by Lora Leigh
“You attended a party in Baltimore just before Beau announced the engagement. The Masterson estate,” he said as he ran his fingers through her hair. “You wore a dress that covered you from the tips of your toes to your neck and to your wrists. I remembered thinking how miserable you must be, and how very lovely you were.”
And how very badly he wanted her in his bed.
“I’ve seen you at a lot of parties over the years, watched you and was very aware that Beau shadowed your every move.” He remembered that as well. “I always knew when you were at a party, or social event, and I always saw the loneliness in your eyes. If you had come to me, Syn, I would have made certain you were protected.”
He couldn’t have helped himself. She’d always done something to him that no one else ever had, made him want things he’d always thought could never be possible.
“I saw it in you as well.” Her hand pressed against his chest, directly over his heart. “You were always with some gorgeous, experienced woman and I hated every one of them.”
He thought back to those gatherings and found he couldn’t remember who he was with, but he remembered looking for her each time.
“I would dream sometimes that you asked me to dance and would steal me away.” Amusement and lingering pain touched her voice. “A teenager’s dreams at first. That last party in Maryland, the night Stephen and Craig kidnapped me along with Tehya, I ached to dance with you. Just one time, I wanted to feel your arms around me before I was forced to marry Beau.”
He tightened his hold on her. He could hear the remembered fear and desperation as she spoke.
“I would have taken you,” he admitted. “I knew that, even then. As young as you were, as innocent, I would have taken you myself and made you hate me. What you make me feel isn’t familiar, Journey. These emotions are unknown, illogical, and far too possessive.”
She lay against him now, silent, waiting.
“You asked for an illusion of love,” he sighed. “What I was giving you wasn’t an illusion. I don’t know love but that of a father for his child. What I gave you was yours to begin with. And it’s far more possessive than it should be. Try to leave me and you’ll learn this quickly.”
She sat up slowly, drawing the edge of the comforter over her breasts and blocking his view of those perfect breasts. He reached out, his fingers gripping the material to pull it away from her when she tapped his hand with her fingers.
“Stop that,” she demanded, giving him a fierce look.
He liked that about her. She didn’t care about berating him when she thought he deserved it.
“Show me your breasts and I’ll be helpless to give you whatever you want.” He tugged at the blanket again.
“And of course, within moments you’d make sure that talking wasn’t high on my list of priorities.” She tried to shoot him a frown, but the grin teasing her lips spoiled the effect.
“No doubt,” he agreed, dropping his hand to lay it against her silky thigh as he stared up at her, sobering when he saw the worry in her expression. “I didn’t lie to you earlier, Syn,” he said, using the name for her that he alone would ever be permitted to use. “The day I slid my grandmother’s ring on your finger, I knew I’d marry you. I knew I was never going to let you go, no matter your belief that it was only an illusion.”
She stared down at the ring on her finger for a moment before lifting her gaze to his once again.
“You would destroy me if I believed that and it turned out to be a lie, a trick to somehow punish Stephen and Craig. It wouldn’t punish them, Ivan. They wouldn’t care if you hurt me,” she told him painfully, the distress on her face causing his chest to clench with regret and anger.
She simply didn’t know how to accept anyone putting her above their own petty games.
“Since this began, each day I’ve had to force myself to continue with it, to allow you to be the center of breaking those two. It didn’t matter that we agreed it had to be done; still, I wanted to hide you even more than Tehya wanted to help you disappear. You’re not a pawn to me, Journey. You’re my woman. And no woman has ever been claimed by me, other than my daughter.”
His child. And now his Syn would give him a child he’d never believed would be conceived. A child he’d been determined wouldn’t be conceived.
“Beau’s enraged over us. The engagement, our child.” A frown creased her brow. “And it was more than mere anger at realizing I’d never marry him. Why?”
He should have guessed this question was coming. She was far too intelligent for him to ever hide much from, and she didn’t even realize it.
