Lethal Nights (Brute Force)

by Lora Leigh

  “Not all the world’s evil,” he agreed, the rough rasp of his voice stroking over her senses. “Which doesn’t solve our problem. Why you?”

  Why her? That question haunted her as well. Deep into the night, into her nightmares, it haunted her.

  “I can’t imagine having an enemy that vicious, let alone four of them.” She shook her head at the question, her heart racing as the fear she fought to keep back rose inside her. “I’m nobody.”

  Her ex-husband had thrown that truth up to her for the better part of their marriage. She didn’t excel, she was complacent, too comfortable just being Emma Jane Preston. And in a way he was right.

  She’d just wanted to be herself, a wife, one day a mother. She’d wanted children during that first year, before she’d seen the inner part of the man she’d married.

  “Is that what you think, Emma Jane?” His head tilted to the side as he stared back at her. “That is far from the truth, but beside the point. So, you have no enemies.” He straightened, moving into the living room where she stood slowly, each step deliberate. “Yet four men broke into your home to kill you. You have not just arrived in town, so it couldn’t be mistaken identity. You have no powerful relatives, nor did you witness a heinous crime. That leaves few other options.”

  It left one common denominator. Ilya himself.

  “And you think I haven’t considered that?” She’d thought of little else. “I’ve thought of every day of my life that I remember, Ilya, trying to figure out what I could have seen, what I could have done, to make someone want to hurt me. Especially like that.”

  To come in, guns blazing, bullets tearing into her bed. She remembered the shape her room had been left in, shredded, the mattress stuffing littering the room.

  “You woke before they entered your room,” he stated, throwing her off guard. “How did you know to leave your bedroom and hide in the bathtub?”

  How had she known something was wrong?

  Rubbing at her arms, she could only shake her head, her gaze meeting his once again. “I don’t know. I woke frightened. It was like I knew someone was in the house.”

  A chill raced over her flesh once again as she remembered the panic that had filled her, but before she could rub her hands over her upper arms once again, Ilya was there. His hands stroked up her arms and back down, the pale green of his gaze threatening to mesmerize her.

  Heat rushed through her body. She could feel it prickling over her flesh and destroying her determination to resist the need for his touch. She’d learned the hard way what unrequited sexual need did to her. She’d lived with the shameful knowledge that the needs she sometimes ached for weren’t natural.

  “I would have been here.” His head lowered, his lips almost brushing hers. “I would have been in your bed had I not forced myself to leave town that day, Emma Jane.”

  He’d been there? He’d been there and he hadn’t come to see her? The thought of that hurt.

  “Dragon,” she sighed as his lips continued to hover just out of reach.

  He was her dragon. So strong, so warm, that the heat of him seemed to sink inside her flesh and sensitize every cell in her body.

  The effect he had on her was like nothing she’d known before.

  She fought to breathe through the excitement of his touch, of his palms sliding from her shoulders, down her back, to her hips. Her heart raced out of control as she stared up at his lips, desperate for his kiss now.

  The effect he had on her senses was devastating.

  Then his lips touched hers.

  The need that had been a part of her since their first meeting flared, exploded. Her hands grabbed at his biceps, felt the power beneath them, and luxuriated in it. Her nails bit into the material of his shirt and she went to her tiptoes to get closer, to experience his kiss deeper. Harder.

  She wanted his kiss harder. She needed it. The broken moan that left her throat was a plea for it. And when his hands slid from her hips to beneath her tank top to caress her back as the kiss hardened and grew hungrier, she was certain she would orgasm from that alone.

  The taste of his kiss, the stroke of his tongue against hers, stoked the flames of arousal she’d been forcing herself to bank and threatened to pull free the desires that she feared would leave her begging.

  Only this man, her dragon, had ever threatened the desires that had only been vague fantasies until him. Until that first kiss, that first taste of a pleasure she hadn’t known existed.

  “That’s it, baby. Burn for me,” he groaned as he pulled back, then took her lips again in short, hard kisses that had her straining to get closer to him.

