Turbulent Sea

by Christine Feehan

  And maybe no one could love her, not unconditionally, the kind of love her sisters had found, the kind that Tish felt for Logan. She feared it was her. She didn't know how to love, to give herself to someone, to put herself into someone else's keeping and take him into hers. She didn't trust anyone with her heart--or the darker places in her soul.

  She picked up her pace, listening to the rhythm of her shoes hitting the trail. She wanted to enjoy being a loner, satisfied with trekking the world and singing wherever she went, in stadiums filled with crowds, but she couldn't live just for those moments. She wanted to share her life with someone else, laugh with him, stay up until all hours of the night talking with him, or just sit quietly side by side and feel at peace.

  The morning sun had risen, and the beams of lights shining on the red rock set the hillside ablaze with color. The towers of sandstone that rose up toward the sky were incredible, and she tried to find solace in nature. The trail climbed into the heart of the rock, and she felt surrounded, protected even. Trees and bushes sprang up as life found the sun and stretched toward it. It should have been impossible for her not to be happy, but with every step she took, her heart seemed to grown heavier, until it sat in her chest like a stone and dread filled her.

  She didn't want to go back. She didn't want to face Jerry and Brian, or even Tish and Logan with their happy smiles. By now, Lisa might have resolved things with Denny. Joley would have to be happy for everyone. She pressed a hand to her churning stomach. The feeling of dread deepened and she felt sick. A dark shadow slid over her, played over the rocks and trail as a vulture circled lazily. Joley glanced up to see the bird gliding with languid intent in a large circle over the area.

  She could see the morning sun glistening off the feathers, the dark underbelly and the fringe as the bird passed overhead. This time the shadow stretched and magnified, casting a bizarre image on the red rock. With the sun shining through, the rock looked like deep blood flowing through the vulture's blackened shadow. With the feathering wing tips and the beak and talons, Joley looked at a specter of death.

  She stumbled to a halt and studied the ominous shadow. The bad feeling in the pit of her stomach grew stronger. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Her eyes scanned the area around her, and for the first time she became completely aware that she was alone, unprotected by her usual security.

  Nerves tightening, she turned and began jogging back toward the parking lot, this time careful to stay to the center of the trail where she could see anything coming at her from either side. Trees, rocks and brush lined the winding path. An attacker could hide in any number of places. Movement caught her eye, leaves swaying against the slight wind as she ran past a sprawling rock formation. Again the bird circled above her, casting its shadow wide.

  Joley kept running, hearing the rhythm of life change around her. The sound of the soles of her shoes echoed the beat of her pounding heart. She heard the wind whistling and leaves rustling. The sharp eyes of the bird seemed filled with evil malice, and the shadow spread wider against the red rock, reaching out to surround her.

  She spun around in a circle, unable to shake the feeling of eyes watching her, of evil stalking her. It was a blessing and a curse to feel things, and right now she felt like a hunted rabbit. She took off running again, watching the trail, staying loose and ready, knowing the feeling could be caused by anything from one of her stalkers to a photographer watching with a long-range lens.

  "Stupid, stupid, stupid," she hissed under her breath as she rounded a turn. The trail narrowed here, and brush encroached close to the walkway, allowing anyone to conceal himself and jump out at an unwary runner. She picked up her pace, but she was heading downhill and it was dangerous to run too fast.

  She was fairly certain the series of switchback bends marked about the halfway point to the bottom of the trail. Rounding the second curve with a smooth, perfect rhythm, she felt she'd managed to hit a good stride, when she ran right into a solid body. She crashed hard, her face pressed tight against a broad chest. Arms swept around her, swinging her off her feet as she lost balance. Joley screamed and brought her thumbs down hard in a stabbing motion for the person's exposed throat, but he had already dropped his chin and covered the spot.

  She knew him the moment she inhaled--the moment she got past fear and felt his familiar body, the iron strength in his arms. He was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. He'd been out running, too. Ilya set her on the ground, steadying her, but keeping her close to him.

