Dagger's Edge: A Brute Force Novel

by Lora Leigh

  She rose and took his hand, allowing him to lead her from the house and into the SUV that awaited them outside.

  She hadn’t been aware they were leaving so soon, but it made sense. Beau would be able to trace the video call; he’d know where they were. At the very least, his security team would be on their way to the small estate.

  “He may not be behind the attempt to kill me, but he’s up to something,” Journey warned Ivan softly as they neared the airfield he used. “He can’t be trusted, Ivan. I know he was working with whatever agency rescued me and Tehya that night, just as you are. But you can’t trust him. If he manages to take me, he’ll find a way to force that marriage.”

  His arm slid around her, pulled her to his side, and his lips pressed against the top of her head. “Never fear, Syn,” he said softly. “He won’t live to consummate it if he does. I swear that to you. He’ll die before I’ll allow him to take what’s mine.”

  What was his. For now, she belonged to him as no one else did.

  She didn’t question it; she pushed back the knowledge that she wasn’t really his. That was the deal; as long as she wore his ring, she belonged to him.

  Her dream, in exchange for his vengeance.

  Lifting her head as they passed the gates of the airfield, she gave Ivan a deliberately wide-eyed innocent look.

  “Did I mention I get violently airsick?…”

  * * *

  “He lied to us,” Tehya stated from where she sat beside her husband in Beauregard Grant’s office and watched as the MI6 undercover agent spoke on the phone quietly with the head of the Elite Ops unit he worked with.

  “Not really,” Jordan said, his tone musing. “We didn’t ask him if he had Journey; we asked him if he had a woman using the identity she’d assumed.”

  “Semantics.” She glared at her husband.

  Sapphire eyes gleamed back at her in amusement. “But technically, still not a lie. Ivan wouldn’t bother to lie, but the manipulating bastard isn’t above word games. He actually thrives on them, I believe.”

  She pressed her lips together, not in the mood to be amused.

  “Two of his agents are in the hospital and Journey has a team of assassins after her. Who would hire them if not Stephen and Craig?” she asked him worriedly.

  “That seems to be the mystery of the moment,” he breathed out heavily. “We have two operations units investigating it, and once I make a call those units will be shifted to provide Ivan and Journey cover. He has the right idea though. The only way to answer that question is to draw them out. And his engagement to her will definitely draw them out.”

  “He’ll get her killed,” she protested.

  She hadn’t had time to really get to know her cousin. She’d tried. She’d hidden who she was, drawn Journey in as a friend, and hadn’t trusted her with the truth. And her cousin saw that as a betrayal.

  Everyone in Journey’s life had managed to betray her, Tehya thought sadly. They’d lied to her, her parents and her grandfather had used her, her sister had ignored her, and her brother had refused to see how desperate she was to escape. Until Journey had simply run from all of them.

  At the sound of Beauregard’s muttered curse they turned back to him to see him toss the cell phone to the desk before pushing his fingers through the thick, straight strands of black hair framing his face.

  “Well, this is a bloody fucking mess!” he snapped, the British accent he possessed heavy with anger. “Stubborn damned Russian bastard. He’ll have Stephen and Craig foaming at the mouth in fury.” He glared at them as though it were somehow their fault. “And that bloody girl thinks I tried to have her murdered? She’s lost her senses.”

  “She didn’t sound as though she’d lost her senses,” Jordan pointed out, and Tehya had to agree with him. “She actually sounded a lot like someone else I know.” She caught the smile he shot her and refrained from rolling her eyes.

  “That was not Journey.” Beauregard punched his finger in the direction of the computer screen. “Hell, she didn’t even look like herself. Were it not for that scar on her hand, I would have sworn it was an imposter.”

  The scar. Tehya’s heart ached at the thought of the small burn mark her cousin carried on her hand.

  “She’s not the girl you knew,” Tehya corrected the agent. “She’s four years older, Beau, with four years of anger and desperation hardened inside her. She’d not be the same; now we have to figure out how to work with the change in her as well as the situation.”

