Drake Sisters 06 - Turbulent Sea

by Christine Feehan

  "This is going to hurt, Joley."

  "I know. But I can always sew you up next. You did my arm and it's healing fine."

  "I have a little experience with wounds."

  Joley was certain that was an understatement. She'd seen his body and the various scars covering him. He had three more to add to his collection.

  He washed the gash on her forehead carefully with a fiery liquid that had tears running down her face, but she held still for him. She breathed in deeply as the room began to spin and the edges of her vision blurred.

  "Talk to me."

  Ilya tried to infuse more healing warmth into the wound before he began the tiny stitches necessary to close it. "Tell me what happened, Joley. Then I'll tell you about my evening."

  She pressed her hand to his chest, right over his heart. "Promise?"

  He bent to brush a kiss on top of her head before resuming the small even stitches. "Hold still, devochka moya, I don't want to leave a scar."

  "It's not going to scar, not when you're using healing energy," she said, but she gasped and the tears streamed down her cheeks. "First there were the flowers."

  He stiffened. "Someone sent you flowers?"

  Her hand was still on his chest and it puffed out aggressively. She smiled through her tears at his male reaction. "Yes. Long-stemmed dead flowers along with a decapitated doll. The torso and legs of the doll were chopped in several pieces. It was very ugly."

  He paused and looked down at her face. "Where were the flowers?"

  "In the dressing room at the arena. And I'd hung my clothes on a little hook on the closet door, but when I looked around I didn't see them right away."

  He sighed. "But you didn't leave the room and get security."

  "Are you going to let me tell you? Sheesh, Ilya. I couldn't remember for certain if I'd put the clothes in the closet. I thought maybe I'd just thought about hanging them on the hook." She tried to hold still, but her forehead burned so bad she squirmed. "Someone had shredded the outfit into thin tiny scraps of material. My favorite outfit." Her voice rose to a wail.

  Ilya immediately stopped and let her breathe through the pain. "Almost finished with this one. You're doing fine."

  "You weren't there." She spoke accusingly even though it didn't make sense to. She'd told herself she'd been relieved when she finally crept out of the hotel like the coward she was and he hadn't been there to guard her. She'd ached to see him, yet at the same time, she was terrified she'd just throw pride away and let him rule her from dusk until dawn without love, without caring. Only for the incredible sex he admitted he'd been trained for.

  "I know, lubov moya. I'm sorry. You have no idea how sorry. I had an important meeting and should have been back in time." He bent to kiss her again, this time on the corner of her frowning mouth. "A couple more stitches should do it."

  She held still, sucking in her breath and counting to herself until he grunted in satisfaction and covered the area with another antiseptic. "I'm giving you a shot, Joley. You need antibiotics. I have them in my field kit."

  "I hate needles."

  "I know. And you're being very brave." He gave her the shot quickly and then sponged the blood and tears from her face. "You'll have to take off your clothes." He turned from her to run water in the bathtub. "I need to go over the rest of you and stitch up anything too deep or use a butterfly bandage. I'll get you a robe to wear so at least you'll be clean."

  "I'll take a shower."

  Ilya frowned. "I can't let you do that, Joley. You obviously have a concussion. I wouldn't want you falling down. I'll get you clean."

  She frowned up at him. "I'm not going to let you give me a bath. I'm not a baby."

  "Right now you're my baby, so don't argue with me." There was the merest hint of steel in his voice. His hands went to her shirt.

  She caught his wrists. "Ilya."

  "It's all right, Joley. You're not well. Let me take care of you. Tell me what happened after you found your clothes shredded. What did you do?"

  She lifted her chin, trying to ignore the way he was so careful to keep from hurting her as he cut off her shirt. It was stained with blood, and she'd never be able to wear it again, but it made her cry anyway. Which was silly, but she couldn't stop, especially when he dropped the rags to the floor, leaving her exposed in her lacy bra.

  He drew her close to his body, pressing her face into his shoulder. "You're safe with me. You have to remember, Joley," he stroked caresses down her hair, "I'm very partial to your body. I'll be very careful."