  Burn for him? She was going to become an inferno.

  The feel of his palms rasping over her back, stroking and caressing the sensitive flesh, sent bolts of sensation racing to her breasts and her clit. She could feel the moisture gathering between her thighs, the hardening of her nipples, and a ravenous hunger building in her womb.

  Only with him. She had only felt this with him, she had only hungered for this harder, harder touch and those unnamed needs with him.

  And she was definitely burning for him. So much so that when she felt his hand stroke to between her breasts and the clip of her bra loosen, she didn’t even think to protest.

  It was the middle of the day, right there in her living room where he backed her into the wall, lifted her to him, and through the thin tank top covered the hard tip of her nipple with his mouth as his teeth closed on it.

  “Oh God!” Her head hit the wall, her body jerking as his knee pressed between her thighs and the heated strike of ecstasy shot from the tender point to her clit.

  She was going to climax. Just a little bit more and she was going to come apart in his arms from just the pressure of that delicate bite and the press of his knee between her thighs.

  “Give me more,” he muttered, drawing back despite the press of her hands against the back of his head. “Let me see those pretty nipples.”

  The material of her shirt cleared her breasts at the same time he cupped one mound with his hand and lowered his head again.

  Emma Jane froze at the swipe of his tongue on the hardened tip. The rasping caress short-circuited nerve endings and left her barely able to breathe, held suspended as she stared down at him.

  She couldn’t help it. She had to see his face, had to preserve this memory. Only to realize he was watching her as well.

  As she fought to just breathe, he lowered his hands to her rear, lifted her again, and before she realized his intent she found herself sitting on the bureau she’d been cleaning. With one hand he pulled her hips forward as he pushed her back, driving his erection against the sensitive folds barely covered by the denim shorts she wore.

  As he still watched her, his head lowered, lips parted, and as she watched he covered the other nipple with the heat of his mouth.

  Her vagina pulsed, spilling her moisture to the silk panties she wore. Her hips jerked, arched, riding against the hard ridge of flesh tormenting her as his mouth drew on her nipple.

  His tongue licked. Teeth rasped. Nibbled.

  Bit with just enough pressure—then suckled the tip again.

  Small, mewling whimpers escaped her lips. Her legs curled around his hips, her hips moving against the hard ridge he’d pressed against her pussy in desperation.

  His head lifted again, moved to the opposite breast, and his teeth nipped at the straining tip.

  Emma Jane cried out from the sharp sensation that exploded in her nipple and raced to her clitoris. At the same time his hips rolled between hers, pushing his cock hard against her, the pressure hitting her clit in a way that had her mind nearly exploding with a dizzying array of sensations.

  “No!”

  Panic tore through her as she felt the sharp bite of sensation racing through her body build and threaten to explode. It was a sensation unlike anything she’d known, anything she’d imagined.

  It was terrifying.

  Ilya froze, his head stil
l lowered, pale green eyes watching her closely.

  “Please…” Her voice shook, and she wasn’t certain if the plea was for him to stop or to ignore the objection.

  She was trembling all over, uncertain, frightened. Not of Ilya, but of the response still racing through her with a strength she didn’t know how to combat.

  Slowly, so slowly, he pulled back as he slid the material of her tank top over her breasts.

  “I’m sorry.” The sob tore from her, the conflicting needs tearing at her as he slowly released her.

  He watched her too intently, too closely.

  “Don’t be sorry, draga.” He brushed back a fringe of hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail before stepping back farther.

  Emma Jane shook her head, her fingers covering her trembling lips to hide them before she rushed away from him, before she begged him to ignore her, to take her.

  The rasp of her nipples against the shirt was torturous, the need throbbing in her clit almost painful. And the fear of actually falling apart in his arms overwhelming because she couldn’t control it.

  Racing to her bedroom, she closed the door behind her, leaned against it, and let a single, sobbing breath free.

