Drake Sisters 06 - Turbulent Sea

by Christine Feehan

  She tasted just like the honey he remembered so vividly from the beehives outside of the school where he'd spent so many years being trained. He'd stolen that, too, just as he stole his kiss from Joley. And like he'd accepted the stings he'd received as a child, he would accept whatever punishment Joley meted out, because in the end, the pleasure spreading through him at her taste, the feel of her soft skin and silky hair, the fire in her rising up to meet the fire in him made any and all retribution worthwhile.

  It wasn't just sparks she gave off, it was a conflagration, and the rush was instant and consumed him. The flames devoured him so quickly he didn't have a chance for control and discipline, the two things that had been drilled—beaten—stomped into him. No woman should be able to shake his control and take over his body, but the moment he touched Joley's soft skin, felt the whisper of her warm breath against him, the touch of her lips, and tasted her, wild and addicting, he was lost.

  His hands spanned her throat, tilting her head back so he could take her kiss, devour her the way he needed. Music burst through him, perfect notes he rarely heard. Fire and ice, wind and calm, sky and earth, water and rock all fused together. Joley seemed as wild and turbulent as the sea, yet beneath her fiery passion, at the very core of her, she was as forceful and strong and as constant as the deepest ocean currents. Ilya seemed as calm as a windless sea, yet beneath the surface smoldered a volcano of such explosive magnitude, his power could easily sweep everything from his path. Together they completed each other, his melody and hers merging into a single, perfect harmony.

  It took him a moment to realize the odd rhythmic note was pounding on the door, not his heart or hers out of sync. The problem with them was that everything was exactly in sync. He forced himself to pull back, to breathe through the urgent demands of his body. He had to close his eyes to keep from responding to the naked need in her eyes.

  "Help me here."

  "You started it."

  "Someone's at the door." He put her from him, noting that his hands were shaking. His famous control slipped dangerously around her. He could drown in her eyes if he wasn't careful, and he definitely got lost in the taste and texture of her.

  Joley nodded, her fingers touching her lips. "I can still feel you—on my mouth—inside me. How do you do that?"

  "I wish I was inside you. I ache like a son of a bitch. This has got to stop."

  Her smile flashed, just the way he'd known it would. Joley could light up the world. She certainly could chase away the shadows in his.

  "If you keep pushing me away, Ilya, we'll never get it to stop."

  "Joley!" Brian's voice insisted. "Open up."

  Instantly her face changed. "It's Brian. They're back from the police station."

  The anxiety in her voice was real enough to slice into Ilya like the razor edge of a knife. He wanted that anxiety for himself—not another man—not even her lead guitarist.

  Joley yanked open the door and actually hauled Brian into the room and, ignoring her own long-standing rule, hugged him tight. "I was worried about you. Are you all right? They didn't hurt you, did they?"

  Ilya leaned against the wall and observed the expressions chasing across her face. She looked like a fierce angel. What did she think? That the cops had used a rubber hose on Brian? The idea was absurd that they would touch him, not as famous as he was. And had she forgotten he'd had a lawyer with him?

  Damn it. He couldn't stay here smoldering and drawing even more attention to himself. With some effort he managed to look and walk normally as he slipped past them. To his annoyance, Joley didn't do more than wave as he shut the door.

  Brian watched Ilya go, a slight frown on his face as he turned back to Joley. "I'm fine. It was uncomfortable, but we got through it."

  "I'm so sorry I asked you to talk to Dean in the first place. I should have done it."

  "It didn't help that we had an argument right before someone murdered him, but I've never owned a gun in my life and don't even know how to fire one." Brian shrugged. "I just told the truth. I told them you'd asked me to speak to him about the missing girl and inviting teens to parties and hoped they believed me."

  "The cops told Jerry we can do the show tonight," Brian added with some relief. "They let us both go. I got here as fast as I could to do the sound check and Jerry's ordered the crew to break everything down fast after the show so we can get on the road as soon as possible." Brian ran both hands through his hair. "Man, I freaked when the FBI agent showed up."

