Dagger's Edge: A Brute Force Novel

by Lora Leigh

  “Such a beauty you were for sixteen.” He grimaced. “Wearing a dress that covered you from shoulder to foot. Some black shapeless thing.” Amusement gleamed in his gaze. “You stood like a frightened doe poised to run.”

  Because she’d been so very out of place.

  “I probably felt like one.” She frowned at the memory. “I wanted to dance when you asked me. I knew I didn’t dare though.”

  “I left just after that.” Ivan grinned. “I was unaware you and your family were to attend. I felt it best to leave. But I remember the pride and daring I saw in your gaze then. Your head was held high, your expression far from impressed, as you followed the others in your family. I thought then what a beautiful woman you’d make. And, for a moment, wondered what it would be like to be the man that shared that woman’s life and her bed.”

  “You’re lying.” The words fell from her lips before she could stop them.

  The amusement slid from his face and his hand caught hers as it lay next to her plate. His fingers enclosing hers, he leaned forward, his gaze holding hers, warning her.

  “I will not lie to you, Syn,” he told her softly. “Never, in this regard, will I lie.”

  She wanted to believe, so desperately. And wasn’t she allowed to believe? This was her illusion, the dream she wanted so desperately that she sat here, on display for those who would spread the word until it reached her father and grandfather.

  “So.” Releasing her hand and glancing at the menu at his side, he sat back as the waiter moved to the table. “Have you decided, or would you like me to order for you?”

  She lifted her brow slowly and gave him her order. She didn’t need anyone to order for her, even her fiancé.

  The meal was exceptionally good, though she drank very little of the wine. Ivan kept her entertained with stories of the security agency he’d opened with his uncle and several other men in Colorado. The meal passed much more pleasantly than she’d expected. They were halfway through dessert and coffee when the peacefulness of the setting came abruptly to an end.

  “We are about to have company,” Ivan murmured, his gaze never lifting from hers. “Your former fiancé.”

  Beauregard. Shit. She didn’t need this.

  They’d planned for it; she’d just hoped she wouldn’t have to deal with it.

  She placed her fork carefully by the cake she’d barely gotten to taste, as Beau stopped next to the table. She glanced up at him, her brow arching at the brooding anger on his handsome face.

  “Journey.” He seemed to be forcing the word between clenched teeth as his gaze flicked to the diamond on her finger. “I could barely believe it was you.”

  “May we help you, Beau?” Ivan leaned back in his chair with lazy interest; his tone, though mildly curious, in no way matched the warning in his dark blue eyes.

  “You cannot.” His response was clipped and nearly insulting. “I would like to speak to my fiancée alone if you don’t mind.”

  Ivan’s lazy appearance quickly evaporated as he slowly straightened in his chair, his forearms bracing against the table tensely.

  “You may want to rephrase that,” he suggested to Beau, his voice low and rough with threads of fury. “That’s my ring she’s wearing on her finger, not yours.”

  That was not part of their plan. And the anger tightening his face damned sure wasn’t.

  Journey could feel her stomach tightening with panic and fear as the tension between Ivan and Beau began thickening. Where the hell was Ilya? He’d told Ivan he’d be close.

  She looked desperately around the room but didn’t see Ivan’s friend.

  “Don’t. Please.” She stared at Ivan then, nearly flinching as his gaze returned to hers.

  The dark blue had lightened and anger swirled in the depths. His expression was savage, fierce, and possessive.

  His jaw tightened.

  “Journey, you can’t keep running.” Beau chose that moment to pull the chair beside her from beneath the table and sit down.

  Ivan’s expression became icy, his gaze hard, as he continued to stare at her.

  “Ivan, can we please leave?” she asked, but she wasn’t waiting for him.

  Gripping her clutch, she moved to push her chair back. Ivan was on his feet and behind her before she could complete the move, his hand catching hers as she rose to her feet.

  “Whatever you want, baby,” he murmured, though she had no doubt Beau heard him.

  Rising as well, her former fiancé glared at both of them.