  “Ivan’s a master gamesman and manipulator,” Jordan pointed out then. “But he wouldn’t allow Journey to go into one of his games without being honest with her. The fact that she’s going along with a fake engagement proves it.”

  “Fake?” Beau stared at them as if they were crazy. “Jordan, had she been wearing anything other than his grandmother’s ring, I’d agree with you. Before the old woman died she made Ivan swear no woman but the one he intended to wed would wear that ring, and anyone who knows Ivan knows that. He’s worn it on a chain around his neck instead since her death. He’s dead serious about that engagement. And the mark she carried on her neck assures me she’s serious enough about it that she’s sharing his bed now. The little wench would barely allow me to kiss her.”

  Well, that was a surprising piece of news.

  “Hell, she glowed,” Beau bit out, obviously put out that Journey hadn’t fallen at his feet as she was supposed to but had not only run from him but also found herself in Ivan’s bed rather than Beau’s.

  Tehya had to admit she was surprised by the fact that Ivan was sleeping with Journey. Besides the fact that she was a Taite, she was more than ten years younger than the Russian. She had been his daughter Amara’s friend, and Ivan had never been known to bed any woman who was more than a few years younger than himself. And he damned sure didn’t take innocent young women as lovers.

  “Where will he take her?” Tehya turned to her husband with the question.

  Jordan’s expression was thoughtful for long moments before he grimaced. “If he’s serious about marrying her, about protecting her, he’ll take her to his place in the Hamptons. It’s the most secure of his properties, and surrounded by allies rather than enemies. He made certain of that. He’ll pull in only his most trusted staff and security, and take a stand there.”

  “And if it isn’t serious?” she asked.

  “Then he’ll take her to the penthouse. He’s never taken one of his lovers to the house. He’s funny about things like that. It’s the family home, where he has his traditions and where he can be himself. Ivan’s rather traditional in a lot of ways,” he mused. “Had he been born to anyone other than the monster his father was, he would have married and had a dozen kids. His wife would be too busy being cherished by him and their children to have a wandering eye, and he would have been so devoted to his family that he wouldn’t have considered being unfaithful. The man’s a throwback.”

  Strange, she’d never seen Ivan Resnova quite like that, but she had to admit, he did seem to hang on to some odd notions where raising his daughter had been concerned.

  “This is a mess, Jordan,” Beau stated then, shaking his head. “It won’t take Stephen and Craig long to learn about this. Ivan is the one man guaranteed to make those two explode. He always has been. When they learn Journey’s not just sleeping with him but wearing that ring, Stephen will have her killed with no thought to the consequences.”

  “Why?” Tehya shook her head at the information. “That feud has never made sense, especially considering the fact that as far as he and his son know, Ivan’s basically just as evil as they are.”

  Beau was shaking his head as she spoke.

  “That ring isn’t a fancy stone; it’s not worth millions or particularly spectacular. Nothing like the ring I put on her finger. But it’s the ring his grandmother was given by Ivan’s grandfather. A soldier in the Russian Army. A man who loved her. What issues Stephen and Craig have I’ve no clue. They refused to say. But
you know as well as I, Stephen doesn’t release a grudge. And his grudge against Ivan runs deep and black. They won’t just try to kill Ivan for daring to touch Journey; they’ll have her killed as well.”

  And their hatred ran just as deep and just as merciless, Tehya knew.

  Jordan’s fingers curled around hers as she turned to him, her fear for Journey magnifying.

  “Beau’s right,” she whispered. “He’ll kill her.”

  “Let’s take care of one set of assassins at a time.” Jordan grimaced. “Let’s see who’s first in line; then we’ll take care of Stephen and Craig.”

  He drew her to her feet as they turned to face Beau.

  “I’ll contact Ops command,” he told the other man. “Then Tehya and I will meet with Ivan. You get on that strike team and find out who the hell they are and who hired them.”

  Beau nodded sharply and, despite the anger that still filled his expression, his gaze was concerned.

