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He turned her hand over, the hand he had zapped with some sort of spell months ago, the hand imprinted with his touch, his scent, the hand that marked her as belonging to him. It had happened so fast—in a little place on her home turf. She'd been dancing and he'd come in with his boss. Even then she could barely breathe when she saw him. And now, thanks to the little psychic mark he'd branded her with, she could always sense where he was, and how much her body craved his. Her palm—his mark—itched. And nothing seemed to alleviate the itch but Ilya being close.

Pride demanded she pull away from him, but the pad of his thumb moved in a delicious pattern over her palm. She felt each stroke humming through her bloodstream. Her womb clenched and she felt the flood of liquid heat begging to welcome him deep inside her where he already seemed to live.

"It's got to be said, Joley, your driver—slash—bodyguard seems a bit useless to me." He flashed Steve a look of contempt and tugged on her hand until she followed him, moving out of the glare of the floodlights, into the deeper shadows where reporters might not notice that Joley Drake had come to Nikitin's party.

"You've got to stay away from the Reverend and his moronic group of bad asses, Joley," He added. "They're capable of doing you great harm."

"I know." She did know. And she wanted her hand back, because if he kept it up, she was going to strip and fling herself into his arms and she'd never forgive herself.

"I'd have to kill them. You know I would. Just stay away from them."

"No one ever has to kill anyone." She wanted to cry—or scream in pure frustration. He was so matter of fact about it, as if killing could solve the world's problems instead of being the world's problem.

"You're naïve to think that, Joley," he said softly and brought her hand to his mouth. His lips were firm and cool. His mouth was hot and moist. He nibbled on the tips of her fingers.

He knew what he was doing to her. He had to know. And he had to know she'd come there to see him. Joley tugged half-heartedly at her hand, but he merely tightened his grip and she let it go. There was no saving her self respect.

"Why can't you let me have some peace?"

"You know why. You belong to me and I'm not willing to give you up because you're afraid."

She felt the first flush of smoldering anger. "I'm not afraid of you. I don't like what you are or who you work for. There's a difference."

"Is there?" He smiled as he scraped the pads of her fingers with his teeth, sending streaks of fire racing through her bloodstream and sizzling along every nerve ending.

She jerked her hand away and wiped it on her thigh. "You know there is. I'm not going to deny I'm physically attracted, but I have a certain weakness for jerks. Don't ask me why, but I have losers apply here' stamped on my forehead. You're just the kind of man I want to avoid."

His palm curled around her throat, a gentle touch, yet it seemed a flame burned against her bare skin. A faint grin touched his mouth, turned his eyes to a deep blue. "Am I really?" The smile was gone leaving him looking more lethal than ever.

She swallowed the sudden lump of fear before she choked on it. His thumb slid along her neck in the smallest of caresses, sending shivers of awareness down her spine. Sexually, she was very susceptible to him. She suspected him of spell casting, but when she touched him, she couldn't find evidence of it. He often whispered to her at night, urging her to come to him. And she wanted him day and night. Even her songs were beginning to reflect her need of him.

She had come here intending to sleep with him—just getting it over with, but now that she was with him, she knew it would be a terrible mistake. He would own her, she'd never be free of him. Her only hope was to hold out and hope her obsession with him passed.

"You're a hit man. It isn't glamorous or cool. It's disgusting. You kill people for a living."

"Do I?"

He never raised his voice or seemed to take offense, even when she was being deliberately rude.

"Don't you?" She was desperate. Desperate. Someone had to save her from herself, because this man had her so tied up in knots she couldn't thinks straight. She wanted to claw at his face, rake his body with her fingernails, fight for freedom and yet at the same time, she craved him, needed him, wanted to wrap her body around his and feel him deep inside her, possessing her, claiming her. She nearly groaned in despair.

"Kiss me, Joley."

Her stomach somersaulted. Her gaze jumped to his mouth. He had great lips. Very defined, very masculine. Kissing would get her into more trouble and she was already in way too deep. Ilya Prakenskii seemed so cool on the outside, ice water in his veins, but inside he smoldered like a living volcano, all molten heat and roiling lava.

He leaned close, his lips inches from hers. His warm breath was against her face and he smelled of spice and mint. "Kiss me." The command was low, his voice soft, almost tender. Her toes were beginning to curl.