  “Ivan.” His voice was like a whip, causing her to flinch.

  Ivan cursed beneath his breath, his hand releasing hers and curving behind her back to draw her closer as he moved her past the table and away from the other man.

  She could feel her heart racing, a sense of danger gathering behind him, and thought she was going to strangle on it.

  She knew Beau and she knew how vindictive he could be. Since she’d learned the truth of her father and grandfather, she’d also managed to figure a few things out where Beau was concerned. He might not be one of the bad guys, but that didn’t mean he was one of the good guys.

  “He’s dangerous,” she whispered as Ivan pushed through the doors of the restaurant.

  Immediately, two of his bodyguards were in front of them and leading the way to the limo.

  “I’m more dangerous,” he assured her as the limo door opened and she was pushed inside.

  That assurance had her heart in her throat. In that moment, she believed him. There was something so predatory, so savage, in his gaze that she could only stare at him as he sat across from her and pinned her with his gaze.

  “Ilya. Home!” he snapped as the other man glanced back at them.

  “Of course,” he responded. “We have traffic though, and an accident causing a bit of a jam on the way. We’ll be quite a bit longer getting back.”

  Ivan nodded, then slid his hand to the controls on the door. The window separating the front from the back rose slowly, the privacy glass blocking any curious eyes.

  “He calls you his fiancé once more and I’ll kill him.” The statement had Journey staring at him in shock.

  He was serious.

  This was no act; it wasn’t part of an illusion.

  He sat there, his expression filled with brooding fury, his eyes burning with it as tension hummed in his body. And he was possessive. So possessive it wrapped around her with comforting warmth, rather than strangling her as Beau’s once did.

  She wasn’t certain how to handle this more temperamental Ivan though.

  She licked her lips nervously, aware of him following the movement as anger suddenly morphed to lust.

  “I want your mouth on my dick, Syn,” he growled, the explicit words causing her breath to catch. “Now, by God. Show me you’re mine and I might be able to keep from going back and killing that worthless bastard.”

  * * *

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  Ivan couldn’t define the agonizing lust and fury pounding through his body. The danger of killing Beau was a definite risk though. When he’d stood there and called Journey his fiancée, Ivan had nearly tried to kill him in that moment.

  Now all he could see was that bastard standing over Journey, staring down at her as though he owned her. As though Ivan’s mark on her neck were of no consequence. As though nothing could mark her deep enough to matter to the bastard.

  For one insane moment, the need to mark him to her soul was like a hunger, a greedy, craven need unlike anything he’d ever known. He couldn’t kill the bastard determined to take her from his bed, but he could make damned certain she knew who she belonged to now.

  As she stared back at him with curious shock, he released the belt and quickly undid his slacks. Leaning forward, his eyes locked on hers, he gripped the back of her head and urged her forward until she knelt between the seats.

  “Take me, baby,” he whispered. “Just like you did the night before you ran from me.”

 
Gripping the hard stalk, he urged her head lower, lust tightening his balls and thundering through his senses.

  God, she was beautiful. Her hair fell around her face like red-gold flames, her green eyes darkened, and a soft pink flush suffused her features.

  “Ivan.” She whispered his name, her voice soft, her breathing uneven, as the sensitive crest met her lips.

  “You’re mine, Syn.” He couldn’t stop the declaration of ownership. His fiancée, his lover, his sweet, soft Syn.

  She should fight him, deny him. The hazy thought drifted through her mind as the engorged crest of Ivan’s cock pushed past her lips and filled her mouth. She should fight him, but she ached to take him, just like this. The dominance and hunger she could sense spilling from him, wrapping around him. The need for him that filled an emptiness inside her that hadn’t made sense until Ivan.

  Now she let herself have what she needed, what he needed. The fairy tale would come to an end soon enough. The memories would be all she would have of this time with him if they survived the coming storm.

  Tightening her mouth on the thick flesh filling it, she licked over the iron-hard crest, reveling in the tightening of his thighs at her sides, the feel of his fingers tugging at her hair. Heat poured from his body; sexual need scented the air and infused her own driving hunger for this man.

