Turbulent Sea (8 page)

"Whatever happened, I think I've lost Lisa, and I can't blame her." The drummer's eyes swam with tears.

Joley's heart jumped. She'd never seen him cry over a woman. They were about to go out and perform for thousands of people and Denny was falling apart right before her eyes.

"It isn't over until it's over, Denny. You have a chance with Lisa. She's worth fighting for. We'll all help you. Is she here tonight? Did she come?"

Lisa had promised to be in Chicago for their concert, and Denny had been looking forward to seeing her. The band had been in Europe for weeks and Lisa hadn't been able to make New York, so Chicago was to have been their reunion.

"She flew in last night. I called her at the hotel, which only made it worse. I have no idea if she decided to come to the concert. If she did, she didn't pick up her backstage pass and she didn't check in with Jerry. I asked him to watch for her." Denny sounded more miserable than ever.

"I'll do what I can to help you, Denny," Joley promised rashly. "Jerry can find out if she picked up her ticket or not. If she's here, I'll do what I can to persuade her to give you another chance, but if you mean what you say about her, stay away from the parties. Leave when I do. Come back with me and we'll play Scrabble or something, anything at all to keep you out of trouble."

The other band members nodded. "We can play that Monopoly game, the one that never ends," Rick said. "We'll party with Joley."

Denny snorted his derision, but he looked much happier.

"Yeah, cuz Joley's such a partier." Brian said. Onstage the warm-up band broke into their final number. "That's the windup song, we're on in a few. Come on."

He put out his arm and they huddled together with Joley in the middle of their circle as they always did before each concert. It had become a tradition and they all were superstitious now. If they didn't come together like now, arms around one another with Joley in the center, Brian giving his standard pep talk, they all knew it was going to be a terrible show, everything that could go wrong would. Joley, like a lot of performers, did one standard sound check when possible, not wanting to chance ruining her voice. They ran through their songs, but tried not to have to repeat too much.

"Let's do it," Brian yelled and they took off running for the stage.

Joley hung back listening to the screams and booming applause as her boys took the stage. She loved to hear the way the crowd went wild when her band picked up their instruments. They worked hard, contributed so much, each a genius in his own way, and she was proud of their music. The music swelled and she heard her name.
Joley
. Just Joley. And it was enough. She ran out into the glaring lights and it sounded like thunder.

For a moment she stood there, her body absorbing the rhythms and sounds, the currents of energy coming at her. She waved and sent the crowd her famous smile, and they went wild.

Immediately she launched into the first number, her voice low and sultry, slipping in and out of the swelling music as only she could do. The rhythm had the crowd on its feet; it was impossible for them to stay in their seats, clapping, swaying, some jumping up and down, others dancing, while her voice sank into them and turned them inside out with her music.

ILYA Prakenskii looked down at his hand. It was trembling. He had fought for survival since he was a toddler. He could withstand pain and torture. He'd been shot, knifed, hit with bats, and he had remained rock steady. He had sewn his own flesh. He had killed—numerous times. Nothing shook his calm. That place inside him, that cool detachment was what kept him alive.

He could even allow a woman to service his body, as he could hers, and still remain completely detached and in control. But he couldn't stop his hands from shaking or his body from reacting just looking at—or listening to—Joley Drake.

Emotions could get a man like him killed, so he'd been very careful never to feel. It had been so long since anything touched him, he was shaken, realizing that his deep need of that one small woman wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. She took his breath away. She stole all reason. He didn't get involved—
ever
—not emotionally—with anyone. People around him frequently ended up dead. Emotion was a weakness, something that could too easily be used against him. But Joley Drake…

Ilya hit the back of his head against the wall as if he could jolt her out of his mind. But she was already wrapped inside him and he was never going to be free of her. He knew that now, knew that no matter how disciplined he'd always been, his control went out the window whenever he laid eyes on Joley. And discipline wasn't going to save either of them this time.