  "FBI?" Joley echoed. "What's that about?"

  "Branscomb said they were a small town and the local FBI was giving them a hand." Brian sighed. "I never want to do that again. They asked me the same questions over and over, and I began to think I was saying something wrong."

  "What exactly did happen between you and Dean?" Joley asked. "Tish didn't want me going over there just in case someone was taking video. I should have though."

  "You would have made it worse. He was furious and told us we didn't have any right to tell him who he could or couldn't see. He didn't remember her name, but he said, and I'm quoting here, 'She wanted it.'"

  Joley groaned. "Damn that man. He had to have known she was a child. Give her alcohol and she'd say anything he wanted to hear."

  "Well, if you were looking for remorse, he didn't have any, and he could have cared less that the girl was missing. Jerry's pretty hard, but Dean's cavalier attitude that the girl was still missing got to him. Jerry fired him and Dean said all kinds of things about you, which pissed me off." Brian showed her his knuckles, looking a bit sheepish. "I haven't hit anyone since eighth grade. I had to tell the cop I hit him, and believe me, that didn't sound so good when the guy ends up dead."

  "Did they ask you about the Russian mob?"

  He nodded. "After our conversation about Nikitin I was worried. And a few of his men have been hanging around here checking things out."

  "I was running with Ilya Prakenskii," Joley said. "He gets upset when I don't take a bodyguard with me." She was careful to watch him closely just in case he'd observed Ilya leaving after her.

  "That's good, at least we know he didn't do it." Brian frowned at her. "Your face changes when you talk about him. Do you two have something going on?"

  "I don't want to talk about him."

  Brian scowled at her. "Oh, you so have something going on with the bodyguard. Isn't that against the personal protector code or something?"

  Joley knew she looked guilty. "He's not my bodyguard and we're not in a relationship. We're just sort of dancing around the idea."

  "Look, Joley," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose and peering at her. "I'll admit he's got some kind of mesmerizing cobra-before-the-strike appeal, but you can't be serious. And before you go all crazy on me, you remember you told me to say something the next time I saw you going off the deep end for a loser." He held up his hand. "And don't say he's not a loser. Maybe he's not a pill-popping, woman-beating asshole, but he's the kind of man who would strangle you with his bare hands if you weren't faithful to him."

  Outrage swept through her. "I have never cheated on anyone. Never."

  "There you go, losing your mind. I knew you would. I meant to point out what kind of man he is, not what kind of woman you are."

  Joley threw her arms up into the air, signaling she'd had enough of the conversation. "Let's go," she said. "We have to talk to everyone and settle them down for the show. Everyone has to be freaked."

  "Logan was afraid Tish might leave, but she's not like that. She's steady as a rock," Brian said, stepping aside so Joley could exit the bus first.

  Lights immediately blinded her as cameras went off all around them. Hands caught at her, tearing at her clothes. She was jerked off the stairs and she nearly fell, catching herself at the last moment. A hard hand shoved her in the back, propelling her forward and down. She fell hard, Brian's shout mingling with the questions coming from all around her. She caught a glimpse of the Reverend's bodyguard disappearing to the ba
ck of the swarm, malicious satisfaction on his face.

  Flashes went off as she pushed herself off the ground. One cameraman crouched beside her as if to help her up. "Are you and Brian a couple? Are you seeing each other?" He thrust a recorder closer to her.

  "Joley!" Brian called to her, clearly trying to get through the mass surrounding her.

  More flashes went off. "You're all such gentlemen," she murmured under her breath, wishing she had Hannah's powers. She'd turn them all into toads—well, maybe Hannah couldn't exactly turn them into big, ugly, wart-covered toads, but she might be able to pull off the warts. She rarely went anywhere anymore, not even with her sisters, unless she was in her hometown, where the people protected her. This was her life, every second recorded and photographed until there seemed nothing left for her.

