Turbulent Sea (36 page)

"They won't find us. The driver will have a diversion."

"He can do that?" She glanced at the tinted partition. "I'll have to lure him away to work for me. And I've got to call my sisters and let them know I'm all right and where I'll be."

She was chattering too much, something she did when she was nervous, and right now she was very nervous. Her beloved bus was gone. Dean Walters had been murdered. She had cuts and bruises everywhere, and her head hurt so bad she could barely think. But she knew one thing for certain—she was with the only person in the world who could make her feel that he could keep her absolutely safe.

"Better wait," Ilya said, and took her cell phone out of her hand. "We can't take any chances until we're safe inside the gates without the reporters hounding us."

Joley bit back a protest. What difference did a few minutes make? "My head really hurts, Ilya." Her hand went to the door handle again as the urge to move, to keep moving drove her. It was more than pain in her head; there was a roaring, as if her mind couldn't be still when she needed calm most. The noise made it impossible to think.

"I know,
laskovaya moya
. Another few minutes and I'll take care of it."

He pressed his hand to the cut on her head. That was the one he was most worried about. The ones on her arms and legs were from glass shards or flying metal. They hurt and a couple might need a stitch or two, but the one on her head was larger and she was obviously still dazed. She was attempting to stay focused by chattering, but she kept trying to move, to get out of the car, to brush at her head, and she didn't even realize she was doing it.

His heart ached with love for her. She was courageous, looking out for his safety when she should have been weeping in his arms.

"That hurts," Joley said, trying to pull away.

"I know,
devochka moya
. I need to slow down the bleeding. It will help get the healing started as well. Relax for me and just let me take care of things."

He kept his hand pressed to her forehead, palm over the cut, warmth moving from his center to her head. Colors spun for a moment, many different ones, spinning in an ever tightening circle until white light burst through, taking all the colors and turning them into flashes of heat.

She had forgotten that he possessed all the talents, just as Elle, her youngest sibling, did, and healing was among them. She knew from experience, watching Libby, that a cut as deep as the one she had wouldn't magically disappear, but he certainly helped slow the flow of blood and took away a great deal of the throbbing. Even the ringing in her ears was better.

"I think I was in shock."

Joley tried to sit up, but Ilya tightened his hold. "Stay still. Relax. Breathe. Let me take care of you for a few more minutes, at least until my heart slows down." He nuzzled the top of her head. "You scared me this time."

"I didn't blow up my bus," she pointed out.

"Who did you make angry this time?" he asked.

She found a small smile forming, and the coldness inside receded a little. "You can compare notes with my security people. They think I'm a nightmare."

"They're right. And don't think I won't be talking to them. What the hell were they doing holding a line instead of getting you the hell out of there? One explosion doesn't mean there's not going to be another. And if you were the target, they should have secured your protection before anything else."

There was an edge to him, not his voice, but his melody, his aura—she felt it and shivered. She was astonished that he could hold her the way he was when he had his own injuries.

"Just let it go, Joley," he murmured softly. "Relax and let me take care of you."

But who was going to take care of him? She closed her eyes and inhaled him. He smelled of blood and sweat, but also that strange, male musk she found so enticing about him.

"You can't go to sleep on me," Ilya warned. "We're pulling through the gates now. No one knows about this house, not Nikitin, not anyone. I'm going to have my driver contact the police to send a detective out to interview you after I take care of your wounds. Then you can rest."

"He can't see you," she protested. "No police, Ilya. I'll go down to the station after I take care of my head." Her aching head. Even with his healing energy, her brain was shaken.

He carried her from the car, once again disregarding his own wounds, sheltering her against his heart as he crossed open ground to the door. Once inside, he carried her into an enormous tiled bathroom and set her on the sink.

"This is going to hurt, Joley."

"I know. But I can always sew you up next. You did my arm and it's healing fine."

"I have a little experience with wounds."

Joley was certain that was an understatement. She'd seen his body and the various scars covering him. He had three more to add to his collection.

