Safe Harbor

by Christine Feehan

  "Yes, we've had a couple of conversations about him."

  "And the Reverend, is he aware of your knowledge, Hannah?" Sarah asked, suspicion in her voice.

  Hannah crossed to the window and, standing to one side, took a quick look out. The Reverend was surrounded and he was booming out his sermon, his voice thundering over the crowd extolling the merits of seeking forgiveness on one's knees and avoiding the harlots of the world.

  "He's so cliched," she hissed. "I should just go out there and tell the world what he's really like."

  "Hannah, don't you dare. For one thing, you have no proof. He could sue you for making those kinds of allegations."

  "They're true."

  "True or not, you have to have proof."

  "So he likes women, does he?" Joley ventured and turned away before Hannah could say anything else. She raced up the stairs.

  "Hannah," Sarah persisted, before she could follow Joley. "Did you confront the Reverend? You did, didn't you?"

  "He was protesting at every single shoot I went on. If not the Reverend personally, he has four or five men who travel with him and they protested. It wasn't directed at a designer, or even furs, but at me personally. My agent was afraid we'd lose assignments if he kept causing negative publicity. So yes, I went to see him with the idea that once he met me, he'd see I wasn't the devil's daughter."

  "And?" Sarah prompted, pressing her lips together tightly.

  Hannah sighed. The lip thing was always a bad sign with Sarah. "Well, in the end I think I just proved to him I was the devil's daughter, by reading his mind and letting him know I was disgusted by him." She glanced up as Joley came running back down the stairs and went straight to the front door. "Oh, no. Sarah. Stop her."

  Joley was dressed in slim vintage blue jeans, riding low on her hips and highlighting the shape of her butt very lovingly. Her tight pink tank top hugged the full curve of her breasts and stopped short of her waist, showing an intriguing strip of her flat belly. A golden chain glittered just below her waist and above her jeans. The way she moved screamed sex. Her hair was wild, her full, pouting lips a dark siren red. She didn't just walk, she flowed, all soft lush curves and windblown hair. She was temptation wrapped in casual elegance.

  The crowd at the fence went crazy, yelling and waving. Cameras turned away from the Reverend and focused on her.

  Joley waved and sauntered down toward them, her every step an answer to the wickedest erotic dreams.

  Hannah clutched Sarah's hand. "She's going to start a riot out there. Where are the security people? Matt isn't here and neither is Aleksandr or Damon."

  "Joley can handle a crowd," Sarah reassured her, silently praying it was true.

  The Reverend RJ, realizing he was losing his audience, lifted his hands to the sky and called louder for the Lord to forgive the sins of Hannah Drake, parading her body, strutting around deliberately tempting men to be sinners and leading other women to wear the clothes of the temptress.

  Joley went right up to him, looking every inch of sex and sin, her fragrance enveloping him in deliberate enticement. She flashed her perfect white teeth and batted her long lashes. "Reverend RJ? I'm Joley, Hannah's sister." She offered her hand, her voice pitched low, the rhythm hypnotic--mesmerizing even. It dropped another octave so that she sounded sultry and tempting. "It's so sweet of you to pray for her soul."

  The Reverend opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Joley often had that effect on men. He slipped his hand into hers and she ran the pad of her thumb over the back of his hand, reading him, reading his perverted thoughts and his darkest secrets, even as she gave him a thrill.

  Joley ignored the rush of memories and concentrated on his perverted thoughts. He couldn't stop thinking about her breasts and he loved the chain. Mostly his thoughts were all about what he'd like to do to her. She gave him a slow, seductive smile that had his body reacting and his mind racing.

  "You're so caring to worry about my sister's soul." She moved, a soft undulation of her body, enough to show off her lush curves without seeming to do a thing. It was easy enough to boost the microphones when the Reverend talked, and interfere when she did so the broadcast would only hear him--the lust and excitement in his voice.

  She smiled at him, her sultry come-on smile. "It's too bad you don't like women, you're a good-looking man and we could..." She shrugged, letting her body just barely slide against his, her fingers slipping away from his almost reluctantly. Before he could respond to her allegation, she stepped even closer so that her breath warmed his ear. "You look like you could save even me."