  Saying their goodbyes, they left the office, then the apartment. Before leaving, Tehya was aware of Journey’s mother standing at the entrance to the sitting room, her lined face somber as she watched them leave.

  At least she wasn’t drunk today.

  chapter nine

  The flight from California to New York was uneventful. Once they boarded the plane Ilya mixed her the nonalcoholic drink he always prepared for Amara on longer flights, enabling Journey to nap rather than suffer airsickness.

  When she was asleep, the fire and incredible will were dimmed. Her features relaxed, her Cupid’s bow lips softened and slightly parted, her left hand tucked at her cheek, the diamond engagement ring resting near her soft flesh.

  Ivan knew he really wasn’t prone to second-guess himself too often, and once he set a course for himself he didn’t often deviate from it. When he’d slid that ring onto Journey’s finger and realized it was a perfect fit for her, he’d made a decision in that moment that he was certain would cause Ilya to berate him and Journey to run as quickly as possible from him.

  Just as in that moment she stood in front of his desk and declared if she was going to cooperate with his plan, then he was going to give her the illusion of love. In that moment, staring into her eyes, he’d realized his little Syn had no idea what it meant to be loved by a man, by a lover. And something had snapped inside him. He might not believe in the idea of true love, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t very easily give this woman that illusion. And in giving her the illusion, perhaps he could actually bind her to him. For a while at least. Unless she had that need for children that most young women possessed.

  Until she learned that was something he couldn’t, wouldn’t, give her, then he could allow himself to have her.

  There was something about Journey that drew him, made him harder faster than any other woman ever had, and, unfortunately, made him as protective as hell. Because protectiveness and the game they had to play didn’t go hand in hand.

  She was still a little groggy when the plane landed and on the drive to the oceanside house he owned in the Hamptons. Not as large perhaps as the Colorado estate, but homier and lacking some of the weaknesses he’d found in the other estate.

  After escorting her to their room and urging her to nap off the effects of the flight, Ivan gathered his security team together to ensure her protection.

  Dinner came and went. He was aware of Journey’s movements throughout the house as his aunt Sophia showed her around, though security meetings and various business concerns held him until well after dark.

  By the time he was able to break away and make his way to his suite, his frustration was simmering. Beauregard Grant and Jordan and Tehya Malone, as well as Journey’s mother, were demanding a meeting. He didn’t doubt Jordan and Tehya’s concern; Grant’s demands and Celeste Taite’s only managed to piss him off though.

  Stepping into the sitting area of his room, he found Journey curled up in a chair working on the electronic tablet he’d had Ilya set up for her. She’d showered, he saw, and wore one of the silk gowns and matching robe he’d had delivered earlier. The dark violet brought out her green eyes, the soft radiance of her creamy flesh.

  Her gaze was somber as she looked up.

  “I’m heading to the shower,” he told her, pausing as he closed the door.

  “Sophia said she left a plate in the kitchen if you’re hungry,” she told him quietly.

  “I devoured it before coming up,” he assured her, trying to temper his tone with his knowledge of how quickly he’d eaten the meal. He would always fight to reassure the woman he loved, if he believed in such a thing. “I’ll be out in a bit.”

  He strode to the shower quickly, not certain if he could contain the lust crawling through his system after seeing her in that damned silk nighty and robe.

  He was in danger of tearing the damned thing off her.

  Son of a bitch, was the illusion he promised to give her affecting his sanity? Because when he entered his personal suite, rather than being irritated by another’s presence in it, he thought it felt strangely … right. He’d seen her sitting there, and rather than anger, there was just the urge to touch, to taste, to fuck them both into exhaustion.

  Crazy.

  She made him crazy.

  * * *

  He wanted all of her, just as she wanted all of him.

  She did want all of him, right?

  She did.

  She’d fantasized about him, weaved a hundred fantasies around him, and she’d cried when she’d slipped from his house in Colorado. Just as she’d cried as she’d huddled in that seat on the bus and ridden away from Boulder.

