Chapter 28
Irelynn
After my bath, where Ilya finished washing me with a tenderness that belied the rage that stormed behind his eyes, he toweled me dry, dressed me in another of his shirts, and carried me to his bed. Lying on my side, I listened as he stripped from the clothes he’d worn in the day, to climb into the bed behind me. Like he did every night, he slid his hand up the front of my shirt to hold me in that way he does, and we fell asleep.
My mind had been in turmoil after I’d spilled the truth of my past. The anger, hurt, and betrayal I’ve felt ever since my father chose to leave me alone in this world came to spar with the grief I still struggled with every day.
I’d expected to lay awake long into the night. But to my surprise, and maybe a little horror, as soon as Ilya held me close, I’d fallen into a peaceful sleep.
It was after I’d woken, alone in bed with Lucy curled up into my belly, that I realized I’d gone to bed feeling safe and cherished.
In the morning, I’d lain there in his bed, in his room that smelled of him, struck by the reality that I was falling for my captor.
I’d told him things that I’d never told another living soul. Not even Rae knew what had happened with my foster brother, and how I’d feared for years, that I’d killed him. That I was wanted for murder.
I’d felt ill with the horror of my growing feelings for Ilya as I brushed my teeth and dressed in black leggings and a light pink, thin from one too many wears, sweater. I swiped the single ponytail I had—courtesy of Polina—from the vanity before I piled my long, strawberry blonde hair into a high ponytail.
I had no makeup and probably wouldn’t have worn it if I had it, but looking at myself in the mirror, I’d felt horribly lackluster. My name paid homage to my mother’s Irish roots, and it was from her I’d inherited the pink hue to the blonde of my father’s locks. She’d been beautiful, I recall, with fiery red hair and warm brown eyes. Like mine, her frame had been willowy and graceful. I’d inherited my eyes from my father—big and blue—with the corners tipped downward just enough to make the secrets I appeared to keep, sad.
I was pretty, I knew. I’d had more than one boy, and then man, look my way. Women, too, if I was being honest. But next to Ilya, I was drab and faded. He was wildly attractive and richly dark.
We can’t—and don’t—compare.
Why did he take me?
“Another cup of flour, then whisk,” Polina instructs. Beside me, she’s prepping a casserole for dinner. She says we’ll all need something warm, because the day’s chill is bitter.
Outside the frosted windows, snow is coming down fast and hard in swirls of white. The sky is a deep, ominous grey, foretelling of a winter storm.
I dump another cup of flour into the bowl before doing as Polina instructed, whisking the dry ingredients.
“Now, you mash the bananas.” She hands me a fork. “Then add it to your wet ingredients and mix.”
Silently, I take the fork and begin mashing the bananas.
I’ve taken to enjoying my time in the kitchen with Polina, learning to cook and bake. It not only passes the time, but it’s fun. Before coming here?—
No, Irelynn, get it right. You didn’t come here.
You were kidnapped. Kidnapped.
By a man insane enough to belong in the loony bin.
But before being kidnapped, I hadn’t been able to afford the ingredients to really learn to cook or bake. I might have a list of problems a mile long, like the fact I’m falling for a very bad man, but lack of baking ingredients isn’t one.
I do my best to push thoughts of Ilya from my mind, and instead focus on the bananas I’m decimating with the fork.
I’ve come to really like Polina, and usually engage with her in conversation of all kinds. She’s even been trying her hand at teaching me Russian, though I’m terrible at it.
Today, however, I’m not in the mood to talk. Today, I’m deeply bothered.
I feel unsettled and itchy in my own skin. My heart beats uncomfortably in the cage of my chest and my hands tremble if I’m not careful, and I let my thoughts spiral too close to the truth for comfort.
Because the horrifying truth is that I’m really beginning to feel for Ilya.
Not just the hateful resentment I’d felt in the early days of my capture. But something warm. Something soft. Something dangerous.
God, I’m falling for him. Or maybe I’ve fallen.
How can I be falling for my captor?The man who upended my entire life, plucking me from it as though I were a pet he could buy and expect obedient devotion from.
I’m—well, I’m messed up.
There are things wrong with me. Deep, dark things. My roots are all twisted, and because of it, this is what I’ve become. So deranged and hungry for affection, any affection, that I’m willing to accept it from a man as blackly sinful as Ilya Volkov, killer of many men.
