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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 '11 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
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 '11 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
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