  What was she going to do now? There was no way in hell she could fight this. She couldn’t hold him and she knew it. Just as she knew he was going to own her heart before it was over.

  * * *

  Ilya stared at his hands, his lips kicking up in a momentary grin as he realized they were shaking.

  Hell, she’d almost blown apart on him just with the act of his taking her nipple into his mouth. What would she do when he actually got his lips on her pussy?

  And he would get there. He’d decided it was his new purpose in life. He was going to make Emma Jane come apart in his arms.

  As soon as he got her past whatever demons haunted those pretty eyes when she pulled back on him.

  Lowering his hands, he shoved them in the pockets of his slacks before turning to the doorway where she’d disappeared up the stairs. She was a woman fighting her needs as well as her perceptions of herself, he thought. She thought she was a nobody. Not just where the would-be assassins were concerned, but where life was concerned. She didn’t see herself as exceptional and he knew she was far more than that. Now he’d just have to convince her of it.

  chapter six

  It was after three in the morning when Ilya made his way downstairs, careful to ensure he didn’t waken Emma Jane. She’d lain and tossed and turned for hours in her bed. And he knew she had, because the small audio-equipped camera he’d installed himself in her room had displayed it clearly on the smartphone he carried.

  Watching her restlessness, her obvious nerves in sleeping in her own room, the anger that had begun burning inside him at the news of her attack only increased. The woman had a steel spine, there was no doubt of that, and when her shoulders straightened and that little chin lifted, then he’d already learned it was time to prepare for a battle.

  Because of that, he hadn’t informed her of the meeting in the early hours of the morning with Sawyer and the sheriff, Eric Quade.

  The sheriff was amused as hell when Ilya had shown up, and despite the lie Ilya had given Emma Jane’s father, he’d gone along with it. The mocking amusement in Eric’s eyes hadn’t been lost on Ilya though.

  Making his way to the kitchen, he input the code on the security system and opened the back door. Both Sawyer as well as Eric were already there.

  “Coffee,” Eric hissed on a whisper. “Damn, Ilya, could you pick a more miserable hour?”

  His brows lifted. “I’ve found this time of the morning to work best for such meetings,” he responded, turning back into the room and heading for the table on the other side.

  “No coffee?” Eric sighed.

  “I’d prefer not to wake Emma Jane and I’m certain the smell of coffee will do just that.” He’d debated the coffee himself for long moments as he made his way from his room.

  “Won’t matter,” the sheriff grunted, his tone rueful. “She’ll be down here chewing all our asses before we’re done anyway. Might as well enjoy a cup of coffee first.”

  Ilya’s brow arched.

  “I was quiet coming down,” he informed the sheriff. “As long as we keep our voices low, Emma Jane will be none the wiser.”

  “I bet that’s what her midnight assassins thought too.” Eric sprawled in one of the kitchen chairs as they all took their seats. “You see how well that worked for them.”

  Ilya had to admit that one confused him. How had Emma Jane known her home had been invaded?

  “You say that like you’re aware of how she knew,” Sawyer said quietly as he took the chair between the sheriff and Ilya.

  “Same way her momma would know. Same way my mother would.” His grin was almost smug, knowing. “They know their homes and lives just that intimately. Women like that make the best mothers too. They always seem to know when their young’uns are slipping around or getting into trouble.”

  Ilya simply stared at him, fighting to ignore whatever that was tightening in his chest at the thought of Emma Jane as a mother.

  “Wasn’t exactly children sneaking around her house,” Sawyer pointed out.

  “True.” Eric nodded, his expression somber. “But this has been Emma Jane’s home all her life. She was raised here. Her momma and daddy gave it to her when they built the new place a few miles away. She knows every nook, cranny, and creak, or lack thereof.”

  Now that made more sense, Ilya thought. He and Ivan both had that same sense of their surroundings, at both the estate in Colorado and the one on Long Island.

  “That knowledge saved her life,” Ilya agreed. “But it won’t save her a second time. That’s why Sawyer and I are here. To make certain Emma Jane isn’t harmed.”