I drop the fork to the plate, dropping my chin into my chest just as something big and warm connects with my back. That something big and warm presses close, pinning my hips to the counter as hands covered in ink circle around my waist.
Ilya. The very devil who invades my thoughts as he invaded my life, and my heart.
“Mmm.” He hums low and deliciously dark behind my ear. “You always smell so edible. Now you smell like sweet bananas.” Goosebumps rise as warm lips trail down the side of my neck. “I could devour every inch of you and want more.”
Did he just lick me?
“Ilya,” I protest. Then I stiffen, because— “Polina?”
“I sent her away.” He presses his groin into the ass I try to push him away with. He’s hard, the pipe of his arousal settling into the crease of my ass cheeks as he rocks me into the counter.
My hands settle on the flour-dusted surface. “Stop.”
“I haven’t seen you all morning.” He doesn’t release me, but he has stopped pressing me into the counter. His hands pull me tighter into his front, as though he can’t get me close enough to settle whatever hunger that has driven him to me in the first place. “I miss you.”
My heart begins to race.
No. No, no, no, no, no! Silly, stupid, naive heart.
“I’m learning to bake.”
“I see that.” His hand on my belly begins to move up the length of my torso, between my breasts, up the length of my throat to cup my jaw. Firmly, but with a tenderness that strokes at my heart, he tips my head until he has access to my mouth. Then he claims it in a kiss that feels not quite as feral as the others. It’s slow burn, and surprisingly affectionate.
Don’t let him in, Irelynn.
His lips tease at mine for long minutes, the tip of his tongue sliding against the crease of my lips. Inside my chest, my heart is rioting. Butterflies flutter in my belly and a wick ignites, a hot flame flickering in my core.
Don’t let him in.
The hand on my belly clenches the material of my thin sweater into a tight fist. He presses me deeper into him, so tightly against the towering hulk of him that I think I can feel the thunder of his dark heart inside his chest.
Don’t let him in.
My knees feel weak. I sway in his hold, my mind spinning. He licks at my lips.
“Let me in.” A plea echoes his command.
My body trembles against his. He is an impossibly hard man, but his mouth is so soft and warm. It’s trickery of the most wicked kind, because with every sweep of his lips against mine, he sways my heart further and further from the logic of my mind.
This isn’t right. Don’t let him in.
I can’t let him in…
“Let me taste you.” He moves his hand until his big palm cradles the side of my face, his thumb on my chin, the tip hooking my bottom lip a moment before he nips it gently.
My core erupts.
I whimper.
He growls. It’s a feral sound.
I gasp.
He invades.
The sweep of his tongue against mine ignites every inch of me in heat, and yet I shiver. Unable to help myself, I rock back against him. Now that I’ve lost the plot and opened up to him—let him inside—I kiss him with fervor. Need blooms inside me. My body quakes with desire, and I’ve entirely forgotten about the baking on the counter as Ilya spins me in his arms, his hands finding my hips a moment before he lifts me onto the counter. He hooks me around the waist and tugs me to the edge of the counter before spreading my legs wide and stepping into me.
My heart lurches as the scent of him overpowers me. Then his mouth is on mine again.
My mind is fraying, my thoughts spiraling. But I come to my senses when I feel his big hand slip under the fabric of my shirt to graze skin.
Oh God, what am I doing?
Catching his wrists, I tug his hands from under my shirt as I tear my mouth from his. I’m breathing hard, my heart an unsteady drum beat in my chest.
When my eyes lift to his face, I’m struck by the look of primal possession I see.
“I don’t want this.”
“You’re lying.”
“No—”
He cuts me off. “To me and to yourself.”
Unable to deny vocally, I shake my head. Then his words settle and anger sparks where the flame of desire he lit roars away in my core. Without thinking, I plant my hands into his chest and shove.
“I’m not lying to myself. The only one lying to themselves here, is you, if you think you can make the woman you kidnapped fall for you.” I drop down from the counter and give him another hard shove. The man doesn’t move an inch. He’s like a brick wall. I sniff, emotion getting the better of me. “The only thing I’ll ever feel for you, is hate.”
My heart hurts even as I say the words. But I can’t feel for him.
I can’t.
His jaw clenches and his blue eyes turn dangerously hard as he peers down at me. He’s so much bigger than me, the man could surely squash me like a bug. I’ve angered him, no doubt, but the man has yet to harm me.
I almost wish he would. Then maybe I wouldn’t feel so torn.