  "Are you okay?"

  She licked her lips, taking in his tousled hair, the raw arousal in his eyes, his heavily muscled chest and arms stretching his thin black tee. His narrow waist and hips, the thick bulge in the front of his jeans... Her mouth went dry, and a thousand butterflies took flight in her stomach. Her body went damp in instant arousal.

  His melody sang to her of heat and fire and passion. She felt the notes, heard them racing through her bloodstream, singing in her ears. Beckoning. Seducing. Whispering to her with such erotic promise she could barely think with wanting him.

  "You ran into me," she accused indignantly, trying to hide the excitement seeing him always brought. The tension was still in her from the edgy, ominous signs the shadow of the bird had brought, but it was being taken over by a completely different tension. She caught at his arms to keep contact more than to keep upright, although her knees seemed a little weak. Her palm was itching like mad, burning even, to match the burning emptiness begging to be filled between her legs.

  "Actually you ran into me. I heard you coming at the last moment and caught you." He looked around as if expecting to see someone. "Is your bodyguard having a hard time keeping up with you?"

  She made a face at him. "You know very well he isn't with me, and I don't appreciate your sarcasm at all." She might be frowning, but as always, when he was near, her body reacted--or maybe it was her soul, because her mouth went dry, her heart beat too fast, and she could hear a strange roaring in her ears. All she wanted to do was slip her hands beneath the thin material stretching over the hard muscles of his chest and lift her face up to his to taste his hot, sinfully seductive mouth again.

  His melody shifted, introducing dominant notes, needy and urgent and full of demand. The song pulsed with the same heat and smoldering fire, but this time leapt with the force of an erupting volcano, a demand she couldn't ignore, one that ignited flames in her belly until she craved his kiss beyond all imagination.

  It was more than want. She needed to kiss him. Needed to feel his mouth on hers, his hands running over her body. She needed to be skin to skin. She licked her lips again, imagining what he might do if she knelt right there and unzipped his tight jeans. Would that famous control of his simply disappear? She desperately wanted his control to slip so she could see that he was as shaken by his reaction to her, as she was by hers to him.

  Dark lust flickered and burned in the depths of his eyes. He simply lifted her, taking her right off the trail into the shelter of the rocks. He didn't say a word, but trapped her body between his and the towering shelf of sandstone, his mouth coming down on hers. Hot. Hard. Ravaging. Perfect. Absolute perfection. Heat burst through her. Music hummed in her veins. Her heart drummed a tune that echoed the throbbing in her deepest core. Joley had no thought other than that she was well and truly lost.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, and his mouth still fastened to hers, he lifted her, half sitting her on a narrow shelf. Joley locked her legs around him, aligning her body with his so that she could feel the hot, hard thickness of him pressing against her. Her nipples tightened, breasts aching and swollen as she melted into him. Her hips moved in a slow, erotic swirl, rubbing her body against his heavy erection. God help her, he felt like home to her.

  She gave herself up to him. Offered herself even knowing he would destroy her. There was something more than physical magic, more than pure chemistry; her soul, as stupid and as corny as it sounded, touched his. Her brain that always ran at high speed and pr
evented her from sleep, that horrible turmoil always raging inside of her--all of it stilled when she was near Ilya.

  The moment her mouth touched his, he was inside of her, in her mind, wrapping himself in her thoughts, touching each erotic image and enhancing it with his own. She was stunned by the heat rushing through her, the flames dancing over her skin and in her belly, the tingling in her thighs and the naked longing in her feminine core.

  His hand slid under her shirt, cupping the underside of her breast, sending a wave of liquid fire rushing between her legs. The silken wall of small muscles tightened in anticipation, and her song harmonized completely with his until she couldn't tell one from the other.

  It was Ilya who pulled away, not putting space between their bodies, but lifting his head inches from hers and running his hands down her arms until he found her hands. His fingers tangled with hers, and he rested his forehead against hers, struggling to get his breathing under control.

  "You aren't helping me at all."