He washed the gash on her forehead carefully with a fiery liquid that had tears running down her face, but she held still for him. She breathed in deeply as the room began to spin and the edges of her vision blurred.

"Talk to me."

Ilya tried to infuse more healing warmth into the wound before he began the tiny stitches necessary to close it. "Tell me what happened, Joley. Then I'll tell you about my evening."

She pressed her hand to his chest, right over his heart. "Promise?"

He bent to brush a kiss on top of her head before resuming the small even stitches. "Hold still,
devochka moya
, I don't want to leave a scar."

"It's not going to scar, not when you're using healing energy," she said, but she gasped and the tears streamed down her cheeks. "First there were the flowers."

He stiffened. "Someone sent you flowers?"

Her hand was still on his chest and it puffed out aggressively. She smiled through her tears at his male reaction. "Yes. Long-stemmed dead flowers along with a decapitated doll. The torso and legs of the doll were chopped in several pieces. It was very ugly."

He paused and looked down at her face. "Where were the flowers?"

"In the dressing room at the arena. And I'd hung my clothes on a little hook on the closet door, but when I looked around I didn't see them right away."

He sighed. "But you didn't leave the room and get security."

"Are you going to let me tell you? Sheesh, Ilya. I couldn't remember for certain if I'd put the clothes in the closet. I thought maybe I'd just thought about hanging them on the hook." She tried to hold still, but her forehead burned so bad she squirmed. "Someone had shredded the outfit into thin tiny scraps of material. My favorite outfit." Her voice rose to a wail.

Ilya immediately stopped and let her breathe through the pain. "Almost finished with this one. You're doing fine."

"You weren't there." She spoke accusingly even though it didn't make sense to. She'd told herself she'd been relieved when she finally crept out of the hotel like the coward she was and he hadn't been there to guard her. She'd ached to see him, yet at the same time, she was terrified she'd just throw pride away and let him rule her from dusk until dawn without love, without caring. Only for the incredible sex he admitted he'd been trained for.

"I know,
lubov moya
. I'm sorry. You have no idea how sorry. I had an important meeting and should have been back in time." He bent to kiss her again, this time on the corner of her frowning mouth. "A couple more stitches should do it."

She held still, sucking in her breath and counting to herself until he grunted in satisfaction and covered the area with another antiseptic. "I'm giving you a shot, Joley. You need antibiotics. I have them in my field kit."

"I hate needles."

"I know. And you're being very brave." He gave her the shot quickly and then sponged the blood and tears from her face. "You'll have to take off your clothes." He turned from her to run water in the bathtub. "I need to go over the rest of you and stitch up anything too deep or use a butterfly bandage. I'll get you a robe to wear so at least you'll be clean."

"I'll take a shower."

Ilya frowned. "I can't let you do that, Joley. You obviously have a concussion. I wouldn't want you falling down. I'll get you clean."

She frowned up at him. "I'm not going to let you give me a bath. I'm not a baby."

"Right now you're my baby, so don't argue with me." There was the merest hint of steel in his voice. His hands went to her shirt.

She caught his wrists. "Ilya."

"It's all right, Joley. You're not well. Let me take care of you. Tell me what happened after you found your clothes shredded. What did you do?"

She lifted her chin, trying to ignore the way he was so careful to keep from hurting her as he cut off her shirt. It was stained with blood, and she'd never be able to wear it again, but it made her cry anyway. Which was silly, but she couldn't stop, especially when he dropped the rags to the floor, leaving her exposed in her lacy bra.

He drew her close to his body, pressing her face into his shoulder. "You're safe with me. You have to remember, Joley," he stroked caresses down her hair, "I'm very partial to your body. I'll be very careful."

"I know you will. It's not that. This is two outfits today destroyed. Two of my favorites." Which was idiotic, she could care less about her clothes. Her tears had nothing to do with ruined clothes and everything to do with danger and death swirling around her and putting everyone she loved in jeopardy. "I don't know how you live like this." She couldn't stop weeping or shaking, no matter how hard she tried.

