Drake Sisters 06 - Turbulent Sea

by Christine Feehan

  Joley sighed and leaned on the railing, the wind blowing her hair from around her face. She inhaled the salt air, tasted the sea spray, felt restless and empty. Where are you? She would wait as long as it took for him to come to her. It was two in the morning. She accepted that there would be another night without sleep. She missed Ilya so much that she could barely go into the house anymore. She wanted to stay outside, close to the sea, where the wind could carry her news of her man. Where are you?

  She pulled her cloak closer around her and continued her lonely vigil. Deep inside, her stomach churned like the wild sea, her brain refused to quiet, wave after wave of anxiety crashing through her mind, conjuring images of every conceivable injury or death that could befall Ilya. What if he never returned to her? So many women before her had stood in this very place waiting for a man who never came home, and they never knew where his ship had gone down. That could happen. He would just disappear and no one would ever know.

  Where are you? She pressed a hand to her stomach. She needed peace. She needed Ilya. Come home to me. Just come home.

  The wind tugged at her hair, teasing her with small fingers of awareness over her skin. She inhaled and caught a faint scent. Everything inside of her went still. Fear held her paralyzed for a moment. Her mind might be playing tricks on her. She turned slowly and walked to the rail, looking down away from the sea and for the first time toward the path leading up to her house. She had refused to allow herself to look—to hope—to believe he would really be there.

  In the distance, emerging out of the dark and the few tendrils of fog. she made out a man with wide shoulders and a long stride. Joley would recognize that walk anywhere. In the night he was a dark shadow, moving with stealth and power.

  As he approached the gates, she held her breath. The Drake home had power of its own, and the padlock was on those high gates. The house would protect any Drake woman from a threat if need be. Ilya never even broke stride, although he had to have seen that the iron gates were locked. He would know those ancient symbols of protection, yet he walked, head up, his strides covering ground fast.

  Joley's heart began to beat too fast—too hard. Her legs went weak so that she clutched at the rail. Tears burned in her eyes and blurred her vision. She felt a lump rising in her throat, choking her. Ilya. Her Ilya. At that moment she couldn't speak or move, not even to call out to him, absolute joy bursting through her.

  The padlock simply fell from the gates, and they swung open. The creak was loud in the silence of the night as the metal parted in the middle and welcomed him inside. Ilya kept walking up the winding path, through garden still overgrown with flowers in the dead of winter. Behind him the gates closed, clanking hard, and the padlock leapt from the ground, back to its place to guard the entrance.

  Joley dropped her cloak and ran. She waved her hand and the door opened for her. She raced down the hall and took the stairs two at a time. The house was dark and cold, mirroring the way she felt inside. She hadn't been able to bring herself to light a fire or even make a cup of tea, but the darkness didn't hinder her, she knew every step of the way to the front door and she sprinted, her heart bursting.

  The door swung open before she even managed to send it a command, and he was there. On her front porch. Real. Solid. Alive. Joley leapt on him, so that he had no choice but to catch her in midair. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, sank her face into the hollow of his shoulder and burst into tears.

  He buried his face in her silky hair and just held her on the porch while the wind whipped around them in a joyous frenzy and the waves climbed higher and higher as if dancing in their delight.

  Ilya carried Joley inside and kicked the door closed behind him. At once a fire sprang up in the fireplace. Candles on the mantel lit one by one, lending the room an amber glow. The mosaic beneath his feet seemed to come alive, swirling with colors and shooting stars. He swore for a moment that he heard whispers, feminine voices welcoming him home, but when he looked around, they were completely alone.

  Ilya let Joley's legs slide back to the floor, but he caught the nape of her neck and turned her face up to his. He had never in his life had a home, but when he walked through the gates, and the door to her house had swung open, and Joley had been there, her face lit up like Christmas morning—he had known. He was home.