He couldn't take his eyes off of her as she moved across the stage. Her voice swelled with power, vibrating through his body until he couldn't think with wanting her. He could have lived with that. The chemistry between them was so damn potent he ached every minute of every day, but there was so much more than sex. He belonged to Joley Drake. Body and soul. Men like him didn't ever belong to anyone—and no one belonged to them. Worse, she was slowly stealing his heart. He could take the craving for her body. He could even live without his soul, but if he allowed her access to his heart, he would be lost.

His eyes narrowed to slits. His gaze shifted to take in the crush of people, noting automatically every small detail and storing it so his mind could process all the information even as his body absorbed Joley—everything about her—the curves of her body, her far too erotic rhythm as she moved with the pounding music. Every step, every sway, every note screamed sin and sex. She couldn't help the way she was put together or the way her voice seduced and the way her body shouted, "fuck me." But it still pissed him off—and kept him awake at night.

He wished a good fuck was all he wanted, but that was the least of it. He wanted to make love to her. Hard and fast, slow and easy, memorizing every sweet curve and sinful valley. He wanted to know every intimate detail of her body and mind. He wanted to tie her to him any way he could. And he'd tried. First with his magic. Always with his magic. He used his voice shamelessly as a weapon because he knew that sound was the key to Joley. He understood, in ways she still barely perceived, that they were locked in a battle for life. And he wasn't about to lose.

The roar of the crowd swelled, building until the noise was deafening. Bright lights flashed, and Joley moved across the stage, in and out of the lights, almost as if she were making love to the shadows. Nothing in Ilya's barren existence, all the training given to him, all the hard-won experience—none of it—had prepared him for Joley.

Her voice had seduced him first. That perfect pitch that slid into his body, past every defense, and stroked and caressed until every nerve ending was on fire. Then he'd seen her, all soft inviting curves, full rounded breasts, small tucked-in waist and flared hips built to cradle a man. Her skin was flawless, looking so soft it was an invitation to touch. But her face, those classic lines, large dark eyes and full pouting mouth—he hadn't been able to drag his gaze from her the first time he'd seen her. His breath nearly strangled in his lungs and his body had turned harder than a rock. He'd been that way ever since.

More than all of that, her fierce spirit had drawn him like a moth to flame, all fire and passion, a woman in need of protection who thought she could take care of not only herself, but everyone around her. He saw how vulnerable she was. He saw inside of her, to that place she kept hidden, where she thought no one could love who she really was. If there was such a thing as love, if there was truly that emotion, then he loved her, damn it, with every breath in his body.

He'd never been in a relationship, let alone a family, and the Drake family was as alien to him as trust. Joley came from such a different background—hell, she'd managed to get under his skin, make him forget the discipline that was his life, and worse, she shook his control. He needed to be in control.
Needed
it. She had no idea of what a little stick of dynamite like her could do to a man, especially a man as dangerous and as lethal as he knew himself to be.

Ilya's body tensed as a man suddenly detached himself from the crowd and rushed the stage. Joley didn't miss a beat as security swarmed around the man, stopping him before he could climb up onstage. Ilya had already moved, a big man, fast on his feet, utterly silent, ready to protect her with his life. He took a breath and resumed his place against the wall where he could monitor the rows closest to the stage.

Joley had been raised in a loving environment. She had a large family with a lot of siblings, and parents who adored their children. Ilya had no idea what a family was like. If he had parents, he sure had no memory of them, and he only had vague memories of his older brothers. He was different and he would always be different. His training had shaped him. Trained to be a spy, an assassin, to work in the shadows and endure whatever hardship was needed in order to get the job done, he had been raised in a cruel, violent environment and had no idea how to live any other way. He'd never thought of living any other way, until he'd met Joley Drake.

Ilya spotted a man in the third row who had a look of rapture on his face as he stared up at Joley. Sweat beaded on the man's forehead and he was breathing fast. Ilya shook his head. She had half the men in the audience so tied up in knots it would be a wonder if there wasn't a riot. She was using her voice shamelessly, maybe unintentionally, but it had to stop.

