blasts of wind, streaks of lightning as guitars warred, and interludes of the tripping notes of a saxophone. He was fierce and controlled, dominant and mysterious, even in his music, the very essence of his being. She couldn't hope to understand his melody without examining each note, and she didn't dare get that close, not when her heart—her very soul—was at risk.
Joley let her breath out. "You know why. You have gifts."
"It's because of those gifts that I know we belong together."
She pulled away from him, not wanting him touching her. She couldn't read him, but it was possible he was reading her, and that wasn't safe. She was too mixed up in her feelings for him.
"Kiss me again. We don't do so well when we talk, but when we kiss, we're a perfect match."
She wasn't so certain of that. She'd like to think she matched him, but it was more like he took her over and she just melted into him until they shared the same skin. She shook her head. "I think it's pretty clear that you can never be in the same room alone with me. You can't ride all the way to Red Rocks with me." Joley wanted to weep with frustration. All she could think about was stripping and relieving the terrible ache, the emptiness that never went away, but she didn't dare take the chance, not after that kiss. She was too far gone when it came to Ilya.
He studied her for a moment then settled into the chair opposite her, more than satisfied with the flush on her face, her swollen, very kissed mouth, the rise and fall of her breasts. He'd gotten to her. And he'd marked her neck, putting another brand on her. "You're safe enough—for a while. Sit down, Joley, before you fall down."
"Why is it that everything you say sounds like an order? I was going to sit down…" Basically, she had to before her legs gave out. Just looking at Ilya made her weak, and kissing him was lethal. "But now, because you gave a royal command, I feel like I have to defy you just to keep myself."
"Well you don't."
She had no idea she was within his range, but sprawled out lazily, with his legs outstretched, he simply hooked her ankle and spilled her backward into the chair. "There. Decision made. No problem."
She threw a pillow at him, detesting his control when her heart was still racing and her body was on fire. Mostly she was upset with herself for not being able to handle him the way she handled everyone else. He was the only man who could shake her, and she didn't like feeling so exposed and vulnerable.
He snagged the pillow out of the air and placed it behind his head. "Thanks." He watched her with cool blue eyes. "Have you always had problems with authority figures?"
Joley regarded him with a kind of fury sweeping through her that gave way to sudden laughter. "You're impossible." How many times had she heard her father tell her she obviously had trouble with authority figures? She eyed him with suspicion. "You haven't been talking to my dad, have you?"
"I don't need to talk with your father to know this about you, Joley."
She shook her head. "You're not an authority figure, at least not to me."
"I don't believe you. Why do you think you fight me all the time?"
"Because you're reputed to be a hit man. I don't date men who kill for money."
"I'm a bodyguard."
"You're denying the rumors?"
He sighed. "Joley, you practically live in the tabloids. Is any of what they say true? Ever? Even with photographs as evidence, it seems they make things up about you. Why would you assume what you hear about me is the truth?"
He had a point, and she was a little ashamed that she believed everything she heard about him. He was so dangerous looking. He carried death in his eyes. And when she touched his mind, he felt deadly. He looked it, sounded it, and even inside, where she could see, darkness swirled, but… He was right; she was guilty of believing things about him without having facts to back up the rumors.
"I don't know. You're right. So I'm asking you, are you a hit man? Do you kill people for money?"
"Do you think a sniper is a hit man?"
She frowned at him. "It's a simple enough question, Ilya."
"Not really. It's a complex question. But you're smart. You'll figure it out. Why haven't you been sleeping?"
If she'd had another pillow handy, she would have thrown it at him. Ilya frustrated her no end. He never seemed to answer a direct question that mattered to her. She considered denying the truth, but what would be the point? "I don't sleep. I'm an insomniac. I have been since I was a kid."
"So have I. You had a good childhood, Joley."
She heard the question, or maybe he was touching her mind and she felt his sudden stirring, as if something wasn't quite as right as it should have been, as if she'd better have had a good childhood or he would take it in his hands to do something about it. His expression hadn't changed, but something dark and disturbing moved in him and frightened her. "I did. My parents were very loving. I had my sisters and Jonas and life was great, one adventure after another. I was always in trouble."
"I can imagine."
But he liked the idea of her as a child doing naughty, defiant things and having loving parents who shook their heads and loved her all the more for it. She pulled that thought right out of his head and it made her feel warm inside. Even intimate. As if they already had a close, very personal relationship and he loved her childhood stories. The uneasiness inside her lessened.
She smiled at him. "My mother had all the psychic gifts so she thought she could keep up with me, you know, always know what I was going to do before I did it. By the time I was three, I was very aware she was watching me, so I set out to prove I could get away with things. I was the child always climbing on the roof and trying to fly, or walking by myself to the store because they said no, they couldn't take me. And homework was for everyone else. I've played the drums since I was four and never went anywhere without my sticks." She pointed to the drumsticks just inches from her hand. She'd removed them from her back pocket and tossed them on the chair when Brian came onto the bus. "If it made noise or music, I had to have it. My dad nailed my window closed because I kept escaping."
