by Lora Leigh
She shook her head. That made no sense. None of it made sense.
“You didn’t marry Amara’s mother!” she snapped. “How am I any different?”
“Had Amara been born a boy both the child and his mother would have died before I could have made a move to protect them.” The snarl of rage that filled his expression had her heart suddenly racing in her chest. His arms dropped from his chest, his hands tunneling through his hair before he gripped his neck and fought for control. “I am no longer a boy, unable to defend myself, my child, or her mother,” he growled, his gaze piercing, intent. “I’m a man, Journey, and as such, I’ll claim not just my child but my woman as well.”
His woman?
Since when was she his woman?
“There’s no one here to convince, Ivan,” she cried, trying to make sense of this sudden change in him. “The illusion doesn’t apply any longer. The rules have changed and that game doesn’t even exist now.”
“Doesn’t it?” The smirk that curled his lips had her fingers curling in anger. “What you don’t understand, my little Syn, is that it was never a game to me. From the moment I slid that ring on your finger, I was entirely serious about marrying you.”
He was what?
She stared back at him, eyes wide, certain she had to have heard him wrong. That, or he was lying to her. So far, this farce had at least existed with a semblance of honesty. The thought that he’d choose now to begin lying to her infuriated her.
“You’re lying.” She was certain of it.
There was no other explanation.
Ivan Resnova didn’t believe in fairy tales. He didn’t believe in love or happily-ever-afters, in marriage or, even more important, fidelity.
“I hate to disappoint you, love, but it’s pure truth,” he assured her, watching her carefully now. “I would have never placed that ring on your finger or gone to one knee before you as I did so if I wasn’t serious.”
She reacted before she thought. Before she knew what she intended she flew toward him, her hand lifting a second before her palm cracked against his face with enough force to numb her fingers.
“Don’t lie to me,” she screamed up at his shocked expression. “You of all people. Do not lie to me.”
* * *
It wasn’t the blow that registered as much as the hurt in her expression and burning in her eyes. Ivan watched as the tremors raced through her and her lips shook before she quickly controlled them.
She was hurt. The thought that he would lie to her about what was a lie to begin with completely baffled him.
“You don’t want to do that again, love.” The words had no more than left his lips when she did exactly that.
Her little palm exploded against his face with enough force to snap the final threads on his control.
For days he’d restrained himself, held himself back with her, unwilling to frighten her or drag her into a sexuality she wasn’t ready for. But by God if she was woman enough to smack the shit out of him then she was woman enough to take the man who received that blow.
His hands shot out, gripped her shoulders, and dragged her to him as he pulled her hands behind her back and held them with one of his. With his other hand he gripped her hair, dragged her head back, and his lips were on hers before she could do more than gasp.
Damn. Her kiss was sweet. Her lips parted, took his tongue, stroked it with hers as she arched closer to him. Sweet, plump breasts pressed against his chest; delicate thighs parted for his leg as he pushed it forward while lifting her closer to him.
Carnal heat flooded his body, thickened his cock further than it had been before, and sent lust surging through his senses. She was like a flame to fuel where his hunger for her was concerned. She was impossible to resist, impossible to release.
As his lips and tongue worked over hers he felt the moan that vibrated against his lips, felt her slowly soften, surrender. Felt the pleasure whipping around them, burning through his senses.
* * *
She was lost in a kiss.
The power he had over her would destroy her before he was finished with this game. But he was impossible to resist. His touch was impossible to deny.
She strained against the hold he had on her; the fact that she was restrained, held securely, and unable to resist whatever he wanted only increased her arousal. The suspicion that the careful control he kept over his desires was slipping had anticipation racing through her.
She’d felt the control he exerted over his hunger when he took her, felt it straining, determined to be free. And now it was free and washing over her like subtle flames.
“Sweet, beautiful Syn,” he groaned, his lips moving from hers, his teeth nipping at them briefly before his kisses slid to her neck.
Sharp, heated kisses. The rough caresses sent flares of exquisite sensation racing through her, stealing her breath and her senses. It was like a hurricane, swirling, gaining in power and strength, and robbing her of any chance of control.
“Ivan.” His name was a whispered plea as he lifted her, turning her and sitting her on the desk before spreading her thighs with his legs.
“I’ve got you, baby,” he answered, his voice a hard rasp as he gripped the neckline of the fragile sweater in both hands and swiftly jerked the threads apart.
God, he just tore it in half, leaving it hanging on her, framing her lace-covered breasts as she fought for breath.
The front clasp of the bra was quickly undone, the cups pushed from the swollen flesh to reveal the hard points of her nipples.
“Lean back,” he demanded. “Offer those pretty nipples to me, my Syn.”
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. Instead, she leaned back, following his direction as he bent her arms, silently urging her to hold herself up with her forearms. The position thrust her breasts up to him and left her in the perfect position to watch his mouth cover one straining peak.
She jerked as the heat of his mouth seared the sensitive tip. His teeth gripped the tight flesh, his tongue worrying it as she arched closer.