  He reacted visibly, a shiver of excitement going through his body. She tilted her head, her gaze holding his so for a moment they were the only two people there. Her voice was a soft whisper. "I like games, do you?" He was imagining her at his mercy, tied up and taking whatever he gave her, while he preached that it was for her own good. She heightened his imagination, letting him taste the power he'd have over her.

  He licked his lips and the bulge in his trousers grew. "We could explore possibilities if you want to be saved."

  "Do you think you could save me? I've--done things." Her voice was pitched low and implied all sorts of sinful, wicked and very sexual things.

  The Reverend swallowed several times. "I could save you, child."

  This time when she stepped close, her breasts brushed his chest and then she slid away again, her lips in a seductive pout. "What would you do? Tell me. Tell me right now." Her hand slid down his chest and belly, stopped just short of the front of his trousers, her fingers tapping and then sliding away.

  He swallowed hard, the images in his head overcoming everything else. He reached for her, his hands settling around her arms, fingers digging deep. "I would have to tie you down to keep the devil from getting you. He'll fight me for you. You see how necessary it is."

  She blinked up at him, her face innocent, her eyes hot with desire--for him. He could taste her, feel her already. The Reverend was oblivious to his men, trying to pull him away from the cameras. There was assent in her eyes, need. She would let him because he had the power.

  "Flogging is beautiful on a woman and sometimes it's the only way."

  "I have a lot of sins," she said. Her hand trailed up his chest, eyes still locked with his. "Will I feel you deep inside me?" She ignored his bodyguards just as he did.

  "Oh yes." He nodded, barely able to breathe with wanting her. "I'll fuck you blind. I'll make you scream. You'll be lovely with blood running down your back and breasts and buttocks." He was so mesmerized, he was completely unaware of speaking out loud.

  Joley chose that moment to step aside so the cameras could pick up the perfect image of a very perverted man lusting after a woman. "You talk a lot of crap, Rev, but inside you're a sick bastard. So basically, you're saying to save my soul, you have to strip me naked, tie me up, flog me and then do me? Wow. Kinky. But no thanks."

  Still half under the spell of her voice and body, the Reverend looked up at the cameras blinking, his hand reaching for her as she stepped away.

  Joley brushed him off, rubbing her hands down her thighs. "You disgust me. You're after sex, pure and simple, and you like to hurt women. You get off on that, don't you? Hurting women? You know why? You can't get it up any other way."

  The tallest bodyguard slammed her back with a hand to her chest as they grabbed the Reverend, pulling him away from her mesmerizing voice, protectively shoving him behind them.

  Joley staggered and nearly went down, but she caught herself. Deliberately running her tongue along her lips, she sent the Reverend another seductive smile. "You think my sister is the devil? You got the wrong one."

  "You bitch." The tallest of the Reverend's bodyguards came at her again. Joley waited, on the balls of her feet, for the blow. She wanted the man to assault her. It would look so wonderful for the cameras and do even more harm to the Reverend's already severely damaged reputation.

  Before his fist could land, Ilya Prakenskii stepped betwe
en them, a flow of muscle and coordination, his hand catching the fist in midair and stopping the forward momentum. The man went to his knees, agony on his face.

  Joley stepped back, one hand going to her throat in a defensive gesture as she felt the buildup of energy--red-hot and black with anger, pulsing in the air. "Don't kill him," she whispered. "Ilya. Don't."

  The Russian turned his head, his smoldering gaze meeting hers. "Go into the house now." He bit the command out between clenched teeth.

  Every vestige of color drained from Joley's face, but she turned and hurried back into the house, straight into Hannah's arms.

  "It's all right, baby, I'm here," Hannah assured.

  "I feel so dirty. That man is so sick and then Ilya came. I didn't know he was there. I didn't feel him, and he saw the whole thing--what I did." Joley, who never cried, burst into tears. "Someone had to stop that horrible man."

  The door burst open and Ilya Prakenskii stood framed there, his wide shoulders filling the space. The room pulsed with black rage. He took two long strides in and waved his hand behind him. The door slammed closed.