He reached out to her. A slow, deliberate caress that slid like so much velvet down her arm to her palm, to the brand that marked her as his. He felt the first flutter of awareness, her mind touching his. The startled, stunned effect he always seemed to have on her. He loved that—the way she responded to him in spite of herself. She didn't want to open her mind to his, but she never could quite resist his touch.

She had power over him, had turned his life upside down, and he was working his way through his anger at that, but each first time he touched her, he knew he had the same power and control over her.

And what was a relationship after all? Hell if he knew, just that melting inside, the fierce, urgent demands of his body and the terrible need to protect her, to be with her. And with him there was more—the need to dominate, to enforce his will on her, because in the end, he had to take control back.

When you're up on that stage and you're working the audience, all I can think about is slamming you against the wall and burying myself in you over and over, so deep they'll never get us apart
. Deliberately he drawled each word, low and sexy, the smoldering heat slipping inside her until he saw the change on her face.

His breath strangled in his lungs as her expression turned even more sultry, the pouring out of her voice passionate, her lips a sinful invitation, her body moving with a natural sexiness that couldn't be hidden, and her eyes, heavy lidded, almost drowsy, bedroom eyes, promising paradise when a man sank his body into the soft silky heat of hers.

Stop it.

She hadn't even missed a beat, gliding across the stage, moving under the lights, which could only mean she wasn't nearly as far gone as he was. Damn her. He was crawling out of his skin. She shook him on such an elemental,
primitive
level that he knew he'd never get over her. There was no walking away. No being sated by her soft, sexy body. He would never be free of her. If any other man approached her with the same possessive obsession, he'd mark him as a stalker and end him as soon as it could be arranged, yet even with knowing that his need of her wasn't normal, he knew he was taking her for himself—because whatever he felt—she was feeling it, too.

He saw her gaze slide through the first few rows as if looking for someone—not him. Never him. Jealously was a black, empty emotion that threatened to choke the sense out of men. Who was she looking for? Her gaze touched on the man in the third row and moved on. Ilya understood she was looking for a specific person. A man?

She'd been angry enough at him last night, but he would have known if she'd turned to another man. He'd left her alone all night because he'd wanted so badly to reach out and touch her mind with his. And he'd be damned if he'd give in to that kind of obsession. He was going to be in control one way or the other. The problem was, he'd lain awake all night, his body so painful, tight and hard he knew he couldn't let things continue this way.

He slid his mind intimately into hers, once more allowing her to feel the depth of his sexual appetite for her. Her gaze jumped to his, her face flushed. He could see the rise and fall of her soft, full breasts beneath the tight shirt she wore.

Up onstage, Joley knew she sounded as desperate as she felt. Her entire body was on fire. She detested letting him know he was getting to her, but if he didn't stop the audience was going to witness spontaneous combustion.

I'm working.

Is that what you call it? Working? You're shaking your sexy little ass in front of that idiot, third seat from the middle, and he's nearly comatose. If you do it again, he'll do something stupid like run up onstage to grab you and then I'll have to kill the poor bastard and you'll be angry with me.

You can't talk to me now. I mean it
. If he'd wanted to talk, he should have done it all through the long night when she couldn't sleep, when she'd lain awake on her bed waiting to hear his voice.

Her breasts ached and her nipples were hard pebbles rubbing against the lace of her bra with every movement of her body. She was on fire, throbbing and pulsing with hot desire.
He
did that to her with just his voice. A look from his eyes. A touch. He could reduce to her to pure physical need. If he wasn't all the things whispered, rumored about him, he still was a dangerous man. She could lose herself in him. There was a part of her that craved his arrogance, his domination, his complete confidence and power.

Onstage she owned the world—she had the power, but with his voice in her head, he slowly took it from her.