  "I know you will. It's not that. This is two outfits today destroyed. Two of my favorites." Which was idiotic, she could care less about her clothes. Her tears had nothing to do with ruined clothes and everything to do with danger and death swirling around her and putting everyone she loved in jeopardy. "I don't know how you live like this." She couldn't stop weeping or shaking, no matter how hard she tried.

  She felt so vulnerable, standing there nearly naked with tears she couldn't stop and her body trembling. His hands were warm and strong, and he simply unclipped the bra and tossed it after the shirt. His fingers skimmed down the sides of her breasts, sliding to hook her hips. Her body jerked and a sob escaped. Joley pushed her knuckles into her mouth.

  He framed her face with his hands. "I'll buy you a couple of outfits. Nicer ones. Ones you'll love. Come on, lubov moya, stand up and let's get the jeans off you. You have a nasty cut on your leg as well. You're exhausted. Don't think about what we're doing. Tell me what you did when you found your clothes shredded."

  She swallowed hard and tried not to shiver as he hooked her jeans and boy-short panties, dragging them over her thighs and urging her to step out of them. He lifted her into the bathtub.

  "I gave the performance of my life. I rocked the house. I wasn't about to let someone scare me off."

  Her teeth chattered as Joley sank down into the heated water. Whatever he had put into it stung, letting her know where the cuts on her body were. She crossed her arms over her breasts and swayed. Her head pounded so hard she bit down on her lip to keep from moaning. Ilya crouched down beside her, sponging her off with a soft washcloth, rinsing the blood so he could see how deep the cuts were.

  Most were superficial, he saw with a sigh of relief. She did look a little worse for wear with her arm torn from the earlier accident, although he could see it was healing fast. Her head was by far the worst cut, followed by the gash in her leg. It was long, but shallow, not really needing stitches he saw now that he could examine it. A bandage would do the trick, and with the smaller cuts and bruises he just laid his palm on them, summoning healing energy and decided he'd apply a topical antibiotic cream.

  "That's my woman. Now tell me about the bomb." He dried her shivering body off gently with a towel and wrapped her in a robe. He dropped his voice to a hypnotic, mesmerizing tone. "The pain will lessen in a moment."

  Joley sank into the chair by the mirror, her legs too wobbly to hold her up. She drew her knees up, resting her feet on the seat of the chair, and watched as he casually pulled his shirt off. He had such a beautiful body. She wished her eyes would focus just a little better. He had a really ugly slice down his ribs, obviously from a knife, but it looked fairly shallow.

  "Here, let me see." She beckoned him closer with her finger. She had recognized the compulsion in his voice; he could spell-sing, although not as well as she could. She hadn't thought of that with her brain so jumbled, but she could do no less for him.

  Ilya hesitated but stepped closer when she started to get off the chair. "It's nothing, really, Joley. I'll shower and wash the wounds thoroughly in a few minutes."

  Joley ignored his statement and touched around the wound lightly with her fingertips. He felt that touch vibrate through his body like an electrical current. As tired as he was, as fearful as he'd been for her, his control wasn't nearly as good as he'd have liked. He didn't want to react physically when she needed comfort and care most, but it seemed he had no control over his
body. He felt the blood pooling hot and insistent in his groin.

  "Joley, maybe you'd better not…"

  "Shh," she cautioned and leaned forward to brush a kiss along the ragged edges.

  He'd thought the pads of her fingers were sensual, but her soft lips were a thousand times worse. He cursed and caught her wrists. "Tell me about the bomb."

  She looked up at him with slightly glazed eyes. He couldn't help himself—he leaned down and kissed her upturned mouth, running his tongue possessively along the seam until she opened for him. He allowed himself the luxury of losing himself in her, just for a moment, to celebrate that she was alive. He'd known fear as a child, but had lost it along the way as an adult—now it was back because for the first time in his life, he had someone to lose.

  He lifted his head and brushed her mouth twice more. "Come on. Let's get you into the living room. The detective should be here in a few minutes. I'm going to shower and stay out of sight. I have to fix my arm. Can you handle him alone?"

