Page 37 of Echoes of Sin

Chapter Twenty-Two

Brooke

I woke up suddenly and looked around, as if maybe the past twenty-four hours had been nothing more than a bad dream. But I blinked my eyes into focus and the first thing I noticed was that it was dark outside. The next detail I took in was that I was still inside Ilya’s luxury penthouse, which I refused to enjoy. Sure, the sofa was incredibly comfortable, probably more than my mattress back at home, but that wasn’t the point.

The point was that I was sad and pissed off and utterly fucking terrified about the left turn my life had suddenly taken. The only good thing was that with Karina with my brother for the weekend, and Lara away at a conference, I hoped that no one would notice my absence. When my gaze landed on Ilya in nothing but a pair of silk pajama pants, I felt two distinct things. White-hot, scorch my panties lust. And equally hot and furious hate. Ilya was the reason I was here. This was all his fault. As my hate outweighed my lust, I wished he’d stayed the fuck out of my life. That he was still back in Russia or had chosen anywhere else in the world other than Winter Valley. If he hadn’t returned, then none of this would have happened.

“Still angry?”

I glared in his direction and the bastard smiled. “Nope, I woke up and decided that I’m totally okay with being kidnapped by the guy who snatched my virginity and ran back to Mother Russia.” My shoulders slumped forward with regret. “So thrilled to be here,” I added with enough sarcasm to fill the spacious apartment.

“Brooke, I can apologize until I am blue in the face, but it will never matter, will it?”

“You haven’t actually apologized. You skipped the apology while you were waiting for me to be so grateful that you saved my life. But please, tell me again what crime I committed to sentence me to death.” Did it really matter? No, but it helped serve as a reminder of who Ilya was today. Those moments when I looked at him and felt a surge of lust were doused by the reminder that he lived a dangerous life.

One that could put me and our daughter in danger.

“I apologize, Brooke.” He crossed the large living room and took my hands in his, twining our fingers together. “I should have called after my father died to let you know that I wouldn’t be back. And I am so fucking sorry that you are mixed up in my shit now.” His blue gaze was so serious and sincere that I wanted to believe him.

I wanted to, but I couldn’t. “Thank you.” I tried to pull my hands from his, but he held me tighter.

“I missed you, Brooke.”

I snorted my disbelief.

He grinned. “I did. I thought of you often over the years. I wondered what you were doing, if you were enjoying your life in college and if you remembered me. Then I wondered what you would think if I told you the truth of my family’s wealth.”

I sighed heavily. “Look, Ilya, I accept your apology, but that doesn’t change the past eight years. So let’s just get through with this and go our separate ways.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Too bad.” I pushed at his chest to put some distance between us. “I’m not in your little mafia company, and you can’t just decide how things are going to be because that’s how you want them to be.”

“You still want me,” he shot the words at me like an accusation.

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?” There was no point in denying it—even now I wanted to rip those silky pants off him and ride him like a sexy Russian stallion.

“As much as you hate me, you still want me.”

Rather than argue with him, I turned away and went in search of wine. There was no way in hell I’d be able to deal with him sober, not now. Possibly ever.

“Admit it, Brooke. You hate me, but you want me. You crave the way I make you feel.”

He had been able to make me come quicker than even my vibrator, but after that, I felt far worse. “You made me come and I enjoyed it, but I didn’t appreciate feeling like a ten-cent whore afterwards.” I found the wine, yanked out the cork, and poured until the glass was full.

“Brooke,” he sighed, and clenched his jaw as he stood there, not five feet from me.

“No!” He didn’t get to look as if he was the injured party, as if he was the one who’d been left devastated and pregnant, who had to put off their dreams to raise a child. “You…just no!” I was so angry that I threw the wine glass in his direction, and it shattered against the wall.

“Goddammit, Brooke!” Ilya ducked out of the way and rushed to me, gripping me by the arms and shaking me. “What the hell was that?”

“Just leave me the hell alone,” I whimpered, suddenly exhausted and defeated.

“Don’t you think I wish I could?” he said angrily. “But I can’t.” Those words came out on a tortured moan, and a second later his mouth was on mine, devouring me until I submitted to him.

My hands went to his biceps, hard and thick, and I gripped him tight to keep my legs from buckling underneath me. His kisses were punishing, they tore me up and then put me back together again and I was powerless to do anything other than kiss him back. To give as good as I was getting. A soft moan escaped, and Ilya deepened the kiss.

His hands were everywhere all at once. Gripping my hair so he could angle me however he wanted me. Sliding down my back until they cupped my ass and pulled me flush against his silk covered erection. “Fuck,” he roared when he pulled back from the kiss. “No one drives me as crazy as you do!”

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