Part of the driver’s side window had shattered. Victor pushed his hand through the hole there and his fingers curled around Jasmine’s. “Dammit, baby, I was afraid they were going to take you, and there wasn’t anything I could do.”
Drake stiffened. That didn’t sound like an FBI agent talking to his charge.
Jasmine isn’t wearing handcuffs.
“But it’s too dangerous,” Victor snarled. “There’s gasoline pouring on the ground, and I can…I can smell smoke…”
Drake’s gaze shot to the rear of the SUV. The rear…and the front. Tendrils of smoke were escaping from both areas. The SUV had been littered by bullets and some of those bullets had hit with a very, very dangerous impact.
The driver’s side door had slammed into a lamp post, and it was a dented heap.
“My left leg is pinned,” Victor said, voice gruff. “Archer, I need you to break out the rest of the driver’s side windshield and see if you can help me get free.”
“Victor…” Jasmine’s voice was low. And scared.
Drake grabbed a chunk of metal that had fallen down—part of the SUV’s front bumper?—and headed toward the driver’s side. Jasmine stepped back when Drake slammed the metal into the glass. The rest of the windshield shattered easily as it rained down on Victor.
The smoke grew thicker. The wail of the siren seemed to be coming closer. But it wasn’t close enough.
From the corner of his eye, Drake thought he saw the flicker of flames. He ignored that flicker and crawled half-way into the car. The air bag was in his way, so Drake used the knife he normally kept in a sheath at his ankle, and he cut right through it.
“Hold on, Victor,” Jasmine whispered.
The agent’s leg was caught all right, the dash had thrust in around him, and the steering wheel sagged, keeping the guy trapped.
“Jasmine,” Victor’s voice was low and calm. The guy had blood dripping down his face, and Drake was pretty sure the man’s leg was broken, but the agent didn’t sound as if he were in any pain. “I want you to wait for me in Archer’s car, okay?”
“I’m not leaving you,” she said right back. “I’m not.”
Drake’s gut clenched. “Hold still,” he ordered Victor. “Don’t make me cut you more than I have to—”
“What?” Victor barked. “Wait, hold the hell up—”
“The vehicle is about to blow, and we both know it.” Drake was half-in, half-out of the car. He drove his fist into the remnants of the dash, determined to push it back, then he sliced out with his knife, trying to make the material weaker. “Hold. The fuck. Still.”
“Get her out of here!” Victor yelled. “I can see the flames!”
Jasmine’s hands had locked around Drake’s hips. She was helping to hold him while he fought to free Victor.
“It’s too late,” Victor snapped at him. “Leave me. Get her out or we’ll all burn!”
Jasmine was yanking on him. “Drake, Drake, you need to run! I’ll get him! You have to go—I don’t want you hurt. Go!”
She thought he’d just leave them both there?
He dropped the knife onto the floorboard—well, what was left of it, then he drove his fist into that dash again and again and again—
“Drake!” Jasmine yanked him back with a surprising force, and they tumbled onto the sidewalk.
Flames were racing over the front of the SUV. When they merged with that gasoline…
“I’m free,” Victor gasped out.
Jasmine let go of Drake. He reached for the other man and hauled the guy through the driver’s side window. But when Victor’s feet touched the cement, the guy’s right leg crumbled. Definitely broken.
So Drake put the jerk in a fireman’s carry even as he locked one hand around Jasmine’s wrist. They ran forward, as fast as they could as the flames grew behind them.
As he looked ahead, Drake saw the flashing lights of police cars rushing down the street.
The cops would be there in moments.
A boom sounded behind him. The blast knocked Drake off his feet, and he hit the ground.
“Get…her…out…Get Jazz…” Victor had crashed right along with him. Jasmine was on her knees beside Drake. “Before the cops…come…get her…”
The SUV was blazing behind them. The men who’d attacked Jasmine and Victor were long gone, and now the FBI agent wanted him to help a supposedly wanted woman escape?
Since that had been his plan all along, Drake rose and pulled Jasmine with him.
“But you need help,” Jasmine said as she stared down at the injured man. “Victor, your leg—”
“I’ll come to you, Jazz. Just…go!”
She turned with Drake and they ran for his car. In seconds, they were inside the vehicle and racing away from the blaze. The heaving sound of their breaths filled the car. When Drake glanced in his rear-view mirror, he saw smoke and flames and the blue lights of patrol cars.
He sped up and turned hard to the right. He knew these roads—streets usually not traveled by many because this was the side of town that the tourists avoided.
Drake didn’t know if the cops were following him or not, but, either way, he wasn’t going to leave a trail for them.
Jasmine’s hands were clenched in her lap. She didn’t speak, and small shivers shook her body every few moments.
“You should…you should probably drop me off somewhere,” she finally said, her words hushed.
What?
“That corner looks good.” She pointed.
“I’m not,” Drake snarled out, “dropping you off any place.”
He was taking her back to his casino. Since he had extra security there, he figured it was the safest place in the city. “I’m just…I’m trouble you don’t want.”
“If I didn’t want you, do you really think I would’ve followed you from the police station? Do you think I would’ve shot a man for a woman I didn’t want?”