  Emotion overwhelmed him, robbed him of speech, leaving him without words to tell her how much he loved her. He brought his mouth to hers, slowly, inch by inch, watching her face—her eyes. Watching the way she loved him back. He had dreamt of this moment, feeling the soft silk of her mouth, warm and tasting of that long-ago honey that had been so good. The dream didn't come close to the reality. He sank into her arms, into her kiss, and knew he was truly home. She held nothing back; she simply melted into him, her body soft and pliant, sensual with promise.

  Joley couldn't stop her tears, and he tasted them, too, his lips wandering over her face, memorizing the shape and feel of her.

  "I was so scared," she whispered, linking her fingers behind his neck. "Please never go away like that again."

  "I have no intention of ever leaving you, Joley. I handed in my resignation and walked away."

  "What happened? Were you able to take the network down?"

  "The bust covered four countries and netted us sixteen major players. I found your missing teen and we brought her home. She was traumatized, but she was alive and HIV-free, luckier than some of the others."

  "Thank God!"

  Ilya kissed her again, a long, slow savoring of her, pulling her closer, needing to feel her warmth. "How is Brian?"

  Joley pulled off his jacket, needing to inspect him for injuries. She almost dropped it on the floor, but something made her go and hang it in the entryway closet beside her coat. The two jackets looked as if they belonged together. "We're all taking turns watching over him, and hopefully he'll come to terms with his loss. It makes it so hard for him because he can't really talk about Nikitin to anyone and have them understand why he might have fallen in love with a monster."

  She turned her head and stared at him—drank him in. She still could barely believe he was really there.

  Ilya swept her into his arms, cradling her close to his chest. "Tell me where the bedroom is." He was already going up the stairs.

  She just pointed and nuzzled his neck, much more interested in the scent and texture of him than their destination.

  The walls were covered with pictures, and as they passed, the photographs rustled softly and two wall sconces glowed with light.

  Joley's bedroom faced the sea. There was a large window, already open, the sheer curtains billowing, like ghostly dresses, with the wind coming off the ocean. Her bed lay beside the window, giving her a huge view of the sea. Ilya put her down beside the large four-poster bed and tugged her shirt over her head. Joley kicked off her sandals as his hands went to the waistband of her jeans. He unzipped them and tugged, taking her panties as well. She held his arm while she stepped out of them. The moment he unhooked her bra, the cold air shaped her nipples into twin hard peaks.

  She stood with the moonlight spilling over her soft skin, her dark eyes luminous, her silky hair tousled from the wind.

  "You're so beautiful," he said, his breath catching in his lungs. He unbuttoned his shirt with one hand, reaching out with the other to cup her breast, his thumb sliding over her nipple, watching her reaction. "I missed you."

  She leaned into him for another kiss. She couldn't get enough, would never get enough. She ached with missing him. His arms slid around her, and he simply lifted her, kissing her the entire time, even as he laid her on the bed. The darkened shadow on his face rubbed erotically against her sensitive skin. When he raised his head, she felt bereft. He sank down beside her and removed his shoes.

  Joley couldn't take her gaze from him, afraid that if she did, he might disappear. She wanted to inspect him for injuries, and the moment he shed his clothes, she came up on her knees and ran he
r hands over him. Of course there were fresh bruises, scrapes and a couple of raw-looking gashes.

  His hand slid over her bare bottom, shaping the naked cheek lovingly as he brought his mouth down to the hollow of her shoulder. She went still, the breath leaving her lungs in a rush. She slid her arms around his neck and pressed close, still shaken by his absence—by his return—tears burning behind her eyelids even while her body was soft and aching with need.

  He lifted her hips. "Put your legs around me, lubov moya."

  She was almost afraid to—she wanted to have him deep inside, yet she didn't want anything to interfere with this time, this moment when the love was so overwhelming she could barely breathe.

  He whispered to her in Russian, bit gently at her earlobe, her neck, kissed her upturned mouth again. "Lock your ankles, Joley." This time there was that edge of command to his voice, and it brought a rush of damp heat, a small thrill in her stomach.

