Turbulent Sea (37 page)

"Because it's my job to take care of details. Tell me about the bomb."

She frowned, trying to remember. "There was a photograph pinned to the door of the bus." She looked around a little helplessly. "I had it. I don't think I dropped it."

He'd taken it out of her hands and put it on the bureau beside several of his weapons. "It's safe. Keep going."

"It was a picture of Tish and me, but someone had drawn in bullets on our throats and they cut out letters from a magazine, which I personally find hokey. It said to back off the girl. And then I started to open the door, but Jerry called to me and I turned, and then the bus exploded."

"You did good, Joley. Tell that to the cop. I'll be in the other room. Try not to mention me if you can help it." He was already moving fast. The detective was coming up the walkway. A small strobe light flashed, indicating his presence. Ilya left her there, trusting that he had reinforced the command enough with his voice that, even in her slightly dazed state, she would obey.

The hot shower felt good on his tired body. It was difficult to sew up his arm when chunks of flesh appeared to be missing, but he managed, although the stitches weren't nearly as small and precise as the ones he'd done for Joley. He closed the wound as best he could, gave himself a shot of antibiotics and attended the other scrapes. He was exhausted by the time he heard the detective leave.

Exhausted, he set the alarms for the perimeter of the house and then the house itself. Flicking off lights, he carried Joley to the bedroom. She was very drowsy. He would have to wake her up every hour to make certain she was all right, but for the time being both of them could rest. He removed the bulky robe and just pulled a blanket over her body, grateful that he was tired and needed to sleep. Hopefully he could get through the night without going crazy lying beside her.

He stretched out, and then turned on his side to curl his body around hers. He thought he could control her movements, at least minimize them, but she was restless and kept batting at the wound on her face. Each time he caught her hands, it jerked the hell out of his arm, sending pain crashing through him. He cursed the fact that drugs didn't work any better on him than they did on her, and finally, to keep her from hurting herself, he used a soft scarf to tie her wrists together and to the headboard.

Joley murmured a protest, but turned into his body for warmth and eventually slept fitfully. She responded each time he woke her and talked to her, but readily went back to sleep when he left her alone. He drifted off, dreaming of her.

Chapter 15

JOLEY knew she was dreaming again. She'd had so many erotic dreams, her fantasies getting darker, but much more pleasurable each time. As always it was Ilya with her, because only Ilya saw deep inside her and only Ilya mattered to her. She could barely breathe when he was near, her thoughts and body filled with urgent need.

She was naked, cool air on her bare skin as she lay stretched out on the bed. Ilya stood above her, his features carved and sensual. He was stark naked as well, his body rippling with muscle, his heavy erection already thick and hard. She could see his chiseled body, the defined muscles covered with old scars and new, raw wounds. He looked like a wild Cossack, a warrior, the pagan godlike beauty of his face stamped with lust and sin.

Her breath caught in her lungs and lay trapped there, so that she heard her own ragged gasps. She wet her lips and tried to move, her legs stirring restlessly as her body reacted to his presence with a rush of heated liquid. She could feel her thighs tingle and her nipples harden under his heavy-lidded stare. Her arms were a bit uncomfortable held over her head so that her breasts thrust upward toward him. It took a moment for her to realize that a soft scarf wrapped around her wrists held her hands tied to the headboard.

In her dream, the thought of being his captive added to the already smoldering fire in her body. She burned for him, and it was so unfair. He stood above her looking hot and sexy, his hand casually stroking his heavy erection with a near mesmerizing circle, until he was impossibly thick. She couldn't tear her gaze from the sexy sight of him, the pearl of moisture on the broad head. His eyes were filled with lust, his hunger raw and edgy. She loved the look on his face, harshly sensual, his body hot and hard and so ready for her.

She moved her hips, pushing them toward him in invitation because in a dream, she could enjoy the fantasy, glory in the dominating look on his face, the possession in his eyes. He lowered himself to the bed beside her, one hand sliding up her rib cage to cup her breast, his thumb grazing her nipple so that she jumped and the breath left her body in a strangled gasp. His shaft lay thick and heavy against her bare thigh, the heat radiating up from that single spot like a slow wash of molten lava.

"I love the way you look right now, Joley, helpless and so mine," he whispered. "So soft, all gleaming skin, wet for me, needy, your eyes begging me to take you. You're mine, aren't you? Tell me. Say it. I want you to acknowledge just this once who you belong to."

His voice was low, rough, demanding even. The commanding sound added to the thrill. She was so susceptible to sound. His lips whispered across hers. His tongue licked the corner of her mouth, a sensual rasp that nearly threw her into a climax as his fingers tugged at her nipple in a rhythmic melody. Every nerve ending in her body went on alert. She gasped again and arched into him. She was his. She wanted to be his.