“I hate you,” I say again, but this time my voice rattles. It’s an unsteady and fragile thing, just like the rest of me.
He steps into me, close, but not close enough that he’s touching me. The calm in his deep voice frightens me more than a raging bellow would. “Careful, Little Blue. I’m not a patient man. I’m not a kind man. For you, I’ve been immeasurably patient. I’ve been kind, but both have their limits and you’ve nearly reached them.” He leans in closer, his warm breath a wash of warning against my ear. “Do not push me.”
I’m a moment from backing away and bowing down. From submitting to the danger, I sense rolling off him in waves when a sharp clap precedes a delighted, “Oh! Wonderful. Just wonderful!” At a sharp, small bark, the woman’s voice turns scolding. “Abu! Enough.”
What the hell?
I wouldn’t think it possible, but Ilya stiffens before he leans in even closer to warn. “Be good, my heart. You won’t like the punishment you earn otherwise.”
Good?
I scoff at him. “What? You’ll beat me?”
Something alights in his eyes. “I can think of other, more intimate ways to punish you.”
I gasp, sucking in a horrified breath that ices in my lungs as Ilya slides an arm around my waist to turn us to face the voice. A woman with dark hair and darker eyes is standing in the entrance to the kitchen. I’m struck by the look of her, because she’s lovely. She isn’t just beautiful; she’s drop dead beautiful.
And she looks far too much like Ilya for comfort.
“Mom.” My eyes snap to Ilya when he speaks.
Oh, my goodness. His mother.
This beautiful, lovely woman with the kind, dark eyes—is my monster’s mother.
He’d told me she’d be visiting last night.
In everything that had happened—in the revelation I’ve been struggling with—I forgot.
How could I have forgot?
“And who is this lovely young lady?” At her feet, little paws click, click, click on the floor. A small, light brown dog with a too-big yellow bow at his collar, yaps.
“Mom, I’d like you to meet my fiancée.”
Every part of my body goes ram rod straight. He just told his mother that I’m his fiancée. If I thought he was insane before, I know it without doubt now.
“Come, Abu.” She pushes off the frame, her clapped hands falling to her sides as she enters, Abu in tow. Her eyes shimmer as she takes in the handsome beast holding me captive at his side. “I never thought I would see the day a woman would steal your heart.”
I snort. It’s an abrupt, rude noise that I excuse with brightly reddening cheeks. “If anyone has done any stealing, it’s your son. In that, I’m innocent.” His arm pulses around my waist. A warning. I huff, silently scolded.
The woman’s eyes dance as she takes me in from head to toe. “And she’s feisty. American, too.” She rounds the counter, placing a hand softly on Ilya’s cheek even as Ilya tightens his hold around my waist. “So much like your father.”
Her eyes are filled with so much love, for a moment, I ache.
I miss my mom.
“You have no idea,” Ilya’s reply is dry. There’s a dash of humor in it I don’t quite understand, though.
Still, at his reply, the woman’s eyes sharpen as she steps back, and they slide from him to me. She studies me for far too long before she looks beyond us to the counter. “Banana bread. I love banana bread.”
As for me, I’m struck a little dumb by the fact I’d forgotten all about the banana bread I’d been making.
That’s what the man does to me, though. He makes me forget myself. His touch makes me forget how he stole me. His kisses turn my mind to mush.
My eyes drift longingly to the window where snow spirals. The urge to run has my muscles tensing tight, my heart beating fast.
Lucy…
And what would I be running back to, anyway? It’s not like I was happy.
But you had choice.
I’m conflicted.
“Ilya.” The woman’s voice calls my eyes away from the window. “Why don’t you let me get to know your lovely fiancée? Go see to whatever work you have.” She pats his broad chest. “I know just how much there always is to do.”
“Mother,” Ilya says it like a warning. My eyes snap from her to him. She’s wearing a conniving smile I can’t say I like, but he’s wearing a look of dark warning that has my internal alarm screaming. Then, with a low chuckle, he shakes his head as he leans forward to press a kiss to his mother’s cheek. “Be good. She is—” His eyes feel mocking somehow as they settle on me. A smile twists his lips. “Skittish.”
“Yes,” she agrees. “I would imagine she is.”
To me, Ilya leans in and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. My jittery heart flip-flops as butterflies swoop inside my belly. “I’ll check in soon,” he promises. And then he leaves me alone with his mother.