  Large hands caught at her and yanked her to her feet, setting her up against a hard body. Ilya dragged her beneath his shoulder, his long arm covering her head, and caught at Brian with his other arm, pulling him in his wake as he began to walk them through the pushing and shoving photographers. His eyes were twin glittering diamond chips, hard and burning with fire. He kept moving even when photographers got in his way, wading through them as if they weren't there. He never responded to their questions or taunts, just took Joley and Brian through the mass toward the stage.

  Security swarmed around them in the form of police officers, men who worked as security in off-duty hours. They began shepherding the reluctant paparazzi out of the area while Joley's crew formed a line across the entrance to the stage, blocking the cameramen off so Ilya could get the two of them to safety.

  "Are you hurt?" Ilya asked, moving faster as the cops took control. He kept his voice low. "Tell me if you're injured."

  Joley realized she was shaking. "I'm just angry. I tore my jeans and skinned my knees and hands. RJ's bodyguard shoved me down. I'll bet he got them in."

  "What about you, Brian?" Ilya asked. "Are you hurt?"

  "Just my pride. I saw Joley go down and couldn't get to her. It's like that anywhere she goes. It's bad, but not like that for the rest of us. She can't get a cup of coffee or go out without them mobbing her. I should have been able to protect her."

  "That rotten coward set me up," Joley bit out between her teeth. "I'm so going to get him back." She was struggling not to cry, not wanting to admit how terrifying that couple of minutes had been, lying vulnerable and exposed on the ground surrounded by a mob.

  The crew opened their line and allowed the three of them onto the stage. As they made it to safety Ilya let go of Brian and turned to fully face Joley, his hands on her arms. "You leave RJ's people to me. This is getting out of hand and you need to be safe, Joley. If RJ is trying to harm you and his people are using the paparazzi to do it, you can't give him any openings."

  His eyes swept over her, taking in the torn jeans and the smears of dirt on her clothing. She was trembling. His hands fit around her waist, and he lifted her to the platform where Denny's drums were assembled.

  "He's right, Joley," Brian said. "That was plain scary. Anyone could have stuck a knife in you and no one would have known until it was too late. There were too many of them. You went down so fast, and their instincts weren't to help; they all wanted pictures of you on the ground. I'll bet the headlines are going to say you were drunk or doing drugs."

  Joley wanted to smash something. That was part of the problem with her life—there were aspects that were so out of control—and she had lost her sense of humor over it. She had money, lots of it, more than she could ever need in her lifetime. She had put it to good use, of course; she had Libby for a sister, and Libby made certain they were all very aware of every environmental issue as well as humanitarian one. But money didn't get her freedom; in fact, just the opposite. The higher she'd risen in fame, the narrower her world had become the fewer people she could trust.

  She loved singing and she loved performing, but she hadn't been able to strike enough of a balance with the paparazzi to get them to give her some space, and she was drowning. For the second time in her career, she was considering quitting—giving it all up. She had no idea what she'd do, but the life was making her physically ill. She couldn't sleep at all anymore, and even her intense exercise was no longer helping.

  Ilya's hands were warm on her knees, and she knew he was healing the small scrapes. His energy was strong. She felt his heat, and for one moment white light burst through his darkened aura. She glimpsed a multitude of colors, and then the shadows drew across him like a veil, closing his real character off to her, although she felt she was beginning to see the real Ilya through all the little glimpses.

  "Thanks." Her voice was too intimate, and she saw Brian glance at her sharply. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Thanks for getting us out of there, Ilya, I—we really appreciate it. We've got to get moving on the sound check. We've only got a couple of hours before the performance tonight. Where's Jerry?"

  "Right here." Jerry came up behind her. "Are you all right?"

  She nodded. "Did security clear them all out of here?"

  "For now." Jerry stuck out his hand to Ilya. "Thanks for helping out. I'd like to talk to you later if you can spare a couple of minutes." He waved his hand around to encompass the scene. "I'm busy right now, but can we get together after this?"

  Ilya nodded.