“The Resnovas are a very old family, steeped in traditions,” he sighed, stroking her thigh as he spoke. “Our line stretches back centuries and we’ve always held a certain political power, no matter who ruled. Such a lineage garners not just a certain responsibility but also certain loyalties. Loyalties that were lost when it was learned I’d had a vasectomy performed and intended to have no children, other than a daughter. Because it’s sons that lead, that ensure the line, the name, always remains.”
He frowned, trying to explain those centuries of tradition to her.
“My father was determined that the Resnova name would die with me, because he lost the loyalty of those great families when he turned to criminal enterprises. Once he died and I began legitimizing our holdings once again, drawing away from the depraved practices of my father and bringing a measure of pride to the Resnova name once again, I regained some of that loyalty. But no son.” He shrugged. “Tradition. Power and strength came with having a son, because each of the families was sworn to that child’s protection. No matter the cost or bloodshed. The Resnova name would carry on. It would lead.”
“And there was no longer a chance at a son,” she said. “We could have a daughter.”
He shook his head and gave her a small grin.
“A man accepts when fate begins weaving his life,” he sighed. “You’re carrying my son. The Resnova heir.” He reached out to her, his fingertips touching her delicate face. “Word has already gone out to the families. They’ll now amass, each family determined to protect you and the baby until its sex is known. Once they know it’s a boy.” He flashed her a smile. “Baby, there’s no information pipeline as effective as a Russian’s. And no protection as determined. We’re a country that’s learned to hold on to our traditions and to band together. Resnovas have always kept the political ties, played those games, and protected the families that followed us. And they always lent their protection to our ability to do that.”
“But only if there was a male heir?” The sadness in her voice hinted at her disappointment in those families.
“There’s rules, whether written or unspoken, to all traditions.” He didn’t always like it, but he accepted it.
He watched as her head lowered, her gaze on where he caressed her thigh gently.
“I love touching you, Syn,” he told her. “I’ve never enjoyed having a woman in my bed all night, until you. And you I’d never allow to sleep away from me.”
Innocent vulnerability filled her face, her eyes.
“Don’t lie to me,” she whispered. “Don’t betray me, Ivan. Let go first. Don’t make me live like that.”
Had anyone else questioned his word, he’d be furious. But this was his Syn. As illogical and impossible as it seemed, she held a part of him that no one else could, or would, own.
“Never,” he swore. “And should any situation, any enemy, force me to do so, I’m quite secure in the fact that you’d know it. I’d make certain, one way or the other, Syn, that you’d know it. Because whether you believe it or not, you know me as I know you. Believe in that, know it, just as I do.”
Sliding his hand from her thigh to her arm, he caressed a path to her neck, where he gripped the slender column gently and drew her lips to his for a kiss as gentle as it was deep.
“Believe in me, Syn, as I believe in you,” he asked, drawing back. “Just believe.”
/> chapter seventeen
The announcement hit the morning papers. The marriage between Ivan Resnova and Journey Taite was scheduled for spring of the next year. The bride wanted time to plan her wedding, and it was predicted to be the wedding of the season.
Two hours later, Journey stood next to Ivan in the library of his home and exchanged vows with the man she’d always dreamed of. The wedding bands were his grandparents’, plain gold bands he’d pulled from the safe the night before to ensure the fit.
Once the vows were said, a light lunch was served where twenty Resnova family members, Jordan and Tehya Malone, as well as Amara and her fiancé, Riordan Malone, and a dozen Russian family heads who were in the states toasted the couple.
To say she was nervous as hell was an understatement. It wasn’t butterflies beating in her stomach but full-grown birds fighting to be free.
The dress she wore was white, ending just below her knees in a silken fall of fabric, pearls he’d given her surrounded her neck and wrist, and tiny studs graced her ears.
Ivan had taken care of everything, and it went off so smoothly she was almost shocked.