  She nodded, her eyes enormous, pupils still somewhat dilated.

  He carried her into a large, sunken living room and laid her on the couch, arranging the pillows around her and covering her with a blanket. "Don't get up when he comes in. Just stay right there. He knows you're waiting for him and he'll let himself in."

  "How do you know that?"

  "Because it's my job to take care of details. Tell me about the bomb."

  She frowned, trying to remember. "There was a photograph pinned to the door of the bus." She looked around a little helplessly. "I had it. I don't think I dropped it."

  He'd taken it out of her hands and put it on the bureau beside several of his weapons. "It's safe. Keep going."

  "It was a picture of Tish and me, but someone had drawn in bullets on our throats and they cut out letters from a magazine, which I personally find hokey. It said to back off the girl. And then I started to open the door, but Jerry called to me and I turned, and then the bus exploded."

  "You did good, Joley. Tell that to the cop. I'll be in the other room. Try not to mention me if you can help it." He was already moving fast. The detective was coming up the walkway. A small strobe light flashed, indicating his presence. Ilya left her there, trusting that he had reinforced the command enough with his voice that, even in her slightly dazed state, she would obey.

  The hot shower felt good on his tired body. It was difficult to sew up his arm when chunks of flesh appeared to be missing, but he managed, although the stitches weren't nearly as small and precise as the ones he'd done for Joley. He closed the wound as best he could, gave himself a shot of antibiotics and attended the other scrapes. He was exhausted by the time he heard the detective leave.

  Exhausted, he set the alarms for the perimeter of the house and then the house itself. Flicking off lights, he carried Joley to the bedroom. She was very drowsy. He would have to wake her up every hour to make certain she was all right, but for the time being both of them could rest. He removed the bulky robe and just pulled a blanket over her body, grateful that he was tired and needed to sleep. Hopefully he could get through the night without going crazy lying beside her.

  He stretched out, and then turned on his side to curl his body around hers. He thought he could control her movements, at least minimize them, but she was restless and kept batting at the wound on her face. Each time he caught her hands, it jerked the hell out of his arm, sending pain crashing through him. He cursed the fact that drugs didn't work any better on him than they did on her, and finally, to keep her from hurting herself, he used a soft scarf to tie her wrists together and to the headboard.

  Joley murmured a protest, but turned into his body for warmth and eventually slept fitfully. She responded each time he woke her and talked to her, but readily went back to sleep when he left her alone. He drifted off, dreaming of her.

  Chapter 15

  JOLEY knew she was dreaming again. She'd had so many erotic dreams, her fantasies getting darker, but much more pleasurable each time. As always it was Ilya with her, because only Ilya saw deep inside her and only Ilya mattered to her. She could barely breathe when he was near, her thoughts and body filled with urgent need.

  She was naked, cool air on her bare skin as she lay stretched out on the bed. Ilya stood above her, his features carved and sensual. He was stark naked as well, his body rippling with muscle, his heavy erection already thick and hard. She could see his chiseled body, the defined muscles covered with old scars and new, raw wounds. He looked like a wild Cossack, a warrior, the pagan godlike beauty of his face stamped with lust and sin.

  Her breath caught in her lungs and lay trapped there, so that she heard her own ragged gasps. She wet her lips and tried to move, her legs stirring restlessly as her body reacted to his presence with a rush of heated liquid. She could feel her thighs tingle and her nipples harden under his heavy-lidded stare. Her arms were a bit uncomfortable held over her head so that her breasts thrust upward toward him. It took a moment for her to realize that a soft scarf wrapped around her wrists held her hands tied to the headboard.

  In her dream, the thought of being his captive added to the already smoldering fire in her body. She burned for him, and it was so unfair. He stood above her looking hot and sexy, his hand casually stroking his heavy erection with a near mesmerizing circle, until he was impossibly thick. She couldn't tear her gaze from the sexy sight of him, the pearl of moisture on the broad head. His eyes were filled with lust, his hunger raw and edgy. She loved the look on his face, harshly sensual, his body hot and hard and so ready for her.

