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Sometimes, like now, when she felt driven to the brink of madness, she wished she wasn't a Drake and she could drown herself in alcohol and drugs and not feel the pain.
    "Tell everyone I love them, Hannah," Joley said. "I'll be home soon."
    "I really will fly out," Hannah offered.
    "No you won't. You'll stay right there and do whatever Libby tells you to do," Joley said. "And Jonas. Tell him I said bossing you around right now is a good thing."
    Hannah laughed. "I'm so never telling him that!"
    "Get some sleep. I'm much calmer now," Joley lied, forcing cheerfulness into her voice. "And wish me luck in Chicago."
    "You don't need luck, Joley. Your talent sells tickets. Have fun, and call me if you need me. You know I'll come. Love you lots."
    "Back at ya." Joley hit the end button and tossed her cell phone onto the bed before sinking down on it.
    Hannah would come to her, but Joley would never ask her now, not when she was pregnant, especially after the vicious attack. Hannah was special, and Joley always turned to her when she felt in crisis. Hannah dealt with everything in her own sweet way, wanting to make the world better for her sisters. She had been a success as a supermodel, but Joley knew she'd be even more of a success as a mother.
    Joley was closest to Hannah, loved her dearly, and it had been Ilya Prakenskii who had saved Hannah's life. He had stopped her attacker and kept her alive until the Drakes had gathered together to help heal her, and for that alone, Joley would always feel a connection with the man.
    "You have Jonas," Joley murmured. Jonas was tough as nails when he had to be, and he loved Hannah. Everyone had known it but Hannah.
    Joley ran her hands through her hair several times, before she flung herself backward to lie staring up at the ceiling. She'd killed an hour talking with Hannah, but she had a long way to go before the night was over. The hotel had an exercise room. She could go there. Alone… again. If only the tabloids really knew what her life was like.
    Joley. Party girl. Lovers all over the world. Not . It was more like Joley up all night writing songs and going to the exercise room to keep from going into sexual meltdown.
    "Damn you, Prakenskii. You're punishing me now, deliberately not speaking to me. Well, you know something, I don't need you. And I don't want you." She leapt up and grabbed her hotel key. Sexual frustration was really good for writing songs. Her best songs had come from detesting, no, loathing Ilya Prakenskii and wanting him with every breath in her body.
    The workout room was deserted, and she grabbed a bottle of water and programmed the treadmill for a run up and down hills. In her head she could hear musical notes with each step she took. Fury at Prakenskii was the pounding beat of the drum. The saxophone was purely erotic, the guitar riff—the blood sizzling in her veins. The keyboard was the breath moving in and out of her body steadily, necessarily. She could hear the bass in each slap of her foot on the surface, deep notes that set her heart pumping.
    There was euphoria in music, the only place she could escape who she was, what she was. She had six sisters and she admired every single one of them. She was fiercely protective of them, although she was second to the youngest and all of them had incredible gifts. They all knew she had a weakness for dangerous men, but they had no idea just how terrible her craving for Ilya Prakenskii really was. And he was the epitome of everything she stood against.
    She believed in the order of the universe. She believed in good and evil, in the balance of nature. She believed in the right to defend oneself, of course, but she deeply and sincerely believed it was wrong to harm another. It was rumored that Ilya was a hit man, and she could never, under any circumstances, have a relationship with a man who was evil. The problem was, he didn't feel evil. He felt hot and sexy, with that terrible edge of danger she seemed to crave.
    She