She didn't know if she moved to cover that scant inch or if he did. She only knew that his hand shifted to shape the nape of her neck and that her body went soft and pliant, molding against his incredibly hard frame. And that his mouth was on hers. His lips were firm and cool. His teeth scraped and tugged at her lower lip and then it wasn't cool anymore. Fire ignited.

He took control before she could think or breathe, the flames sweeping up and through her, consuming her, taking her over completely. She gave herself to him, wrapping her arms around him, sliding one leg around his to bring her body some relief from the terrible tension that built and built along with the firestorm his mouth created.

His hand caught her hair and held her with a tight, ruthless grip, the bite of pain only increasing her need to be closer, to wrap herself up in him. Her hips moved, sliding her body intimately against his thigh. She needed—needed—release, a respite from the continual sexual pressure that never seemed to let up. Night and day her body was on fire for this man.

The heat from his mouth spread like flames licking over her skin. She heard herself moan, and he deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth, taking everything she offered and demanding more.

The world spun away for Joley until there was only his strength and his hard body and the racing fire storming out of control. Her breasts ached, felt swollen and tender, the tips sensitive as they rubbed against his chest. The junction between her legs was hot and damp, demanding release. She slid along his thigh, applying pressure seeking the relief only his body could provide.

"No." Ilya lifted his mouth from hers, his fingers reluctantly releasing her. "Not like this. When you give yourself to me, it's all the way and forever. This is too easy."

Joley flung her head back, glaring at him. "You're saying no to me?"

"We're not doing this, not like this. You want to get off, you can come home with me and get into my bed where you belong."

She studied his implacable expression, wanting to belong to him, knowing he would take her over, knowing she couldn't live with what and who he was. She would end up loathing herself more than she already did.

He was rejecting her. She'd flung herself at him after months of enduring his constant assault on her senses, she'd given in, driven by an obsession, a craving he'd planted, and he was rejecting her. Humiliation fed fury. She took a deep breath and flung back her head, chin up. "Fine. I don't need you. I can walk into that house and go home with any man I want."

Ilya heard the complete confidence in her voice and knew she was stating the absolute truth. She looked passionate, untamed, so sexy his heart nearly stopped. Her eyes were fairly shooting sparks. Her hair was wild and disheveled as if he had already made love to her. She looked wild and unpredictable and so beautiful he ached.

Ilya caught her wrist again, turned over her palm. "Do you see this, Joley?" His hand slid over her upturned palm, sending shivers along already sensitized nerve endings. "I don't care what happened before I put my mark on you, but make no mistake, Joley, ever since I put this on you, you belong to me. I don't share well with others. Do whatever you feel you have to do, but be willing to live with the consequences. Just know you're going to make things unnecessarily hard on yourself. "

"Why are you doing this to me?" Her palm, the one marked by his brand, itched to slap the tough angles and planes of his face. He led her on and then rejected her. "You can't tell me no and then say I can't be with anyone else. Damn you to hell for this."

"You need a man, and I don't mean some spineless wimp who is going to give into your every whim. You need someone who can rein you in and control your tendency to act before you think."

"That's so sexist. As if I can't take care of myself." She gave a little sniff of disdain, furious with him. "I'm a famous, highly successful woman who's been all over the world, Prakenskii, and I do a darned good job of taking care of myself."

He shook his head. "You don't and you know you don't. Everyone thinks you're tough, Joley, because that's what you want them to believe, but you're not. And you're way too impetuous. You rush in to act without thinking. The Reverend and his pathetic excuse for bodyguards are a perfect example. What did you think would happen when you exposed him for his sleazy crimes on national television? He intends to pay you back. A man like that doesn't forgive and forget. He gets even."

"And you think I need a man to protect me?"

"Yes. Call me sexist all you want, but in the end, it won't change the truth. You're running because you know you need me and you don't want to need anyone."

"Joley!" Brian called her name and she spun around. Denny, her drummer was walking with him toward her, looking guilty.

Joley loathed herself in that moment. She wasn't any better than Denny. She'd come here for sex with a man she was certain was the worst kind of criminal. And he had rejected her advances, humiliated her, threatened her and she still was on fire for him. What did that say about her? She pushed away from Ilya and ran to meet Brian and Denny, choosing to escape before she did something she couldn't take back.

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