  If love existed, then she was in love with Ivan Resnova. She’d begun doubting that such an emotion could even exist in this world. After all, if a girl’s parents couldn’t love her, who could? If they couldn’t love her, then she doubted even a Russian crime czar could love her.

  But she could live the dream for a little while. He was willing to give her that. And if this was real, if he loved her, she wouldn’t hesitate to go to him. She’d have no hesitation in touching him whenever she wanted to. And she wanted to touch him. Stroke him. Feel him touching her, taking her.

  And he wanted her; she knew he did. The evidence of it was straining his slacks when he’d come into the room and headed to the shower.

  She rose from the sofa, dropped the robe from her shoulders, shimmied from the gown, and, naked, padded across the bedroom to the bathroom.

  Steam spilled from the tiled enclosure as the sound of water flowing within it wrapped around her. Stepping to the entrance, she paused, simply staring at him.

  It was then she saw the tattoo. It wasn’t as clearly inked as the one on Ilya’s face. It was like a shadow across his heavily muscled shoulder; only the red droplets of blood against the occasional darkened scale showed up clearly.

  As his back flexed, the dragon moved. Dark blue eyes watched from within the dragon’s face, unblinking, fierce, and filled with fury.

  Standing beneath the showerhead, one hand braced on the tile in front of him, his head bent, he was so perfectly, wonderfully male. Bronze flesh, powerful muscles, and completely, fully aroused.

  “Be certain…” His voice was tight, a sensual rasp whispering around her. “I want you too much to be particularly gentle, Syn.”

  Syn. No one had ever given her a nickname until Ivan.

  “Did I ask you to be gentle?” she mused, her breathing hard, heavy, as she felt her skin sensitizing. “I told you, I wanted all of you.”

  His head jerked around, his gaze meeting hers, his expression harsh, savagely cast in the hunger filling it. Hunger. For her. He wanted her until his eyes were almost black, his expression stark with lust. And no one had ever wanted her like that.

  She stepped into the shower, water spilling over her as he turned to her, watching her with an almost predatory look.

  “All of me?” he questioned her, as though to be certain. “No matter what?”

  He wouldn’t hurt
her, she assured herself. If he’d intended to hurt her, he would have done so by now. He wouldn’t have offered to protect her.

  “All of you,” she assured him, and she couldn’t help but glance to the heavy flesh straining between his thighs. Thick, imposing. And just for this moment in time, for however long it took him to gain his vengeance and her safety, he belonged to her.

  He’d promised. He’d given her a ring he’d held for the woman who might one day be his bride. No other woman had worn it except his grandmother. That was his promise.

  Stepping to him, she let her palm touch his chest, the mat of hair that covered it rasping her fingers, the warmth of him sinking into them.

  “Ivan…” she whispered, uncertain now, aware her inexperience was so vast that she had no idea how to begin taking what she wanted. Especially from a man as experienced as this one.

  “Fuck. You’re so innocent you make me feel craven,” he growled, his hands reaching for her, pulling her to him. “My little Syn. Sweet, innocent Syn.”

  His lips covered hers before she could retreat, apologize, or do whatever she was supposed to do. But as his fingers threaded in her hair, pulled her head back, and his lips covered hers, the thought slipped away.

  Her hands slid to his shoulders, fingers gripped, feeling his flesh, loving it. Needing the stroke of his skin against her. She ached for it. The pleasure of it was addicting.

  Reaching up, her hands slid into his hair, desperate to hold him to her as his lips released hers.

  “Wait.” Breathless, not beyond begging, she brushed her lips against his again and got far more than she anticipated.

  If she thought his kisses were hungry before, they now became ravenous. As though the leash he used to control his need suddenly slipped. Her back met the shower tile as he lifted her from her feet. His kiss ravaged her lips, and she loved it. He was wild, his big body hard and tense as he held her against him.

  With one hand he lifted her knee to his hips, and she followed with the other one. A moan tore from her lips as the broad crest of his erection became trapped between their bodies, caressing her clit with the throbbing heat it contained.