  “Well, you’ll have to learn more than I have so far,” Eric sighed at that. “There wasn’t a fingerprint or tire tread and there’s not so much as a whisper of a rumor as to why she was attacked. Even the movers and shakers among the criminal world are scratching their heads over this one.”

  And that was what he didn’t want to hear.

  “Her ex-husband?” Ilya asked.

  Eric shook his head immediately. “Matt Lauren doesn’t have it in him. Besides, he’s too determined to prove he can get her back once she gets over her mad, as he calls it.”

  The disgust in the other man’s voice was heavy.

  “No chance?” Ilya hated to have to kill a man over a woman.

  “No chance in hell even,” Eric stated, leaning forward in his chair and propping his arms on the top of the table. “She was done with him even before she threw his ass out and filed for divorce. The man screwed around on her from the first days of their marriage till she actually caught him doing it. To make matters worse, she caught him in her bed rather than the one he used in a spare bedroom.”

  He’d brought another woman not just into Emma Jane’s home but into her bed. The ultimate humiliation, and how he believed she would get “over her mad” Ilya had no idea.

  “What about any enemies he may have?” Ilya asked, though he knew the answer himself.

  “Matt doesn’t have enemies like that,” Eric blew out heavily. “EJ doesn’t have enemies, period. She’s well liked, always nice, and goes out of her way to help people. She didn’t even throw a fit when Matt got her fired from her job last year. He’s driving himself crazy trying to figure out who paid off her house, and why though. Even his parents have checked with the bank to see if they could learn who took over the mortgage.”

  Good luck, Ilya thought silently. There would be no tracing Ivan’s part ownership on the home until the time came to sign off on the private agreement between him and Emma Jane.

  “Any report from the Crime Scene Unit?” Ilya asked the other man.

  “They’re still running whatever they found. I know there were no fingerprints or DNA though.” Eric concluded, “I don’t know what to tell you, it’s just a dead
end.”

  “There’s never a dead end,” Ilya pointed out, considering other areas of investigation rather than the obvious. “Simply other routes to take. Sawyer’s watching the house at night, I’ll have Ivan send Maxine out to work with you. You can expect her within forty-eight hours. Ivan’s working on the investigation on his end.”

  “And which angle will you be working?” Amusement crossed Eric’s face, though his voice sounded suspicious. “EJ?”

  Ilya’s brow lifted. “That’s between Emma Jane and myself.”

  He wasn’t fond of her nickname. Her name suited her so much better.

  “Well, at least I’m included somewhere,” sounding sarcastic, put out, Emma Jane’s voice spoke softly from the darkness of the hall outside the kitchen before she stepped forward.

  Dressed in snug leggings and a loose T-shirt, she didn’t look the least bit sleepy as she leaned against the kitchen doorway and regarded the three men disdainfully.

  “Eric, you forgot to make coffee.” The reminder sounded like an order.

  “I didn’t forget.” The sheriff smirked. “He wouldn’t let me. Said it would wake you. I warned him though.”

  A feminine little snort of disgust was her answer. But she merely watched as Eric rose to his feet and moved for the coffeemaker.

  Ilya sat back in his chair and watched her curiously as her gaze met his. The fact that she’d been left out of this little meeting wasn’t setting well with her.

  “You were tired.” He shrugged at her continued silence, wondering why he bothered to do so. “It wasn’t worth waking you for.”

  Eric’s muffled laugh had him sliding the other man a withering look. Not that the sheriff bothered to look back at him.

  “It’s my home, it’s worth waking me for.” Her voice didn’t rise, wasn’t exactly sharp, but damn if he didn’t feel chastised as hell.

  Unfortunately, it might have the opposite effect than she’d intended. Rather than chastised, he was horny. Damned horny. Any woman who could so effectively berate a man without appearing to do so needed to be fucked. A woman that strong of will would no doubt challenge a man in bed and out, but it was the “in bed” part of that thought that had his senses engaged.