His eyes lit up, but he didn't smile. "I'll bet you were a hellion growing up. I've considered tying you to a bedpost upon occasion, and more than once I've wanted to turn you over my knee."
"I might have liked it," she said with a saucy grin. "But I'm so glad you restrained yourself just in case."
His eyebrow shot up. "In case you liked it? Knowing you, you probably would have. My punishment would have turned into a reward and then where would I be?" He reached out and snagged her hand, holding it up in the air between them. "Wrapped around your little finger like everyone else."
He let her go, slowly, reluctantly, the pads of his fingers stroking down her bare palm, where he had marked her before his hand dropped away. His touch was electric. She felt that caress not only over her palm, but deep inside, between her legs, so that her womb clenched and liquid fire throbbed and burned.
Joley stared at him, horrified that he could touch her inside, that his mark was not just a brand, but a sexual stimulant, so strong even her nipples had peaked and her breasts felt heavy and swollen. Her entire body ached for his. Her tongue touched suddenly dry lips. Did he know what he was doing? She was in way more trouble even than she'd first thought.
"You'r
e lethal. I don't think we can stay alone in this bus together. It isn't safe for you." But she didn't want him to leave. Just looking at him did something strange to her, filled her with a mixture of excitement and anticipation, but also peace, safety, as if she could lay everything down for a while and just let him take care of it.
This time he did smile. Her heart nearly stopped. There was a heady exhilaration in knowing he rarely smiled and she'd managed to get the genuine article.
Ilya pressed his palm over his heart. "You amaze me, Joley, all the time. One moment you lie your sexy little butt off, and the next, you're so honest you break my heart. I am sorry, you know. You took what happened last week entirely wrong."
Joley stiffened. "I don't know what you're talking about."
The smile lit his eyes—changed his entire face. He looked younger, more relaxed, still as tough as ever, but less intimidating. "There you go lying again. I did hurt you. I thought I might have, but I've never actually been in a relationship so I have no idea how to handle certain things. It would be best if you just told me the truth and made it easier for me. When we have children, we're going to be in trouble, you know that, don't you?"
Her breath stilled in her lungs. He had never had a relationship? Ever? The idea was both fascinating and terrifying.
"I'm not having children. Whatever put that idea in your head? I'm not ever getting married. I'm going to be the favorite aunt and make all my sisters crazy by letting my nieces and nephews do whatever they want."
Did she sound as scared as felt? The idea that Ilya might want more than a quick, frantic session in bed scared her to death. He was the kind of man who controlled all things in a relationship, and Joley needed freedom like she needed air to breathe. And yet, like the proverbial moth, she raced to the flame.
"I really hate ruining your plans, but your idea of your future doesn't match what I have in mind for you."
"And that matters?"
He nodded. "Definitely." He not only looked completely confident and complacent, he sounded it as well.
She wasn't touching that one. Call her cowardly or smart, it didn't matter, whatever Ilya said, they were alone and she didn't trust herself with him if he started talking long-term. Men like Ilya didn't do long-term. They were one-nighters and they were gone. No commitment. No strings. He'd just admitted it. She took refuge in attack.
"How long was your longest relationship?"
His blue gaze held hers. "I just told you, I've never had a relationship."
"Exactly. Because you don't have relationships, Ilya, you have one-night stands. You have sex and you leave. Fast. You probably don't remember her name or face afterward."
"Like you planned to do last week?"
She had the grace to blush. "I'll admit it. I thought if we had sex, it would get you out of my system and I wouldn't have to lie awake thinking about you anymore, but you said no, and I'm good with that."
"Are you?"
His foot touched hers, the gentlest of taps, but her heart jumped in response.
"I don't think you're telling me the truth again. Are you afraid I'll forget you, Joley? Because frankly, lyubimaya moya, I don't think that's possible."
"Whatever." She bit her lip, not believing she'd said that. She'd just lost every bit of respect for her own ability to argue her way out of anything. It was just the way his voice turned husky and intimate when he spoke Russian. Lyubimaya moya. She translated it as "my sweetheart." The phrase was far more romantic in his language.
For a moment there was silence between them, filled only by the sound of traffic flowing around the bus. Ilya touched her shoe again with his. "I want you more than I've ever wanted anything in my life, but you were hoping to have sex and walk away without ever looking back. That's not what's between us. That's how you're looking at me—at us—and I'm not willing for that to be all there is."
He was throwing down the gauntlet with a vengeance. She looked around her bus, her home away from Sea Haven, and desperately wished herself safe within the protection of her sisters. The simple act of inhaling took him into her lungs. He seemed to dwarf everything in the bus, including her. And the last thing she wanted to talk about was how she had humiliated herself by going to a party she clearly didn't want to go to in order to throw herself at him only to be rejected. Not when he was so ready to cooperate with her now.