  "Are you deliberately trying to get yourself killed?" Ignoring Hannah and Sarah, he yanked Joley out of Hannah's arms and spun her around to face him. "Because that man isn't just a pervert, he's dangerous, and you must have known that the moment you touched him. You just destroyed him on live television. What the hell were you thinking?"

  Joley bit her lip hard to try to stop crying. It was humiliating to have Prakenskii catch her in such a weak moment. He punctuated each word with a hard shake and she wanted to break free and spit in his face, but he was right. He was so right and she had touched a monster and it sickened her.

  "Nikitin saw the entire thing. He's fixated on you, too. What do you think the first order he's going to give me will be when we're alone? He's going to want the son of a bitch who hit you taken out. Damn it, Joley. Don't you ever think before you act?"

  "She did it for me," Hannah said, stepping close to her younger sister. "She was protecting me."

  "She used her voice and her body on him. He'll be obsessed and it won't go away." Ilya released Joley after one more, hard, frustrated shake and stepped away from her, one hand scrubbing over his face. "If your voice was picked up by the microphone, you'll have more than one man obsessed with you. What the hell is wrong with you?"

  "Maybe it was a little rash," Hannah defended, "but her heart was in the right place."

  "Just like it was when she pretended to be Libby? Half the world thinks she's into sex orgies and kink and the other half is so obsessed with her, they're dangerous."

  Joley swiped at her eyes and lifted her chin, her expression stubborn, defiant. "Maybe I am into kink and orgies. It's no one's business if I am."

  His breath hissed out. "Don't push me right now, little girl. You'll find yourself over my knee right in front of your sisters. I' in furious with you."

  "You wouldn't dare. I'd have you arrested."

  "No, Joley, you wouldn't. We both know that, so just back off and let me rant about this as you deserve. But I'm warning you." He stepped closer to her. "The next time you do something so foolish, so dangerous, I'm going to give you a lesson you will never forget."

  He swung away, paced the length of the room like a restless tiger, visibly pulling back and regaining control. When he turned around, he was no less furious, no less frightening, but this time his rage was icy. "And what's the matter with all of you?"

  The other Drakes had drifted into the room, one by one, all standing in a loose circle watching him with wary eyes.

  "Do you honestly believe she's that tough? That strong? What's wrong that you don't look after your younger sister?"

  Joley's swift intake of air was audible. "I am that tough and you'd better not threaten my sisters or you'll find out just how tough I really am."

  Hannah's head was pounding, the emotions swinging out of control, beating at her. This was her fault. Joley's exposing herself to danger was her fault. As much as she might detest Prakenskii's manner, he was right. Joley was rash and she did act without thought for her own safety when she was protecting her family. Was it possible that whoever hated Hannah that much would turn that hatred on Joley?

  "You're right," she said, her voice strangled with tears. "You're right. Joley, honey, you have to be more careful. You're out there, all over the news, and the wrong people are watching."

  The knock at the door jarred her nerves. She pressed her fingers tightly against her lips and turned away to try to keep the others from seeing how distressed she was. Just like that it had all come back. The knife. The pain. The utter horror of it. And now she had to worry about someone doing the same thing to Joley.

  Ilya held up his hand when Sarah made a move to the door. "It's Nikitin," he said. "Tread softly. He knows nothing of your capabilities."

  Elle moved close to Hannah and circled her waist with one arm, positioning her body just a little in front of her sister. Hannah frowned. Elle was the youngest, the quietest, and definitely the most lethal. Hannah didn't want Elle's protection anymore. If anything, it should be the other way around, but already her heart was pounding, lungs burning, and she could barely think with the buzzing in her head. A full-blown panic attack was setting in.

  "Joley, take Hannah upstairs," Ilya commanded. "Hurry."

  Joley glanced from him to Hannah's pale face. Without protesting, she grabbed Hannah's hand and took her out of the room, up the stairs. Behind them, she could hear Prakenskii opening the front door to let the mobster in.

  "I-I c-can't breathe," Hannah stammered, her breath coming in long wheezes.

  "Yes you can, honey," Joley said. "You'll be safe in your room."

