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RJ glared at her. She noted he had to assure himself he was surrounded by his men. His fingers curled into fists and maniacal hatred shimmered in the air between them. She had exposed the Reverend on national television when she'd gotten him on live tape claiming he could end Joley's wild ways by tying her down, flogging and having sex with her to drive out her demons. The media had played the clip endlessly for weeks after, and clearly RJ hadn't forgotten that anymore than she had.

"Joley Drake. Whore of the devil. I've wanted to talk to you for a long while."

She raised an eyebrow. "Talk? I doubt talking is on your mind. Unless it's to hear the sound of your own voice. You're cruising for women, you and your little pack of wolves, so don't even try to give me your idiotic spiel about saving souls. Save it for someone doesn't know what a sick pervert you are."

The taller bodyguard stepped close enough that she could smell his cologne. It seemed absurd that he was wearing something spicy and nice smelling. "You bitch."

Joley rolled her eyes. "Can't you come up with something a little more original?"

"Now Paul," RJ said in a soothing voice. "I do want to talk with Ms. Drake. She needs our sympathy and compassion. You're right, Joley, I am a human male. And my body often betrays me, but I try to overcome the weaknesses of the flesh." He spread his arms to take in the house. "Wickedness and debauchery are taking place in this establishment and I mean to aid those who will listen."

"Do people actually believe you? You're here for the sex and drugs, nothing else. At least the rest of them don't lie about it."

"Is that why you're here?"

The question caught her by surprise and she inwardly winced, keeping her famous smile plastered on her face. She might pretend to the rest of the world that she'd come to do a great deed, but she knew better and his question had hit a little too close to home.

"I'm not doing this with you." She glanced over her shoulder to try to see the young girls, but they were out of sight along with the roadies and Brian. Logan was already gone and she wasn't siccing the Reverend on him. If he knew Logan's unwed girlfriend was giving birth he'd race to the hospital and try to grab headlines at Logan's expense.

"I overheard you say there were teens here. If that's true perhaps I can be of some assistance." RJ moved closer, crowding her personal space.

She should have shifted, stepped to the side to give herself more room, but the taller bodyguard, Paul, blocked her path. She found herself surrounded, in a tight circle.

"Get in the car, Joley," RJ said. "We can discuss this without all the noise. If the young people need to be saved, I can do it. You have to believe in me. One slip only makes me human. Let my record speak for me."

His voice had dropped a bit and she recognized the famous charismatic note he could produce. She nearly laughed. She was a Drake and her legacy was spellsinging, the most powerful gift of sound in the world. If the Reverend wanted to engage in a battle of sound, he had chosen the wrong opponent.

"I suppose everyone is human, RJ," she conceded, dropping her voice into a low, sexy drawl, one designed to slide over a man's senses. She saw the Reverend's shiver of awareness, felt the rising heat in the circle of men and realized she was playing with fire. Paul crowded her even closer so that she could feel the brush of his thigh against her hip.

That was stupid Joley! Are you trying to get yourself raped or worse?

The voice slid into her head. Male. Humming with a kind of sexual fury. Her heart jumped and her stomach did a small crazy flip. She didn't dare take her eyes off of the men surrounding her, but in spite of herself, she felt relief along with absolute exhilaration.

She tried to retreat, to get out of the circle, realizing the back door of the limo was still open and she was only a step from it. She glanced up at Paul as his arm came sweeping around her waist. Determination to toss her onto the back seat was on his face.

She spun away from his body, shooting her elbows out as weapons, trying to gain inches so she could use her feet. With her body weight behind a kick to the knee, she could easily bring him down.

Without warning another man moved into the circle. He glided in total silence. Complete and utter confidence surrounded him. Everyone froze including Joley.

And just like that, Joley couldn't deny the real reason she had come in person rather than made a few phone calls. This is what she'd come for. Ilya Prakenskii. Russian bodyguard to Sergei Nikitin. A dangerous man with a murky past, death in his eyes, and a dangerous, volatile appeal that sang to every one of her senses.

That look on his face. Ilya Prakenskii was always in control, always cool and expressionless. His eyes ice-cold, and never, never could she just read him like she could others—unless he wanted her to, unless he opened his mind to hers deliberately and let her catch small glimpses of the real man. She had never really seen him angry other than at her. And she had power over him whether he wanted to admit it or not—and maybe that was what made him angry. He wanted her. It was in the heat of his gaze, the set of his mouth, the hot lust when he looked at her, but most of all, in his mind to mind touch, possession and promise and a dark need that bordered on obsession.

He was why she couldn't sleep. He was why her body felt hot and tight. She wanted to claw at everything and everybody. She swallowed fear and stood still, afraid if she moved, if he touched her, she would wrap herself around him and be lost forever.

"Paul," Ilya said the bodyguard's name in a low voice, but one that carried the razor edge of a knife. "I suggest you keep your hands to yourself."

"I see you've come to save your boss's little pet," Paul said.

Despite his bravado, Joley found it significant that not only did Paul move away from her, all of the other men did as well, including RJ.

"He sent me out to save you," Ilya corrected. "Getting your ass kicked by a girl would be embarrassing especially with so many people watching." He caught Joley's wrist and tugged until she came to his side. Instead of placing her beneath his shoulder, he brought her just one step behind him so he could shield her body should he have to. "Sergei is waiting for you, RJ."

"He's the Reverend," Paul corrected. "Everyone calls him Reverend."

Ilya merely stared at the man until he shepherded RJ and the others up the walkway to the house.

In the ensuing silence, Joley feared Ilya might be able to hear her heart beating. She tried not to notice the width of shoulders, or the heavy muscles on his chest. He wasn't obvious about his strength until you got up close, but more than his physique, more than his perfect masculine body and his tough, heart-stopping face, she was drawn to his mental strength and intellect.

Everyone gave into Joley. Everyone wanted to please her. She was strong, smart, famous, wealthy, and she had the gift of sound. With all that, she was beautiful, with satin skin, bedroom eyes and a sexy, all feminine body. She was also stubborn and liked her way. She could read people—except for Ilya. He was every bit as smart, every bit as strong, and he had every single psychic gift her family had, each well developed. Aside from that, he was the sexiest thing alive and she was mesmerized by him.

"Trouble?" His gaze followed the men before he turned his full attention on her. Those ice-blue eyes drifted possessively over her face and down her body, touching her breasts, sliding over the curve of her hips and down her legs with a long, slow perusal that should have struck her as rude but instead sent her pulse skyrocketing.

Her entire body reacted with scorching heat. She felt herself go damp. Even her breath came in a little rush, lifting her breasts and unsettling her even more. Her face flushed. He knew what he did to her.

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