  "I know." Her voice came out a husky whisper, maybe even an invitation, but she couldn't help it. "I'm sorry." But she doubted if that was true.

  "You aren't ready and I'm trying to be noble. Nobility isn't my strong suit, Joley, so you've got to help me out. Otherwise, we'll spend hours in bed and you'll roll over hating me and hating yourself. You have to know I'm the one. You have to accept me as your other half."

  "You've been seducing me for months," she reminded him, trying to absolve herself of the guilt. "With your voice. You know I'm susceptible to sound and you use that against me." It was a pathetic accusation and she knew it. She wasn't helpless, she hadn't even tried to stop him. He'd mesmerized her so completely she hadn't even turned to her sisters for help, not seriously. She wanted him--lusted after him--was consumed by her obsession with him. She grasped at that. "Obsession is not love."

  His blue eyes were dark with arousal. "I don't give a damn what it is, Joley. I don't care what you call it. Love, lust, obsession, need, whatever. We belong. That's all that matters. We fit. You're mine and I'm yours, and there doesn't need to be an endless discussion on the subject. We are. Once you accept that, we'll be fine."

  "I don't tease men, Ilya, that's not what I'm trying to do."

  "I know that."

  "Why is it like this between us? We're so obviously wrong for each other."

  He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "We're so obviously right, even our songs merge."

  That startled her. "You do see melodies."

  "And colors. Yours are all over mine."

  She shook her head. "No, if that were true, I wouldn't be so afraid. Your colors cover mine until I don't know where one of us starts and the other leaves off."

  He kissed her again, long and hard and heartstoppingly slow. "We have to get somewhere safe, Joley. If we stay here alone, this isn't going to turn out the way either of us wants. I'll race you down the mountain."

  "No way. I don't like losing, and it doesn't take a genius to see that you're in good shape. We'll go, but casually, no hurry, no competing." She circled his neck with her arms and pulled his head back to hers, kissing him one last time, savoring the taste of him.

  Ilya didn't take over. He let her direct the kiss, explore his mouth, caress the nape of his neck with her fingertips. When she pulled away, they looked at each other.

  Joley smiled. "You taste good."

  "We have to get out of here," he reiterated, tugging at her hand to urge her back onto the trail.

  Her smile widened. He definitely was as affected by her kiss as she was his. She didn't say anything else as they took off running, side by side. Ilya allowed her to set the pace, keeping up easily. She was very aware of him beside her, the smooth way his muscles rippled beneath his shirt, the way the wind ruffled his thick hair, the swing of his arms and his steady breath. Their melodies merged, just as their auras always seemed to when they were close. Joley actually slowed her pace in order to prolong her time with him.

  Ilya seemed content to jog beside her quietly. He made no attempt to talk and she was grateful. He was right. She wasn't ready to commit herself to a relationship with him. she had too many doubts about what and who he was, yet she was the one always flinging herself at him, and that was as humiliating as it was disturbing.

  They were nearly walking as they rounded the last bend, which opened to a long straight stretch to the beginning of the trail below them. People milled around, and yellow tape surrounded the rocks about halfway down near the bottom and off to the left side.

  Joley slowed her pace and caught at Ilya's arm. "Something's wrong; that's a medical examiner's van."

  "It doesn't look good." He caught her hand when she would have headed down toward the commotion. "Don't. Let me check it out first."

  "It could be one of the band members or my crew. We're practically the only ones here." Her mouth was dry. Something terrible had happened here. She felt violent energy swirling through the rocks. Auras were dark and subdued. The medical examiner's van was parked to one side along with several sheriff cars.

  Ilya walked with her toward the officers and security people milling outside the tape. She gripped his arm tightly as a man dressed in a gray suit approached them.

  "Miss Drake? Joley Drake?"

  "Yes. Tell me what happened." She couldn't stop the anxiety in her voice.