  She moved her hips, pushing them toward him in invitation because in a dream, she could enjoy the fantasy, glory in the dominating look on his face, the possession in his eyes. He lowered himself to the bed beside her, one hand sliding up her rib cage to cup her breast, his thumb grazing her nipple so that she jumped and the breath left her body in a strangled gasp. His shaft lay thick and heavy against her bare thigh, the heat radiating up from that single spot like a slow wash of molten lava.

  "I love the way you look right now, Joley, helpless and so mine," he whispered. "So soft, all gleaming skin, wet for me, needy, your eyes begging me to take you. You're mine, aren't you? Tell me. Say it. I want you to acknowledge just this once who you belong to."

  His voice was low, rough, demanding even. The commanding sound added to the thrill. She was so susceptible to sound. His lips whispered across hers. His tongue licked the corner of her mouth, a sensual rasp that nearly threw her into a climax as his fingers tugged at her nipple in a rhythmic melody. Every nerve ending in her body went on alert. She gasped again and arched into him. She was his. She wanted to be his.

  "Of course I belong to you." Dreams and fantasies were safe, and she could have everything she wanted without the risk of giving too much of herself. Right here, now, she could show him how much she loved him, how much she truly was his, because he would never know it any other way than in her dreams.

  His hand brushed back the hair from the cut on her forehead, and he leaned in to brush right above it with his lips, fingers tender as he touched her. His palm shaped her face, moved down her neck to her shoulder and then slid over her breasts. She shivered beneath his touch, a broken cry escaping when he leaned over her body and took her breast into his mouth. Hot heat raced from breast to belly as he suckled, his tongue flicking and teeth scraping.

  Ilya had meant to slide the scarf from her hands, but Joley lay stretched out before him and it had been so long—too long. The sight of her lush body—flushed with arousal, waiting for him, open to him, a priceless treasure, a gift he could explore slowly—had him torn between wanting to sink his body into hers and pound unmercifully or go slowly, drawing her to new heights so that she pleaded with him for more.

  Her skin was like satin, warm and alive and so soft she felt exquisite beneath his stroking palms. Her thigh felt smooth and enticing against his pulsing cock, and her legs moved against him with restless pleading. He inhaled her fragrance, al
l woman, the scent of her driving him toward the edge of his control.

  The full curve of her mouth tempted him again, and he swallowed her soft moan as his lips took hers, tongue stroking deep to tangle with hers. She tasted even better than he remembered, all honey and spice, a flavor supremely Joley. His lifted his head to take in the picture of her lying there, stretched out across the bed, hands bound, breasts thrust toward his mouth, the flat, exquisite belly and tiny curls at the junction of shapely legs. She was an offering sending another shaft of pleasure rocketing through his body.

  He dropped one hand to her leg and ran up the smooth skin to her thigh. The pads of his fingers skimmed the cuts with gentle care, infusing a rush of healing warmth even as his hand parted her thighs. Her body welcomed him, already damp and needy with pleading.

  He took her mouth again, that beautiful mouth he always fantasized about. So full, so soft, and inside, a velvet heated secret treasure of sensation he could lose himself in easily. His tongue traced her full lower lip, teased her upper one and claimed each corner of her mouth. He nibbled and teased, taking his time, drawing moans from her. All the while he watched as arousal deepened her color and brought her nipples to harder peaks. For him—all for him.

  He reveled in the way she gave herself up to the hot need, allowing it to consume her. His hands slipped over her narrow rib cage to her heaving breasts, cupping them, kneading the soft flesh, pushing them together so he could flick first one nipple and then the other with his tongue. She gasped and arched closer to him, crying out when his mouth closed over one hard bud, sucking it in and flicking back and forth with his tongue until she wailed. He bit down and she cried out brokenly.

  "That's what I want, lubov moya, burn for me."

  One hand slid down her flat belly, exploring the muscles bunched so tight there before slipping lower. He plunged two fingers deep into her hot, wet channel while his mouth closed around her other breast.