  She raised her legs obediently and sank down on his thick length, impaling her body. He was larger than she remembered, forcing his way through the tight velvet folds, stretching her impossibly. She was slick with liquid heat and the sensation of pleasure washing over her, but love was also there in abundance. She felt surrounded by her deep commitment and emotion for this man, she felt lifted by it, but most of all—complete. She felt his ragged gasp, the heat and raw honesty in his whisper of love.

  Ya lublu tebya.

  I love you. The three words meant everything. She was a spell-singer, and her world was sound. She knew truth when she heard it. She tightened her arms around him, holding him closer, wanting to share the same skin, wanting to crawl inside the shelter of his body and have them be as close as they could to each other.

  "I love you, Ilya, more than anything," she answered, meaning it, knowing he heard sound in the same way she did.

  Around them their colors swirled and merged like the notes of their song. It no longer frightened her. Ilya was part of her—the best part—and he felt the same way about her.

  His lovemaking started gentle, so incredibly tender she felt tears run down her face. Each stroke was slow and easy as his hands shaped and memorized her body. She felt as if he was worshiping her, the sweet pleasure washing through her in gentle waves. As his hips maintained that same gentle rocking, the tension began to rise, to build, until she couldn't think, until she was desperate for him to pick up the pace. She tried to force it, writhing and moving her own hips, but no amount of squirming or eventual pleading could change his tempo.

  Heat became an inferno; around them she heard the notes of their song catch fire as passion sizzled and burned through her veins. That slow burn grew hotter and brighter, threatening to consume her. She threw her head back, absorbing the sheer erotic magic of Ilya.

  Tongues of fire began to lick along her breasts, her belly, deep inside where that relentless stroke of velvet-encased steel continued to drag over sensitive nerves, until she heard her own sob and her body clenched and spasmed and began to coil tighter and tighter. Each stroke was precise, driving deep, a hard, thick piston that only tightened the stranglehold her body had him in. When it came, her orgasm rushed, overtook, consumed them both, throwing them into an explosive series of waves, roaring through their bodies, taking Ilya with her, her feminine sheath like hot silk gripping hard, forcing him to submit and surrender.

  She cried out his name, dropped her head onto his shoulder as she collapsed, kissing his neck, her arms holding him tight.

  "If you didn't understand what I just told you, I am in love with you," Ilya said. He didn't mean just what he'd told her when he was speaking Russian, he meant what held said with every beat of his heart, every stroke of his body. He remembered her fears of his wanting only sex from her, and he wanted to lay them to rest forever.

  "I understood perfectly."

  He felt her lips curve against his neck and knew she was smiling. He laid her back, careful of her smaller body as he blanketed her, holding her close to him, unable to break away yet. He wanted to feel the beat of her heart, hear her soft breath, feel the silk of her hair and the satin of her skin against his. She was soft, all woman; she was—everything.

  "Listen to that, Ilya," she said softly.

  "What am I listening to?" He was listening to her song, almost purring like a contented kitten. He would never hear that song enough.

  "The sea. Earlier, before you were here, the waves were wild and crazy. I could hear the roaring and crashing against the rocks." She pressed a hand to her stomach. "Inside I felt the same way, moody and stormy and all on edge. And then you came home. The sea is at peace." And so was she. Deep inside, everything had become calm and still and at peace.

  He looked at her instead of the inky water. Her heart leapt. His eyes, his beautiful eyes, often so like the turbulent sea in the midst of a wild coastal storm, were as serene as the clear skies after a storm passes. She could see his colors; the dark shadow was still there—and it probably would always be second nature to Ilya to hide who he was—but she could see the colors swirling beneath the darkness, light and happy and tranquil. His music was soft and sensuous, a blend of notes that made her heart melt and her world right.

  "You make everything in me still and relaxed, Joley. You make my body and heart sing. I swear, when I saw you coming toward me, the rest of the world fell away and I knew I was home. It didn't matter where, just as long as I was with you."