  "One of your crew has been killed--murdered. My name is James Branscomb, I'm a detective. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

  She wished she could say the murder came as a complete surprise, but with the sick dread weighing so heavily on her, she had expected trouble. She glanced at Ilya. As usual, his expression was unreadable, the calm mask in place, but he had to have known, had to have felt the deep, violent disturbance permeating the amphitheater, just as she had.

  "Who? Who was killed?" Unknowingly she stepped closer to Ilya.

  He pulled her beneath his shoulder. "I'm Ilya Prakenskii--bodyguard. We've been running up the trail and have no idea what's going on. If you could fill us in, we'd be grateful." He glanced around, his eyes sharp. "You've got several paparazzi here, Detective. Perhaps we should get Miss Drake into her bus and away from the photographers." His voice made the suggestion a command.

  The detective's eyes narrowed, but he nodded. "We'll talk inside the bus then."

  Ilya slid his arm around Joley's waist, keeping her beneath the protection of his shoulder, his body shielding hers, sheltering her face from long-range lenses as he started her moving past the yellow tape.

  "I want to know who it is," Joley insisted.

  "A man by the name of Dean Walters." The detective watched her with shrewd eyes.

  Joley's breath caught in her lungs. "Dean? I just saw him. Before my run. He was angry with me."

  "You spoke to him?"

  Ilya kept Joley moving. She seemed stunned. Ilya wanted to be able to watch the cop, to feel his emotions as he questioned Joley, but until he got her in a safe place, he couldn't do that. He didn't want to take a chance on prying eyes, or worse, a photographer, recording Joley's emotions and making money off her distress. And he didn't trust the cop, or anyone for that matter, not to take advantage of the fact that Joley was a high-profile celebrity. He yanked open the door to the bus and almost pushed Joley inside before she could answer. He kept his body between hers and the detective's.

  Joley flung herself into a chair and covered her face for a moment. When she looked up, the detective was seated across from her and Ilya was pulling water bottles from the refrigerator. He handed one to her, offered one to the detective, who declined, and took one himself.

  "I'm sorry, what did you ask me?" Joley said. "I can't seem to take this in. Did someone identify the body? When did this happen? I just saw him, before I took off for my run. He was in the parking lot, heading over to his bus. Are you absolutely certain it's Dean?"

  "Yes. I'm sorry," Branscomb said. "Several members of your band came forward and positively identified him. You said he was an
gry with you."

  Joley nodded and rubbed at the relentless pounding in her temples. "I have a rule about minors partying with any band or crew member. It's actually written into the contract they sign with us when we go on the road. After the show in New York, I went out to a party to deliver a message to one of the band members, and I saw a group of girls who looked too young to be there. Dean was with one of them. He had his arm around her, and when I called out to him, they took off running."

  "How old was this girl?"

  Joley sighed. "Thirteen, I later found out. I was going to talk to him about it, but in all honesty, with the traveling and everything else going on, I didn't have a chance and even forgot about it until Chicago. A woman came up to me after the concert and said her daughter had been missing since my show in New York. She handed me a photograph, and I swear, it's the same girl." She looked around the bus. "It's here somewhere."

  Ilya retrieved the photograph from the stand by the bed and handed it to the detective. He didn't want to draw attention, so he did what he did best, faded into the shadows and masked his presence with a small, influential push to keep the detective from really noticing him.

  "I called the police in New York, and the girl was still missing, so I asked my manager, Jerry St. Ives, and one of the band members, Brian Rigger, to find Dean and ask him about the girl when we reached Red Rocks this morning, before the crew set up. I told Jerry, if Dean had violated our agreement and invited this girl to the party, he was to be fired."

  "So they both talked to him this morning."

  Joley nodded. "I got ready for my run and stepped off the bus. Tish, the wife of my sax player, had just arrived and I haven't seen her for some time, so I went over to say hello. I saw Brian, Jerry and Dean talking together. They were standing over by the stage. I couldn't hear what was said, but Dean was angry and he kept looking over at me. Eventually he flipped me off and walked to the parking lot. I went for my run, and the last I saw of Dean, he was alone, over by the crew bus."