The heads of the families who attended met with Ivan briefly before extending their congratulations to Ivan and Journey and excusing themselves to leave. As each neared the door, a small gift-wrapped box was left on the receiving table.
Presents for later, Ivan had explained, the small smile at the corners of his lips both mysterious and far too sexy.
Throughout the evening and celebratory dinner, she couldn’t help but glance at not just the simple gold band she wore but the one Ivan wore as well.
He was her husband.
This man she had dreamed of for so long, fantasized about and ached for, had sworn himself to her. As the evening wore down and the family began drifting away from the huge dining and living rooms, she should have had a chance to ease her nerves, to enjoy her new husband, but the first indication of trouble arrived.
Journey saw the dark look on Ivan’s face after a short discussion with Ilya. The other man turned away and headed toward the foyer, the dragon at the side of his face flexing dangerously.
She fought her panic as her gaze turned to Ivan, watching as he strode toward her, his expression dark as he carefully hid his anger.
“What’s wrong?” she asked as he neared her.
“We need to go to the office for a moment,” he told her quietly. “Beau and your family are here along with their attorneys with the paperwork we’ll both need to sign.”
He’d told her to expect it before the evening was over; she’d just hoped it would be delayed, at least until the next morning. The next morning would have worked far better.
Ilya had contacted Beau after the wedding, as he and Ivan had arranged. It should have taken a while for him to get everything together in regard to the legalities of her family’s business concerns.
For a moment, she wished she could feel some pleasure or satisfaction in the fact that with her marriage Stephen and Craig would lose any and all access to the funds needed to continue their vendetta against Ivan or their transfer to France. All she could feel was fear and a terrible premonition that there was something Ivan had overlooked.
It simply couldn’t be this easy to end Stephen and Craig’s reign of terror. They’d never allow it to be this easy.
With Ivan’s hand riding the small of her back, his warmth sheltering her back while Ilya moved in front of her, the two men escorted her to the office where Beau, her mother, Celeste, her sister, Celia, and Celia’s husband, Albert Edmonsson, and her brother, David, waited.
David looked haggard, she thought. She knew his wife had taken their son and returned to her parents’ estate after the elder Taites’ arrests. She’d filed for divorce immediately. No less than a year after the divorce had been final she’d remarried and managed to ensure David was deprived of visitation rights based on Stephen’s and Craig’s crimes and the fact that David had been under investigation as well.
Her brother’s handsome face was lined now, his green eyes shadowed. He wasn’t wearing the customary silk suit he’d once worn. Amazingly enough he wore jeans and a simple button-down shirt with a pair of scarred leather boots. His hair lay long against his neck, and the once GQ clean-shaven jaw was shadowed by an overnight beard. Grief lay heavily on his features as well as anger. But he wasn’t the only one angry.
“The prodigal daughter,” her sister, Celia, all but sneered as her husband squeezed her arm warningly.
Journey caught the tightening of Albert’s beefy hand on her sister’s delicate arm, and knew there would be bruises later. But it wasn’t rare for her sister to carry bruises.
Celia’s auburn hair was cut shorter than it had been four years ago, her hazel eyes seemed more dull, and the maliciousness in her gaze seemed brighter. The stark white blouse she wore with black slacks didn’t exactly complement her looks. The clothes seemed to almost hang on her slight frame, as though she’d lost far too much weight.
Her mother stared back at her coolly. There was little emotion other than anger that Journey could see. But then, her mother rarely looked at her with anything but anger in her hazel eyes. The auburn hair she still wore in a chic, face-framing short cut showed off her exceptional features. The dark blue dress she wore was silk, her heels short. And strangely enough, she looked sober for a change.
Beau stood next to her mother, his expression impassive as he watched her. He wasn’t angry, but he was concerned for some reason.
“Journey, it’s good to see you well,” Albert alone greeted her, his smarmy smile reminding her of a serpent’s. “And safe.”