  Joley smiled and kissed him again, a long, lingering kiss that stole his breath. "Look at the sea, Ilya. The ocean is so enormous and beautiful. Especially at night, it just sweeps everything bad in your life under those pounding waves and takes it out to somewhere in the middle of all that vast space, leaving life good."

  His smile was slow and heart-stopping. She got another kiss, and then he braced himself above her to look out the window at the continually moving water. "It is beautiful, Joley," he agreed. "I had hoped we could buy the property next to Jonas. There's twenty acres for sale, a huge home with enough bedrooms for our sons, but we're not on the ocean. You have to look over the tops of the trees to see it in the distance."

  There was a small silence. "You were looking at property? When? How?"

  "Jonas sent me a link on the Internet. I had to do something while I was traveling, so I went through my e-mail. It sounded perfect, but now that I can hear the sea, maybe we should be closer." He lowered his body over hers again, bending his head to kiss her. It was difficult resisting her, the shape and texture of her curves when she melted the way she did each time he sank into her.

  "I hadn't thought that far ahead," she admitted, running her hands up and down his arms. It was necessary to touch him, to feel every inch of his skin. "But I'd love to live close to Hannah."

  "Our children can play together." He rolled over to lie beside her, one hand massaging her stomach.

  "There you go with the children again. Get over it already. We're not having children for a long, long time." But she was already a little enticed by the prospect of letting him see a real childhood by watching their son grow up in a loving home.

  "Really?" He bent his head and kissed her stomach, his dark hair falling across her skin and tickling her. "I don't know that I'd call eight months a long time, but I guess by the end of it, most women think it's a very long time."

  Joley couldn't help but immerse her fingers into that wealth of silky hair as he pressed his ear to her stomach and then rubbed another caress over her. "You are so insane. I told you, I'm on birth control."

  "Does birth control work for Elle?"

  She frowned and, with her fingers curled into his thick hair, yanked to bring his head up. "I am not Elle."

  He flashed a small grin. "No, but I am—well—the masculine version of her, and I'm feeling life here in your womb. I felt it the first time I ever made love to you."

  Joley gaped at him. It wasn't true. A baby? She put her hands on her belly. Could she be pregnant with a baby? His baby? That little boy with dark curls wh
o would never hide in a corner trying to make himself small? She imagined Ilya carrying the child on his shoulders, laughing. Ilya needed to laugh; he needed to see a childhood the way it was meant to be. Secretly, she thought she might like the motherhood thing—with one child—but there would be no admitting it to him.

  "You'd better be wrong. That would be like a fate worse than death. I'm not having seven children. Do you know how many times I'd have to be in labor?"

  He nuzzled her stomach. "Not if we did it two at a time."

  She sat up, pushing his head away from her. "Did I say I missed you, because if I did, I was sadly mistaken." She pointed across the room. "Go over there and sit down."

  He grinned at her, unrepentant. "I think we should have at least one girl, too. I want to find her trying to get out of windows when she's been naughty at school."

  Joley groaned. "Don't wish that on us!" She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him back to her. "Seven sons, for real? You'd better be really good at the daddy role."

  "I'll do my best," he promised, nuzzling her neck, "but I intend to be dynamite at the husband role." He kissed her several times, unable to stay away from her soft mouth. "And thank you for the way you lit up the house when I returned, the fire in the fireplace, the candles—it was so beautiful and made me feel unlike anything I've ever felt. It was perfect."

  Joley's hands smoothed through his hair lovingly. "I didn't do that," she whispered, knowing the truth. "The house recognized you and welcomed you home."

  Turn the page for a special preview of

  DARK CURSE

  by Christine Feehan

  Available in September 2008

  from Berkley Books!

  "LARA, let's get out of here," Terry Vale said. "It's getting dark and there's nothing here. Look below us. There's caves crisscrossing the entire mountain. Take your pick."