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if she moved to cover that scant inch or if he did. She only knew that his hand shifted to shape the nape of her neck and that her body went soft and pliant, molding against his incredibly hard frame. And that his mouth was on hers. His lips were firm and cool. His teeth scraped and tugged at her lower lip and then it wasn't cool anymore. Fire ignited.
    He took control before she could think or breathe, the flames sweeping up and through her, consuming her, taking her over completely. She gave herself to him, wrapping her arms around him, sliding one leg around his to bring her body some relief from the terrible tension that built and built along with the firestorm his mouth created.
    His hand caught her hair and held her with a tight, ruthless grip, the bite of pain only increasing her need to be closer, to wrap herself up in him. Her hips moved, sliding her body intimately against his thigh. She needed— needed —release, a respite from the continual sexual pressure that never seemed to let up. Night and day her body was on fire for this man.
    The heat from his mouth spread like flames licking over her skin. She heard herself moan, and he deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth, taking everything she offered and demanding more.
    The world spun away for Joley until there was only his strength and his hard body and the racing fire storming out of control. Her breasts ached, felt swollen and tender, the tips sensitive as they rubbed against his chest. The junction between her legs was hot and damp, demanding release. She slid along his thigh, applying pressure, seeking the relief only his body could provide.
    "No." Ilya lifted his mouth from hers, his fingers reluctantly releasing her. "Not like this. When you give yourself to me, it's all the way and forever. This is too easy."
    Joley flung her head back, glaring at him. "You're saying no to me?"
    "We're not doing this, not like this. You want to get off, you can come home with me and get into my bed where you belong."
    She studied his implacable expression, wanting to belong to him, knowing he would take her over, knowing she couldn't live with what and who he was. She would end up loathing herself more than she already did.
    He was rejecting her . She'd flung herself at him after months of enduring his constant assault on her senses, she'd given in, driven by an obsession, a craving he'd planted, and he was rejecting her . Humiliation fed fury. She took a deep breath and flung back her head, chin up. "Fine. I don't need you. I can walk into that house and go home with any man I want."
    Ilya heard the complete confidence in her voice and knew she was stating the absolute truth. She looked passionate, untamed, so sexy his heart nearly stopped. Her eyes were fairly shooting sparks. Her hair was wild and disheveled, as if he had already made love to her. She looked wild and unpredictable and so beautiful he ached.
    Ilya caught her wrist again, turned over her palm. "Do you see this, Joley?" His hand slid over her upturned palm, sending shivers along already sensitized nerve endings. "I don't care what happened before I put my mark on you, but make no mistake, Joley, ever since I put this on you, you belong to me. I don't share well with others. Do whatever you feel you have to do, but be willing to live with the consequences. Just know you're going to make things unnecessarily hard on yourself."
    "Why are you doing this to me?" Her palm, the one marked by his brand, itched to slap the tough angles and planes of his face. He led her on and then rejected her. "You can't tell me no and then say I can't be with anyone else. Damn you to hell for this."
    "You need a man, and I don't mean some spineless wimp who is going to give in to your every whim. You need someone who can rein you in and control your tendency to act before you think."
    "That's so sexist. As if I can't take care of myself." She gave a little sniff of disdain, furious with him. "I'm a famous, highly successful woman