  Joley slid off the platform, brushing at the dirt on her clothes. "Jerry, call everyone in. We need to talk about what happened…" Beside her, Ilya stirred, not physically—he didn't move a muscle—but she felt the impact of his reprimand mentally. She sighed. "To settle everyone down before the performance."

  As if I have to explain myself to you. I don't need your approval for anything. But she had explained, and that made her angry at herself. She was getting used to his domineering ways, which meant he was wearing down her defenses.

  She sent Ilya a snippy look and turned back to the business at hand. "These people have paid money to see us, and we need to be able to deliver a good show if we're going on tonight."

  Ungrateful little wretch.

  He simply reached for her hand and slid his thumb across her palm. Her body nearly convulsed with pleasure. Shivers slid down her spine; her womb spasmed and her nipples tightened. He sent her the impression of a wicked smirk even though his expression remained absolutely impassive. And then he walked away.

  Joley lost her train of thought. She simply stood there with her mouth open and her heart pounding and her body throbbing with urgent need. Damn him. He always seemed to get in the last word. She rubbed her itching palm against her thigh. Maybe not. She lifted her hand to her mouth, rounded her lips to press them tight against her palm, took a long slow lick right over the center and followed it with a sensuous scraping of her teeth along the skin.

  Ilya stumbled. His perfectly graceful, fluid walk faltered and he nearly tripped over his own feet. He glanced over his shoulder at her, and she flashed her sweetest smile. Suddenly feeling very good about things, she turned her attention to the assembling crew and band members, leaving Ilya to think about how she could even things out.

  The little minx. Ilya walked a short distance away and draped his large body in a casual pose against the wall, crossing his arms and trying to ease the aching discomfort in the front of his jeans. He'd handed her a hell of a weapon to use against him. He was sporting the biggest hard-on he'd ever had, and he'd had a few. Back in school they'd used very talented women to train him. The idea was stay in control, and when he didn't, the consequences had been immediate, painful and dire.

  In one stroke of her tongue, Joley had wiped out years of brutal training. He'd felt her lips suddenly close over him, her tongue stroke down the hard length of him, teeth just barely scraping, and he'd nearly burst out of his jeans. The woman learned fast, and she was just mean enough to use her knowledge. Keeping the upper hand with her wasn't going to be as easy as he'd thought. He willed the blood in his veins to cool to a slow, simmering boil while he stood there
watching with hawk eyes the crowd around her.

  He could handle sex. Any kind of sex with any woman, and he would stay in complete control; his years of training had seen to that. But he was finding out—much to his horror—that emotion—real emotion—changed everything and made sex something far beyond what he'd ever been shown or taught. There was no controlling his desire or his body when his heart was involved. Damn her, she'd turned his life upside down, turned the very foundations of his life from hard rock to sand. His need for Joley had turned the pleasurable act of sex into something altogether different. Now he knew why people used the phrase "falling in love." The drop was long and scary.

  Joley was all too aware of Ilya. He made every nerve ending in her body come alive. Her soul sang to his. It was corny, but true. And his answered. She didn't know what that meant exactly, only that she was hyperaware of him and the fact that his aura was drowning in lust—and she'd done that with one stroke of her tongue on the center of her palm. That palm that had plagued her for months. He had seemed stunned by her touch, even if it was through their weird connection. She turned that piece of information over in her mind, even as she addressed her crew. She wasn't exactly as powerless in her odd relationship with Ilya as she had always believed.

  Everyone was subdued, some openly distraught and afraid. All had been questioned by the police, and a few were ambivalent about going on with the show. No one seemed terribly upset about Dean's death. He'd kept to himself for the most part, and the crew seemed to want to distance themselves from him. Maybe it was the nature of the murder—the suspicion that it had been a mob hit, and no one wanted any part of that.

  She looked them over carefully, noting auras and melodies, unconsciously searching for the one that she'd glimpsed in New York with Dean. She spotted him toward the back of the pack, a swirling of brownish-green mud coated with speckles of dark gray and streaks of murky pink. The aura puzzled her, as every color was muddy and dirty. She glanced from him to Ilya, her unease difficult to hide.