  "Outside." Hannah indicated the balcony. She could breathe outside. She was safe with the wind and the sea. She groped her way along the walls to the French doors and threw them open, stepping with relief onto the tiled balcony.

  "Better?" Joley asked, pulling Hannah's chair closer.

  "Yes. I'm sorry, Joley, and I'm sorry you felt you had to go out there and protect me from that slimebag pervert. You're an amazing sister."

  "People like that make me so angry, Hannah." She was silent a moment, her hand shaking as she pushed back her hair. "I hate it that Ilya saw me like that. It made me feel cheap and dirty."

  "Oh, Joley." Distressed, Hannah reached out to her. "He didn't look at you as if you were cheap or dirty, he looked concerned and upset, and afraid for you. He made me afraid for you."

  "And I hate that he was right. It was a stupid thing to do, but I'm still glad I did it. Very few people are going to follow the Reverend after his little display."

  "Be careful, Joley. Be very careful from now on. You've made an enemy." Hannah rocked herself back and forth, trying to find balance again.

  "Jonas is going to be really upset with me, too." She brightened. "But you're going out with him tonight and that ought to mellow him right out."

  "Maybe I shouldn't go with him. I don't want him to love me like this. I want to be whole for him. Strong for him."

  "Jonas has loved you forever, Hannah, you're the only one who didn't know. He isn't going to stop loving you because you tell him to."

  "Then you think I should go?" It was a commitment if she went. She understood that, and more, she understood that if she went with him, she was going to seduce him and that would be binding as far as Jonas was concerned. Was she ready? She honestly didn't know.

  "Do you love him, Hannah? Really love him?" Joley asked.

  "With every breath in my body. Bone deep. All the way."

  "Why? Why do you love him so much, Hannah?"

  Hannah sank into the chair and put her feet on the railing, the tension slipping from her body. "He makes me feel alive. He sees me. I can't hide from him. He sees me and he loves me anyway. He makes me feel beautiful when nothing else makes me feel that way. I can see myself in his eyes and he makes me a better person than I am."

  "What else?"
/>
  "He knows how to have fun and he's okay with me having fun. He doesn't care if I'm rich or famous. He doesn't care if I'm a huge success out in the world. He makes me feel as if the things I want to do, stay home, cook and be a wife and mother, are just as important as saving the world."

  "And?" Joley prompted with a small grin.

  Hannah grinned back. "And he's hot in bed."

  Joley laughed. "Then I say, you have your answer. The rest of it will all fall into place. Let yourself be happy, Hannah."

  "What about my panic attacks? They aren't going away."

  "You deserve to have a few panic attacks after some nutcase tried to carve you up with a knife. Jonas doesn't care. We don't care. Why should you? Be happy."

  Hannah nodded. "You're right. How'd you get to be so smart? I'm going to take my bath and get ready and then will you come in and help me with something else, something important to me?"

  "Sure. I'll be back with the 411 from whatever's happening downstairs." Joley winked and left her alone.

  Hannah went back into her room, carefully closing the French doors and drawing the blinds. She stood in her room waiting for her heart to stop pounding. Hadn't she promised she would be true to herself? What did she want to happen tonight with Jonas? She was the one trying to hold off being with him physically because she was ashamed of her body, yet she wanted him with such intensity it shook her. As night fell, the tightness in her body seemed only to increase. She wanted to be lying under him, over him, with him, his body taking hers over and over. And God help her, she wanted to see that fierce, possessive look on his face again and again.

  Every single thing she had said to Joley was the truth. She loved Jonas. There had been no one before him and there would be no one after him. If she wanted him, she needed to stand up and take him.

  She walked slowly to the mirror and stared at her face. To her, the injuries were all she could see, her face carved into a wreck, pieces, like Frankenstein, but when she took a deep breath and forced herself to analyze her wounds, it was clear they were already well past the raw stage and into fading. The lines were red, but not inflamed. The skin looked healthy and soft again. The bruising and swelling was long gone. Her sisters really had accomplished a miracle, along with a brilliant plastic surgeon who had taken his time to ensure that he had meticulously seamed her face back together.