She felt so vulnerable, standing there nearly naked with tears she couldn't stop and her body trembling. His hands were warm and strong, and he simply unclipped the bra and tossed it after the shirt. His fingers skimmed down the sides of her breasts, sliding to hook her hips. Her body jerked and a sob escaped. Joley pushed her knuckles into her mouth.

He framed her face with his hands. "I'll buy you a couple of outfits. Nicer ones. Ones you'll love. Come on,
lubov moya
, stand up and let's get the jeans off you. You have a nasty cut on your leg as well. You're exhausted. Don't think about what we're doing. Tell me what you did when you found your clothes shredded."

She swallowed hard and tried not to shiver as he hooked her jeans and boy-short panties, dragging them over her thighs and urging her to step out of them. He lifted her into the bathtub.

"I gave the performance of my life. I rocked the house. I wasn't about to let someone scare me off."

Her teeth chattered as Joley sank down into the heated water. Whatever he had put into it stung, letting her know where the cuts on her body were. She crossed her arms over her breasts and swayed. Her head pounded so hard she bit down on her lip to keep from moaning. Ilya crouched down beside her, sponging her off with a soft washcloth, rinsing the blood so he could see how deep the cuts were.

Most were superficial, he saw with a sigh of relief. She did look a little worse for wear with her arm torn from the earlier accident, although he could see it was healing fast. Her head was by far the worst cut, followed by the gash in her leg. It was long, but shallow, not really needing stitches he saw now that he could examine it. A bandage would do the trick, and with the smaller cuts and bruises he just laid his palm on them, summoning healing energy and decided he'd apply a topical antibiotic cream.

"That's my woman. Now tell me about the bomb." He dried her shivering body off gently with a towel and wrapped her in a robe. He dropped his voice to a hypnotic, mesmerizing tone. "The pain will lessen in a moment."

Joley sank into the chair by the mirror, her legs too wobbly to hold her up. She drew her knees up, resting her feet on the seat of the chair, and watched as he casually pulled his shirt off. He had such a beautiful body. She wished her eyes would focus just a little better. He had a really ugly slice down his ribs, obviously from a knife, but it looked fairly shallow.

"Here, let me see." She beckoned him closer with her finger. She had recognized the compulsion in his voice; he could spell-sing, although not as well as she could. She hadn't thought of that with her brain so jumbled, but she could do no less for him.

Ilya hesitated but stepped closer when she started to get off the chair. "It's nothing, really, Joley. I'll shower and wash the wounds thoroughly in a few minutes."

Joley ignored his statement and touched around the wound lightly with her fingertips. He felt that touch vibrate through his body like an electrical current. As tired as he was, as fearful as he'd been for her, his control wasn't nearly as good as he'd have liked. He didn't want to react physically when she needed comfort and care most, but it seemed he had no control over his body. He felt the blood pooling hot and insistent in his groin.

"Joley, maybe you'd better not…"

"Shh," she cautioned and leaned forward to brush a kiss along the ragged edges.

He'd thought the pads of her fingers were sensual, but her soft lips were a thousand times worse. He cursed and caught her wrists. "Tell me about the bomb."

She looked up at him with slightly glazed eyes. He couldn't help himself—he leaned down and kissed her upturned mouth, running his tongue possessively along the seam until she opened for him. He allowed himself the luxury of losing himself in her, just for a moment, to celebrate that she was alive. He'd known fear as a child, but had lost it along the way as an adult—now it was back because for the first time in his life, he had someone to lose.

He lifted his head and brushed her mouth twice more. "Come on. Let's get you into the living room. The detective should be here in a few minutes. I'm going to shower and stay out of sight. I have to fix my arm. Can you handle him alone?"

She nodded, her eyes enormous, pupils still somewhat dilated.

He carried her into a large, sunken living room and laid her on the couch, arranging the pillows around her and covering her with a blanket. "Don't get up when he comes in. Just stay right there. He knows you're waiting for him and he'll let himself in."

"How do you know that?"