“That’s it, little love,” he crooned against her nipple before licking it with a hungry swipe of his tongue. “Push that sweet nipple in my mouth.”
She felt dizzy, existing on sensation alone as she arched again, pushing her flesh against his lips and crying out at the feel of the instant suction that surrounded it.
Each draw of his mouth sent spears of sharp pleasure flashing from her nipple to her womb, radiating into her clit and causing her pussy to clench with ever-increasing need.
He repeated the caress to each breast. Drawing the nipple into his mouth, suckling it firmly, his tongue rasping over it with erotic demand.
Her head tipped back, eyes closing, the extremity of the sensations more than she could process.
“My little Syn,” he groaned, the heat of his mouth easing from the overly sensitive flesh of her nipple.
Lifting her lashes, she stared up at him as he shed his shirt, the broad, bronze expanse of his hard chest causing her breath to catch. Sending her reaching for him. As she sat up, her lips lifted to his, his name a plea on her lips as he dragged her hands to his belt.
“Release me,” he demanded, his lips caressing hers, his eyes staring into hers. “God, Syn, touch me, baby.”
His lips devoured hers now, moving over them, his tongue pushing past, kissing her with a hunger she had no defenses against.
Shakily, she pulled the belt loose, leaving it hanging as she unclasped his slacks and slid the zipper down with shaky fingers.
A hard, desperate growl vibrated in his chest as her fingers curled around the width of his erection. Iron hard, straining and throbbing in her grip, the heavy flesh pulsed with a life of its own.
No sooner had she begun to caress the rigid length than she found herself on her back, her skirt pushed to her hips and her panties torn from her. A second later hard hands cupped her rear and lifted her as his head lowered to the bare, aching flesh of her pussy.
&
nbsp; Heat suffused her, lashed at the sensitive folds and the swollen bud of her clit. His tongue was an instrument of torture, of pleasure she swore she couldn’t survive.
What he did to her shouldn’t be possible. She should be furious. She should be fighting … but it was so good. So hot and so wicked.
“That’s it, Syn,” he groaned after delivering a heated kiss to her clit. “Let me have you, baby.”
He had all of her; didn’t he know that? He terrified her because he owned so much of her.
His lips covered the swollen bud, sucked it into his mouth, and with heated, firm flicks of his tongue sent her exploding, her cries echoing around her as her senses evaporated beneath the ecstasy.
Lost in the waves of heat flooding her body, she was only barely aware of him shifting, moving to her. The first thrust of his erection inside her had a wave of pleasure-pain exploding through her, pushing her higher, deeper inside the chaotic rapture overtaking her.
There were only waves of pleasure. The feel of him stretching her, thrusting inside her with hard, pounding strokes that sent her careening through sensations that only gathered in strength, in pure carnal intensity.
It went past lust; this pleasure seared through carnality. It went deeper, slicing into her soul and carving out another piece of her soul as she lost another part of herself to him.
She simply had no defenses against him, and he knew it. She could fight him until that moment that he touched her, kissed her; then nothing mattered but this. This place of brutal, exquisite ecstasy, a place where she held him, at least in this way, for a single moment in time.
When that final explosion of pure sensation rocked her body, Journey knew there was no coming back from it. He owned her. She belonged to him in ways she hadn’t known a woman could belong to a man.
When reality finally intruded, she found herself sprawled on his desk, his lips buried at her neck as they fought to catch their breath.
Languorous, sated, her hands stroked over his shoulders, as she marveled at the play of muscle beneath the tight flesh, the power in his hard body, the strength that surrounded her.
“My sweet Syn,” he whispered against her neck, the stroke of his lips against her flesh threatening to rekindle that need for him that she found herself helpless against. “You shred my control.”
But she didn’t own his heart. He didn’t love her, not as she loved him. He wanted her to marry him, to begin a life with him, to raise their child together with him and resign herself to never being loved as she loved.
The complete unfairness of it was enough to bring tears to her eyes. How she had once dreamed of him loving her. She had wanted it so desperately that she had bargained for the illusion of it, believing when this was over she could walk away with her memories.
She’d never imagined she’d conceive his child, or that he’d attempt to deceive her in truth at this late date.
“You’re too quiet.” He shifted against her, drawing back from her, the still hard length of his cock caressing flesh still achingly sensitive despite her previous orgasm.
As he straightened, he lifted her until she sat on the desk rather than lying across it.
While he straightened his clothes Journey reclipped her bra and dragged the edges of the sweater over her. She was going to have to walk out of this room with her clothes torn …
“I’ll have Sophia or Elizaveta collect another sweater for you,” he stated as she pushed her skirt down her thighs.
Journey shrugged at the offer. What did it matter? she wondered. It wasn’t as though she’d had enough sense to her to restrain her cries as he pleasured her. If the others were waiting in the other room they would have heard her.
“The room is soundproof, love.” The amusement in his voice had her shooting him an irritated look.
“At least there’s that,” she muttered, watching as he drew the shirt over his shoulders and began buttoning it.