They were hitting the busier streets now. A few more turns, and he was sliding into his private entrance at the Masquerade. He stopped long enough to bark orders to the guards there. Then they were inside the parking garage. He couldn’t get her out of the car and into his private elevator fast enough. When the elevator doors closed behind them and they shot up, heading toward his quarters, he pulled her into his arms.
“Drake, look, I—”
He kissed her. Deep and long and desperately. If those SOBs in the van had taken her, he never would have seen her again. He knew that fact with utter certainty.
His hands sank into her hair as he tilted her head back. Drake felt as if he were starving, as if he’d spent his whole life on the edge of hunger—and she was…everything that he needed.
I’m as bad as Trace and Noah.
No, he was worse. Because he knew that Jasmine was no angel. And he didn’t care.
He turned their bodies, pushing her back against the mirrored wall of the elevator. His aroused cock thrust against her. He was rock hard for her, and he needed to be in her.
He tore his mouth from hers. Pressed hot kisses to her neck.
Adrenaline heated his blood. Fear. Fury. A deadly combination.
Won’t let her go. No one will take her from me.
Jasmine wasn’t standing docilely in his arms. She arched against him, and her moans and gasps just drove him on.
His hands slid down her body. He caught the snap of her jeans. Yanked those jeans open. Shoved them down her legs. The material got tangled in her shoes, but Jasmine kicked herself free.
“Drake…”
He kissed her again. Kissed her, even as he grabbed the lace of her panties and tore them away.
There was no finesse this time. No seduction. He needed in her.
He needed control. Needed the certainty of knowing that she was his. She was safe.
He lifted her up against the mirror. “Wrap your legs around me.”
She did. Drake thrust into her. Deep and long, and the desperate fear finally eased.
&nb
sp; But the arousal didn’t. The consuming lust just grew as he withdrew and plunged into her. Again and again. He held her hips tightly, moving her to match his rhythm, forcing her to take all that he had.
She cried out his name, and he felt the clench of her delicate inner muscles around him as she climaxed.
His thrusts grew faster then. He wanted to take and take from her. Take until she realized that he was the one she needed.
The only one.
Her lips pressed lightly to his throat. She kissed him. A delicate, tender caress in the maelstrom of passion that surrounded him.
He came then, with a release so strong that his heart seemed to stop for a moment as the pleasure pulsed through every vein in his body. It swept over him, through him, and it was so good. So incredibly good. He never wanted it to end.
It was as close to paradise as Drake knew he’d ever get.
And she was climaxing again. He heard the quick catch of Jasmine’s breath and felt her stiffen against him. He kept thrusting, drawing out his own pleasure and forcing more pleasure on her.
He always wanted to give Jasmine pleasure.
He wanted to spoil her for any other lovers.
Just me, princess. Always…me.
And that last thought scared the hell out of him because he wasn’t supposed to want any woman that way. Wasn’t supposed to care about her other lovers. Wasn’t supposed to care at all.
But for her…with her…he did.
Jasmine would have no idea just how dangerous that was.
***
Saxon marched into the office that Maxwell had claimed. Maxwell noticed that the guy was moving a bit slower than normal, and…
“You’re missing someone,” Maxwell pointed out.
Saxon’s chin jerked up into the air. “We encountered a problem.”
Maxwell rose and circled around the desk. The scent of the river drifted through the window. “I don’t care about problems. I care about Jasmine.”
Or rather, he cared about silencing the bitch.
His eyes narrowed. “Is that blood on your shirt?” Because it sure as shit looked like blood soaking that shirt near the guy’s shoulder.
“I took a hit,” Saxon muttered. “Archer was there. He shot me, and he got Jazz.”
Maxwell grabbed the man, and he made sure that he dug his fingers into Saxon’s injured shoulder. “Jasmine was with the FBI Agent. You were supposed to take them both out. A simple enough order. It wasn’t time for Archer. Not. Yet.”
“He followed them!” The lines near Saxon’s mouth tightened as pain rippled across his face.
Maxwell dug his hand in a bit deeper.
“W-we had the agent controlled. Jazz was almost in the van, then Archer flew up and started shooting. We didn’t have any choice—we had to get the hell out of there.”
“One man, and you ran from him? I’m very, very disappointed in you.” When he got disappointed, people died.
“Avery was already back in the van. He was going to leave me,” Saxon snarled at him. “I was bleeding all over the street. I didn’t have a choice.”
Avery. Ah, yes, he was still a fairly new employee, and the man didn’t understand just how much Maxwell hated disappointments. He would. “Send Avery in to me.” He released Saxon. “Get your shoulder stitched up.”
Saxon backed away, but he didn’t leave. “Drake isn’t about to give that woman up again. You should’ve seen the way he fought to get her.”
Interesting. So Archer wouldn’t be surrendering Jasmine to the cops again. And if he had a twenty-four seven watch on her, well, that would make things a bit more complicated.
Not impossible, of course, just complicated.
“You both wore ski masks?” His order, but he wanted to make sure it had been followed.
“Yes.” Blood dripped from Saxon’s soaked shirt and splattered onto the floor.