She inclined her head with imperious haughtiness, a move her distant cousin, the Queen of England nonetheless, had taught her.
Her mother stood still and silent, hazel eyes cool, expression closed. If the woman had ever felt even a spark of love for one of her children, then she’d never shown it.
“Mother, David.” She stopped several feet from her mother and brother, not really expecting affection. Damned good thing too, because there was none from her mother certainly. In her brother’s, she saw somber regret though.
“Your father and I warned Beau to send you to the Château rather than allowing you to come to America before your engagement,” her mother said then, her tone as emotional as it would be if she were talking about the weather. “It was good enough for your sister. And perhaps it would have taught you your place. And the inadvisability of consorting with men such as Resnova.”
Pity welled inside her for Celia. The Château wasn’t exactly a spa or vacation spot. It was a reform center for wayward girls, her mother had stated. And yes, she’d sent her elder daughter there the same day Celia had dared voice an objection to accepting Albert’s proposal.
“Enough, Celeste.” Beau’s voice was dark, warning. “I would have thought your own stay there would have made you hesitate to send either of your daughters. That place is a fucking disgrace.”
Celeste’s expression tightened at the rebuke. “It’s because of my stay there that I’m aware of the benefits of it!” she snapped. “Had she spent a few months in their care she would have been a much more loyal daughter. Not to mention fiancée.”
Yes, that was Celeste.
Before Journey could turn on her heel and leave the room she felt Ivan’s arms come around her as he pulled her against his chest.
“I thought you were an exceptional fiancée.” He chuckled against her ear. “And now, you suit me just fine as my wife.”
For a moment, she wanted to cry at the gentleness, the affection, in his low voice. The love. How had she managed to capture this man’s love?
“That’s all that matters then.” She glanced back at him with a smile. “Shall we take care of this meeting so we can get on with our honeymoon?”
“My thoughts exactly.” Kissing the top of her head, he released her just enough to pull her to his side and turn to the lawyers. “I understand we have business t
o take care of.”
The two attorneys were stiff lipped and obviously less than pleased. Opening leather bags, they withdrew several sheaths of papers and placed them on the desk.
“I assume he’s acting as your attorney?” The older of the two lawyers nodded to Ilya.
“You assume correctly.” Ivan nodded before turning to Ilya with a subtle nod toward the desk.
“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Ilya’s request was more an order as he neared the desk.
The lawyers stepped aside, their pinched expressions almost painful to see.
“The papers are pretty straightforward,” Beau stated. “I prepared most of it myself and made suggestions for the rest of it.”
Now, how interesting, Journey thought. She hadn’t known that.
“You created a contract you believed would allow you your freedom while running the companies only to lose it to some dirty Russian,” Celia murmured with an edge of amusement as her husband shot her a dark look. “Won’t your father be pleased, Beau?”
The look Beau shot her was filled with knowing mockery. “No more pleased than he would have been otherwise,” he snorted. “Never fear, Celia; this will in no way affect his regard for me, one way or the other.”
“Cease your little insults, Celia.” David spoke then, the chipped-ice sound of his voice a shock.
She’d never heard him sound so hard, so cold. And she’d never known Celia to pay attention to anything he said, until now. Normally, she only listened to her husband, father, and grandfather. On rare occasions she listened to her mother.
“He’s right.” Ilya looked up from the papers. “Simple, to the point. I need a few more minutes to go through the addendums, but so far there’s nothing that needs to be addressed.”
She wanted him to hurry, to finish this. She wanted her family to leave, to allow her to enjoy the night and the pleasure to be found in her husband’s arms. He had made this day perfect, and having it spoiled by the snide cruelties her sister and mother could deliver wasn’t her preferred ending to the day.
“You disappoint me, Journey,” her mother said as she gripped her purse before her and gave Journey a hard look before directing her gaze to Ivan. “To rebel is one thing; to marry the man determined to destroy your family is another thing altogether.”