  Her breasts swelled, her nipples ached, as her mouth worked over his hard flesh; her sex became sensitive, her clit throbbing.

  “Fuck yes,” he groaned, his voice tight as his hips shifted, his cock fucking against her lips. “That’s it, Syn. Your mouth is so fucking good, baby.”

  She whimpered, need pouring through her like wildfire. Between her thighs her juices spilled to her minuscule panties, dampening the sensitive folds of flesh.

  Curling her fingers around the shaft, she was distinctly amazed at the thickness, the iron hardness, and the heavy veins that ran the length of it.

  It was the crest that filled her mouth that held her attention though. How each lick, each stroke of her mouth, caused it to throb, to flex against her tongue.

  “So good, Syn. God, your mouth is killing me.” His voice was rougher, darker, the sound of it sinking into her senses like a drug.

  His fingers tightened in her hair, tugging at the strands and sending an erotic heat through her scalp.

  Who knew having her hair pulled would make her so damned hot? She was burning for him, the need building like a hunger that couldn’t be contained. The explicit act in the limo, his hands in her hair, tugging and pulling, his rough groans whispering around her, and her own involuntary moans mixed to an intoxicating level.

  “Deeper,” the demand came as his hips arched, pushing him against her tongue. “Fuck. You’re killing me with your sweet mouth.”

  Deeper. She took him deeper, working her mouth, her lips and tongue, over the bruising flesh, shuddering as her sex clenched and liquid heat spilled from it.

  Ivan could feel the sweat gathering on his forehead as he fought to hold back, to keep his release contained just a little longer. He didn’t want to spill in her sweet mouth this time. God, he wanted to come in that tight little pussy, feel her clamped around him from crown to root as the pleasure swamped him.

  Her mouth was like a living flame on his dick, moving over it, her tongue licking, stroking …

  “Fuck. Enough.” He had to force the words out, force himself to draw her head back and not push back past those swollen, reddened lips.

  “Ivan, please.” The hunger in her voice nearly broke his control.

  Lifting her to the seat, he pushed her back as he spread her thighs and shoved that damned short dress above her thighs.

  The panties were nothing. They barely covered her. Teased him, made him crazy …

  One sharp tug and they were off her. His head lowered. Smooth moves and a lifetime of sexual experience in the wind. Lust tore through him, gripped his dick, his senses, and shredded his control.

  There was no warning, no preliminaries, but Journey realized she didn’t need preliminaries. Ivan pushed her back to the seat, spread her legs apart, tore her panties from her, and put his mouth on the swollen, sensitive flesh in the most incredible of ways. Lips and tongue, licking, stroking, kissing, devouring her with greedy, carnal hunger.

  As he pushed one leg up, his tongue delved deeper, found the clenched entrance to her vagina, and pushed inside. Each stroke had her writhing with pleasure.

  Her hands locked in his hair, hips arched, and her senses exploded with ecstasy. Her cry echoed around her, rife with such incredible pleasure that she couldn’t contain it.

  As the explosions ripped through her, she was only barely aware of Ivan jerking to his knees. A second later, her eyes jerked open at the first heavy thrust inside the clenching, spasming muscles of her pussy. Her breath caught, her body arched against his, desperate to feel as much of him as possible.

  “Ah fuck.” The cords in his neck stood out as tension tightened in his body.

  Another hard thrust and he buried his length inside her, the sharp pleasure/pain of the impalement dragging another cry from her.

  This … It was incredible. It was beyond pleasure. Staring up at him, she was mesmerized by the fierce pleasure on his face, the savage need that dominated his expression.

  “Ivan…” she gasped, held by his gaze, by the penetration of his cock and something she simply couldn’t explain.

  That something rushed through her, pounded in her blood, her heart, and she knew it had her bound to him.

  “Sweet Syn,” he whispered, moving slowly, drawing his cock nearly free of her, pausing, then, closing his eyes, worked inside her once again.