“Then Jasmine has no idea you were the one who went after her.”
A quick, negative shake of Saxon’s dark head was his reply.
“Excellent.” Because if force hadn’t worked, then they’d try another method for getting to Jasmine. They wouldn’t worry about going through Archer’s guards—and the man had certainly upped his security force at his New Orleans casino—they’d just get Jasmine to come right to them.
A lamb, to the slaughter.
Chapter Nine
She’d just had sex in an elevator.
Jasmine lifted her head from Drake’s chest. He was slowly pulling out of her body, and that glide sent off little aftershocks in her core. Helplessly, she felt herself squeeze him tight, one more time.
Her breath sighed out at the rush of pleasure.
“I…didn’t mean what I said.”
Her lashes lifted. He was straightening his clothes. She should probably do the same. Especially since her half-naked image was being tossed back to her courtesy of those mirrored walls.
But…Drake beat her to the punch. He bent and the guy eased her jeans back on her. Carefully. Slowly. He even paused to check her bandage. Like those stitches would have slowed her down.
Then he tucked her torn panties into his pocket.
“Ah…what you said?” She had to clear her throat because her voice came out way too husky. Jasmine had no idea what he’d said before. She was pretty lost.
Still kneeling before her, Drake glanced up. His eyes seemed to blaze at her. “I’m not done with you.”
He should be. “Drake…”
In one quick, fluid motion, he rose before her.
She put her hand on his chest. “I am a liar. And I’m a thief.” The words had hurt, but the truth often did.
His gaze narrowed. That green stare seemed to measure her as it moved slowly over her face, then down to the hand that pressed not just over his chest, but right over his heart. She could feel the strong, steady beat beneath her fingertips.
“Maybe,” he allowed.
There was no maybe there.
“But you’re my thief,” and his voice had hardened. He kissed her then. That mind-numbing kiss of his and she pretty much sank into him. “Don’t forget it,” he muttered against her lips.
As if she could.
Then he pulled away. Put in his security code and had the elevator doors opening. He exited the elevator and offered her his hand. Taking it, Jasmine hesitated. “This is the first place the cops will look for me. You know that, right?” They might as well flash a neon sign.
He didn’t appear concerned. Not even a little. “Then we’ll just have to make certain they don’t find you here.” He sounded so confident. “It’s not like you’ll be staying long.”
Uh, she wouldn’t be?
“Give me a bit to make arrangements. I can have you out of town in an hour. I’ll get us on a private flight and I can make you vanish.”
So tempting. But… “I can’t leave Victor.” As it was, she’d have to find out which hospital he was in. As soon as it was safe, she’d contact him again and find out what needed to happen next.
Drake’s jaw locked as they entered his apartment—that was what she thought of that place as, anyway. It sure had all the comforts of home. And had she really just left from that exact spot hours ago? So strange. It had seemed like much more time passed. “I didn’t think I’d be coming back here.”
“You sacrificed yourself for me.”
She glanced back at him. His shoulders were propped against the door, and his arms were crossed over his chest. Jasmine couldn’t read the expression on his face, no matter how hard she tried.
And to think, she was usually pretty good at reading people. She pressed her lips together a moment, then said, “Maxwell killed the bounty hunter, we both know that. I was just trying to…to make less trouble for you.”
“Maybe I want trouble.”
Her eyes widened at that.
“No more lies, Jasmine.”
Ah…
“I’ve been playing nice with you.”
He had?
Wow. What was he like when he played rough?
“I warned you about lying, and you are already due some punishments.”
Kissing hardly counted as punishments.
“But I’ve got questions for you, and I want the honest truth.” He advanced toward her, a lion stalking his prey. “Do you understand?”
Jasmine shook her head. “I’m sorry, but there are some things I just can’t tell you.” More than her life was at stake.
Her answer didn’t even slow him down. “Why weren’t you in cuffs?”
“Um, what?”
“At the crash site, you weren’t in handcuffs, but when Victor loaded you into the SUV, he had both of your hands cuffed.”
She glanced down at her wrists. “He took them off.”
Drake reached for her hands. That was when she realized that she had scratches and cuts on her palms.
Drake must’ve noticed the damage, too, because he swore and pulled her toward the bathroom.
“It’s all right,” Jasmine tried to tell him when he began to wash the wounds. “I just…some of the bullets hit the windshield, and I put up my hands so that my face wouldn’t get cut by the glass.”
He stilled then and the air in the bathroom seemed to grow very, very tense. Drake’s head turned, and his eyes met hers. “The bullets could have torn right through you.”
“They didn’t,” she whispered back. “I’m all right. I’m here, with you.”
“What if I hadn’t appeared on that street?” The words were hard, but the fingers moving against her skin—cleaning her once more so carefully and bandaging her wounds—they were gentle.
“I’d be dead.”
“No.”
Drake was incredibly powerful, but even he couldn’t stop death.
“I-I think my hands are okay. The scratches were light.” She’d had so much worse. Good thing she had such a high pain tolerance.
He eased away from her. His broad shoulders seemed to fill the doorway. “I