"Of course I belong to you." Dreams and fantasies were safe, and she could have everything she wanted without the risk of giving too much of herself. Right here, now, she could show him how much she loved him, how much she truly was his, because he would never know it any other way than in her dreams.

His hand brushed back the hair from the cut on her forehead, and he leaned in to brush right above it with his lips, fingers tender as he touched her. His palm shaped her face, moved down her neck to her shoulder and then slid over her breasts. She shivered beneath his touch, a broken cry escaping when he leaned over her body and took her breast into his mouth. Hot heat raced from breast to belly as he suckled, his tongue flicking and teeth scraping.

Ilya had meant to slide the scarf from her hands, but Joley lay stretched out before him and it had been so long—too long. The sight of her lush body—flushed with arousal, waiting for him, open to him, a priceless treasure, a gift he could explore slowly—had him torn between wanting to sink his body into hers and pound unmercifully or go slowly, drawing her to new heights so that she pleaded with him for more.

Her skin was like satin, warm and alive and so soft she felt exquisite beneath his stroking palms. Her thigh felt smooth and enticing against his pulsing cock, and her legs moved against him with restless pleading. He inhaled her fragrance, all woman, the scent of her driving him toward the edge of his control.

The full curve of her mouth tempted him again, and he swallowed her soft moan as his lips took hers, tongue stroking deep to tangle with hers. She tasted even better than he remembered, all honey and spice, a flavor supremely Joley. His lifted his head to take in the picture of her lying there, stretched out across the bed, hands bound, breasts thrust toward his mouth, the flat, exquisite belly and tiny curls at the junction of shapely legs. She was an offering sending another shaft of pleasure rocketing through his body.

He dropped one hand to her leg and ran up the smooth skin to her thigh. The pads of his fingers skimmed the cuts with gentle care, infusing a rush of healing warmth even as his hand parted her thighs. Her body welcomed him, already damp and needy with pleading.

He took her mouth again, that beautiful mouth he always fantasized about. So full, so soft, and inside, a velvet heated secret treasure of sensation he could lose himself in easily. His tongue traced her full lower lip, teased her upper one and claimed each corner of her mouth. He nibbled and teased, taking his time, drawing moans from her. All the while he watched as arousal deepened her color and brought her nipples to harder peaks. For him—all for him.

He reveled in the way she gave herself up to the hot need, allowing it to consume her. His hands slipped over her narrow rib cage to her heaving breasts, cupping them, kneading the soft flesh, pushing them together so he could flick first one nipple and then the other with his tongue. She gasped and arched closer to him, crying out when his mouth closed over one hard bud, sucking it in and flicking back and forth with his tongue until she wailed. He bit down and she cried out brokenly.

"That's what I want,
lubov moya
, burn for me."

One hand slid down her flat belly, exploring the muscles bunched so tight there before slipping lower. He plunged two fingers deep into her hot, wet channel while his mouth closed around her other breast.

Her hips came up, riding his hand, liquid heat flowing along the living silk as her muscles tightened around his fingers in a stranglehold. She moaned, and pushed her breast deeper into his mouth, her head tossing back and forth on the pillow. He suckled hard, tongue tormenting her, his fingers all the while plunging into her, first hard and fast, then slow and easy, so that she tried desperately to relieve the tension building and building. He loved every frantic cry, every involuntary movement of her hip as she twisted and writhed to get more.

"On, no,
lubov moya
, not yet," he whispered softly and began licking over her soft skin, all that wonderful expanse of gleaming satin that was his alone. He took little nips, watching her skin flush with need. So soft. So warm. He teased her belly button and scraped his teeth over her mound.

Joley went wild, pleading with him. She heard herself, shocked by the need and lust in her voice, in her cries to take her. She blinked, focusing, and saw his wicked smile, the demon in his eyes, as he lowered his head again. The need in her was destroying her, consuming her completely, the fire too hot, threatening to burn her alive.

She'd never seen anything more sensual than Ilya in that moment. This was no dream man, but a very strong flesh-and-blood man. He parted her thighs, his hands spreading her legs, palms warm and rough as he positioned her exactly the way he wanted her, open to his hungry gaze. For a tension-filled moment, while she breathed raggedly and her body pulsed and ached with terrible need, he stroked her inner thighs, moving his fingers against her wet, heated flesh.

She would have done anything for him in that moment. Her body screamed for his. Tremors ran through her and her breath caught in her throat when he slowly lowered his head and his tongue slid across her soft lips in a long, curling rasp and then stabbed deep. She opened her mouth wide, but no sound emerged. Nerves jumped in her thighs, and she couldn't stop the way her hips arched and thrust upward toward his greedy mouth.

He licked and sucked and feasted, his tongue as wicked and sinful as his fingers, driving her nearly insane with the wealth of sensations pouring into her. His mouth moved over her clit, and the small growling noise, as if he were a prowling tiger, vibrated right through her, pushing her higher. She cried out again and whispered his name brokenly.