Abruptly she got up and yanked open the fridge, peering inside blindly. "You want anything?"
"I don't drink alcohol."
She turned back toward him, her eyebrow raised. "Why not?" Was she finally finding a chink in his armor? A weakness?
He shrugged. "In my line of business alcohol can get a man killed—and it doesn't really affect me the way it does others. As with you, I imagine, any type of drug or drink poisons my body and is rejected."
She knew the truth when she heard it. She didn't drink either, because being a Drake made it nearly impossible to be anything but violently ill if she indulged. "Bottled water or juice?"
"Orange juice then."
She took a deep, calming breath. She could do this. She could handle Ilya Prakenskii. She forced a smile as she handed him the bottle of orange juice. "Ice cold. Should be good."
She tried not to watch him drink, not to watch his throat as he swallowed. How in the world she found it sexy, she didn't know, but even the way he held the juice bottle by the neck, his eyes on her while he drank, made her womb clench. She sank back into the chair opposite him and touched her tongue to her lips. "What were you like as a child?"
Ilya's breath caught in his lungs, the question bringing up a time he kept hidden and refused to examine too often. Afraid and hungry.
His first thought was so strong he wasn't certain he had repressed it in time to hide it from her. Ilya searched his memories to give her a piece of himself that wasn't too bad. He didn't want pity. His life had been shaped by his childhood, and if he had to give up something to her, he wanted it to be something she might be able to relate to.
"I craved knowledge of every kind. Every book I could read on any subject. Every physical ability and way of fighting, and of course the use of psychic gifts—anything and everything, I soaked up like a sponge. I needed to learn all the time."
Because knowledge was power and it meant he would survive. It meant he would grow strong and invincible, that he could use his body as a weapon. That he could use his knives, guns, thin wire and anything else. That he could use his brain to stay alive. He needed to be stronger and faster and smarter than his enemies, and in the end he would see fear in their eyes instead of that little boy shivering in a corner, trying to make himself small so no one would notice him.
She caught glimpses of a small boy with dark curls huddled beneath a table. Terror consumed him, spread through her and left her close to tears. The memory was gone almost immediately.
To cover her reaction, Joley took a long drink of water, keeping her gaze above his head. What did she really know about him? Absolutely nothing. She had judged him mainly on rumors and his looks. She stole a quick glance.
His shoulders were wide, his chest thick and muscular. Dark hair made his blue eyes all the more startling. There was an innate toughness about him, and etched into his face were lines of hard experience. More than all that, danger clung to his aura, a dark, moody color and scent that felt violent and frightening, and where she might be able to ignore everything else, she couldn't ignore what her senses told her. He might be a bodyguard, but he was much, much more. That danger drew her like a magnet and yet repelled her at the same time.
"Do you have siblings?"
He shrugged his broad shoulders, a mere ripple of muscle, the movement casual, his gaze hot. "I have six brothers, but I didn't grow up with them. I've never been able to find them." And he had abundant resources all over the world—which meant they were dead—or they didn't want to be found.
"How sad for you—and for them. My family is everything to me. I can't imagine what it must be like to
know you have someone but not be able to be with them."
"As I don't know them, it doesn't much matter."
She blinked. It made sense, but he wasn't telling the entire truth. He stayed close to her mind, sliding in and out at will and leaving behind impressions. He had wanted a family, and her family made the yearning all the more sharp. She didn't want to feel sympathy for him, or to picture him as a little boy with a mop of curls, scared and hungry. It made her all the more vulnerable to him.
"Why did you come here tonight?"
"You haven't been sleeping." He kept his gaze fixed on her.
She had thought his gaze cold, but the piercing blue had turned into something altogether different—glittering, hungry, almost like a very cunning animal waiting to leap and devour prey. She shivered and willed her blood not to surge so hotly in her veins. "You stopped talking to me."
"Is that why you can't sleep?"
"I wasn't sleeping when you were talking to me," she pointed out. "And I'm too exhausted to have a battle of the wits with you. What do you want?"
"I'm going to lie down with you and get you to sleep."
She nearly snorted water out her nose. "Are you crazy? I'm not getting in a bed with you. We wouldn't be sleeping."
"One of us has discipline."
"Really?" Her eyebrow shot up, and deliberately she slid her gaze over his body in a long, slow perusal. Her tongue touched her bottom lip while her fingers instinctively stroked the mark—his mark—on her hand.
He moved. It was a subtle shift, but there was no doubt in her mind he was easing the sudden tightness of his jeans. She could see the thick evidence in the front of his lap that the stroke over the mark affected more than just her. Dark lust glittered in his eyes, and the hunger grew ravenous.
"You're playing with fire," he said softly. "I came here to help you sleep, not for anything else. Don't force the issue before you're ready."
Drake Sisters 06 - Turbulent Sea Page 8