The grin he shot her was one of pure male satisfaction that only increased the irritation growing inside her. He didn’t have to look so damned arrogantly superior. As though he’d won no matter her objections or protests.
“The previous disagreement isn’t over, Ivan,” she warned him as he pulled his cell phone from the desk.
“Of course it isn’t.” Confidence all but oozed from him. “I’m certain we’ll disagree over it quite often. You’re a temperamental little thing, so I really expect nothing less.”
She glared back at him. She was going to show him temperamental if he wasn’t careful, and he might not survive it.
“Play your games against your enemies, your friends, or whoever else you want, but keep playing them against me, Ivan, and I’ll take Tehya up on that offer she made to hide me. And once I disappear, I’ll make certain you never find me.” Or their child.
She wouldn’t tolerate him deceiving her. She’d been lied to all her life, used, threatened. She would not tie herself to a man who saw her as no more than an amusing pawn or the object of his machinations.
Narrowing his eyes on her, he leaned closer until they were nearly nose to nose.
“Run from me and I promise you, once I find you, and I will find you, I’ll make damned certain you’re too fucking exhausted to ever run again, Journey. I’ll fuck you senseless each time I even think you’re planning such a thing. Are we understood?”
“Play your games with me, Ivan”—she slid from the desk and stepped away from him carefully—“and I promise you, anything I feel for you will die. I won’t be lied to by you. I won’t be used without my knowledge and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you play with me for your own amusement. That I promise you.”
She strode quickly to the door, jerked it open, and before she could allow herself to weaken rushed from the room and down the hall to the bedroom she shared with him to change clothes, again.
She had to get away from him, had to hide the tears and the hurt threatening to destroy her now. She pressed her hand to her stomach, the thought of the child who rested there causing her breathing to hitch with a broken sob.
Her child deserved parents who at least respected each other. Parents who cared for each other, even if one didn’t love. Her child didn’t deserve the life she’d lived, always aware of her mother’s tears and drinking, her father’s petty cruelties.
And it was a life she refused to live again.
chapter fifteen
Ivan stepped from the office and watched Journey rush up the hall, her head held proudly, shoulders straight with a surfeit of pride. Damn, she came by that red hair honest, didn’t she?
He couldn’t help the grin that tipped his lips. He’d known she’d challenge him in ways no other woman ever had, but damned if she didn’t satisfy something he hadn’t even known he’d needed until her.
She softened parts of him that had been growing hard and cold, more aloof in the past years than ever before. She made him feel things that weren’t always comfortable or easy to explain, and she shredded his control.
His little redheaded Syn, he thought, leaning against the doorframe as the bedroom door closed with a bang.
She didn’t believe he loved her, but the realization that he did had been growing over the past week. When she’d disappeared in Colorado, he’d nearly driven himself insane imagining all the dangers that could befall her. And being fully aware of exactly who she was, the nightmares had only increased.
The price on Journey Taite’s return was astronomical. Stephen and Craig Taite needed her. They needed her safely married to Beauregard Grant, though even Beau was uncertain of the reasons why. That didn’t mean the other man wasn’t more than willing to force her into a marriage she so obviously didn’t want. He had his own agenda, and ensuring that the Taites’ network of terrorists and white slavers ended topped the list.
To secure his position as the head of the Taite family holdings, he needed to secure his marriage to Journey.
Ivan stiffened at the thought.
What would happen
to Beau’s position among the Taite holdings when Ivan married Journey instead? It was well known Stephen and Craig had personally chosen who would succeed them with their choice of husband for Journey.
No damned wonder the Taites were so desperate to get her back and securely married to the other man. And it explained the attack against Ivan.
“Ilya.” He straightened at the thought as his lifelong friend and assistant moved from the living area. “Are Jordan and Tehya still on the property?”
“I’ve placed them in the guest cottage.” Ilya nodded. “Mr. Grant has returned to Manhattan though. He requests that you contact him this evening to further discuss the attack as well as Ms. Taite.”
Ivan waved the request away. Beau could wait. As a matter of fact, Ivan preferred that he wait.
“Have Jordan and Tehya return to my office. And I want anything you can dig up on Journey’s inheritance as well as any arrangements Stephen and Craig have made for the running of the Taite holdings in the event of their deaths.”
A thoughtful expression crossed the other man’s face. “A question we should have considered before now,” he agreed. “I’ll get on that immediately.” Suspicion sharpened his expression then. “Do you believe whoever marries Journey will also assume guardianship of their holdings?”
“The son has no interest in running the family holdings, and the elder daughter’s husband has his own family business to oversee. If Stephen and Craig were counting their chickens before they hatched and signed something that left that power to Journey’s husband, I could have what I need to destroy them.”
Because he would marry Journey, inheritance or no. She was his. She brought something to his life that hadn’t existed before her. A warmth, a light, he’d fight to hold. If he could destroy her father and grandfather as well with that marriage, all the better.
Could they get that lucky?
He almost grinned at the thought of Beau’s reaction. Of course, the other man would detest losing control of the vast, lucrative Taite enterprises. Those businesses spanned not just France but England and America as well.