  Shifting, rising to him, she could feel the tension gathering in her body again, feel the need for that rush of ecstasy rising once again. It was addictive. This, this was worth dying for, she thought hazily as he came over her, his hips driving his cock deeper, his lips capturing hers.

  With each pounding stroke inside her she flew higher, racing for a completion she swore each time could never get better yet always managed to do just that.

  Tearing his lips from hers, he whispered her name, slid his lips to her neck, his teeth raking the tender flesh. Taking her harder with each stroke, impaling her, pushing to a height of pleasure that left her crying, begging, he drove inside her over and over. Each stroke, each broken male groan, met her cries as the pleasure coiled ever tighter inside her,

  “Come for me, Syn.” The demand whispered at her ear; his voice graveled, strained, lit the fuse to a release that rocked her to her soul.

  Ecstasy tore through her, burned through her senses, and sent her flying, with Ivan. He was there with her. She felt him, holding her, pushing her higher as his release met her own.

  How could a fairy tale feel so real?

  * * *

  Craig Taite glared at the video he and his father watched on the electronic pad a guard provided for them. He could clearly hear Resnova’s fury when Beau claimed his ownership of the girl. And rightfully so; the boy’s father had paid a hefty amount for her when they’d seen her years before Beau had proposed.

  Journey had been but thirteen, only months from being sent to France to learn her place, as her sister and her mother had. Beau had been twenty-one, and already a force to be reckoned with. When he’d demanded Journey not be sent to France, then years later that she be allowed her year in America, Craig had stepped aside and allowed the man his way.

  After all, he owned Journey, and she was raised to understand that Beau would be her husband when the time came.

  His fist clenched in fury. Then the little bitch had run as soon as Craig and his father had been betrayed and arrested. And now, it seemed, Beau no longer wanted her.

  He demanded a virgin, even at twenty-one. Stephen and Craig were to ensure she wasn’t touched or taken by their business associates and he’d paid enough money to ensure she remained pure.

  Until Resnova somehow found her.

  “Well?
” His father glared at him as the recording from the restaurant ended. “Your men failed.”

  That had been happening far too often lately. The man he’d been grooming to take his place was obviously not as intelligent as Craig and Stephen had believed him to be.

  “Our men,” he corrected his father calmly. “Never fear, it will be taken care of. Our secondary choice is still an unknown and will be apprised of the situation.”

  Their secondary choice wasn’t as experienced as their first choice, but Craig had faith in the individual. No doubt if this was taken care of and they managed to actually get back on French soil then generations of a very lucrative business were at an end.

  Technology, a lack of honor, and too damned many private connections when combined with satellite spying were making such ventures obsolete. The new generation would have to figure this out. He’d be content if he could just get home and regain the reins of his family.

  To regain those reins, something had to be done with his younger daughter and that Russian bastard she was now sleeping with. That couldn’t, wouldn’t, be tolerated.

  chapter eleven

  Peace reigned for all of two days. Two days that Ivan found oddly comfortable. It was perhaps unfair of him to allow his family to believe the engagement was a love match, but it was one of his fiancée’s conditions, and one he’d allowed to stand simply because he had no intention of allowing Journey to escape him.

  The fifth day dawned with a burst of warmth and vivid spring sunshine. Spring was well on its way, the cloudy, rain-filled days they’d arrived to drifting off across the horizon. And with the clear skies came the first omen of danger. The fact that it was allies who arrived on his doorstep didn’t detract from the knowledge that the danger would be coming.

  “Red.” He greeted the flame-haired Tehya Malone with a kiss to her cheek while ignoring her scowling husband. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

  He grinned down at her, ignoring her frown as effectively as he ignored the dark look Jordan directed at him.

  As though he didn’t know why they were there. He was more surprised by the fact that it had taken them this long to make an appearance. Especially considering the fact that two Elite Operations units were positioned in various areas around the estate watching the house with keen eyes. Not to mention precise gunsights.