by Cynthia Eden
“Guilty.” He’d confessed to owning the casino, so her knowing his identity wasn’t exactly a huge surprise. He’d made headlines in the Vegas press when he opened the Archer’s Arrow Casino a month before. He owned four other casinos, but three of them were in Biloxi, Mississippi, and his biggest place was in New Orleans.
He was already jonesing for a trip back to the Big Easy. That place had become home for him.
And I’ll be heading home very soon.
She smiled up at him. Her smile took him off-guard because he hadn’t anticipated the woman’s dimples. Cute, curving dimples that winked on either side of her mouth.
The lady was sexy. She had deep, dark, bedroom eyes. Curves that made him hard.
And…a damn cute smile.
“Thanks for being my hero tonight, Drake Archer.”
He had to laugh at that. “Trust me, I’m not exactly hero material.” He was more used to playing the villain of the piece.
She was still touching him. He was far too aware of her touch. He could actually feel the warmth of her hand through his suit coat. What was up with that?
“Why did you kiss him?” Wait, shit, had he just asked that question?
Her head tilted a little to the right as she studied him. “You were watching me.”
He didn’t reply. She already knew he’d been watching from upstairs. She’d crooked that finger, after all.
And here I am.
His shoulders stiffened as he stepped away from her.
She blinked a few times, appearing a bit lost.
“If you’d wanted to get fucked…” he said, and it wasn’t hard to make his voice cold and unemotional. Plenty of folks said that ice water ran through his veins, not blood. “Then all you had to do was ask.”
Her lips parted in surprise, but she didn’t speak.
Fair enough. Drake gave a little nod. He’d never been the sort to ask twice. He also wasn’t the romancing kind. “You’ll be safe for the rest of the night. My men won’t let that guy get within fifty feet of the Arrow.” But now it was time for him to leave. He’d thought that getting close to her would satisfy his curiosity. He’d been wrong.
Instead of being satisfied, he wanted to learn more about her.
Drake knew that was a definite sign he needed to back off. He eased to the side. Straightened his coat. And took a step forward.
“You’re just…going to leave me now?”
She had a faint accent in her voice. There one second, gone the next. Definitely something from the West. Maybe Texas? There were times when Drake’s voice slipped, too, and he let his southern accent roll out with a hard rumble.
That usually happened when he was angry. Or aroused.
“Head back into the club,” he told her and he didn’t look back as he began to make his way toward the elevator that would take him to his private lounge. “I’ll send orders for the bartender to give you whatever you want—”
“I know what I want.” Her voice was soft. Seductive.
Drake stopped.
“I-I have to ask, though…is that the way it works?”
His back teeth clenched.
“The ladies you take upstairs to your private room…they all ask?”
Those women knew the rules going in. Sex. Hot. Fast. Hard. No promises. No ties.
Ties were the last thing he wanted.
He turned back to look at her. “You came to this place looking for me.”
She backed up a bit.
He let his lips curl and knew his smile wasn’t going to be reassuring. “Be very careful. You don’t want to play with me.”
He expected her to scurry away then.
But her chin notched into the air. “Maybe I do,” she said and her voice made his cock jerk. Sex and sin—that was what she sounded like just then. Taking her time, she walked toward him. He noticed her shoes then. High, black heels. So she wasn’t as tall as he’d thought.
And those heels were definitely fuck-me shoes. She can keep them on for me, but I don’t want her wearing anything else.
The vanilla scent teased his nose once more. “I came here looking for you.”
Ah, a confession.
“I know you watch from up above, like a king surveying his land.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I just don’t like crowds.” A car horn echoed through the garage.
Why was he still standing there? Why hadn’t he left her already?
Her hand touched his chest.
The heat hit him again, rushing right from her hand to his heart.
And his dick.
Ah, yes, that would be the reason I haven’t left.
“I want to go upstairs with you.” She licked her lips, a sensual glide of her little pink tongue. “I need to go up there.”
He cocked a brow.
“So I’m asking, all right?” Her voice was breathy, and he hesitated. Was that quiver from excitement—like he sure wanted to think?
Or fear?
Unfortunately, Drake was too well-acquainted with fear.
But he offered his arm to her. He saw the quick exhale that she gave. That smile of hers flashed again.
Drake had to reassess then. The smile was disarming with its flashing dimples. But it wasn’t cute, as he’d first thought.
The woman’s smile was a killer.
***
“You’re making a mistake!” Wayne Hardin snapped as the two goons dragged him out of the casino’s parking garage.
“No, it’s your mistake buddy.” Goon Number One shoved him so hard that Wayne stumbled out onto the street. A taxi missed him by about five inches, and the angry horn had him jerking.
The guards glared at him as Wayne staggered to his feet.
“You heard the boss,” Goon One said. “Stay away from his business.”
And the guy’s business was now Jasmine? This was a headache he didn’t need.
He reached inside his coat.
“Don’t!” The sharp bark came from both guards.
Wayne stilled. “I wasn’t reaching for a weapon. You two already patted me down. You know I’m not armed. I was getting my ID!”
They turned away.
“I’m a bounty hunter! That little redhead who just sucked in your boss—she’s wanted in Texas!”
The door slammed shut behind them.
“Sonofabitch.” Wayne huffed out a hard breath as the lights of Vegas blazed down on him. Bright, blinking lights. So far away from the darkness of his Texas nights. “I hate this town,” he muttered.
He tilted back his head and stared up at the Arrow. Jasmine was in there. Thinking she was all nice and snug. Safe for the night. Safely away from him.
She was dead wrong.
He intended to collect on the bounty that was being offered for her. Giving up wasn’t part of his personality.
Soon enough, she’d be the one tossed into the street. Maybe she thought cuddling close to Drake Archer would offer her some kind of protection.
Think again, sweetheart.
He’d be waiting for her ass to hit the street. And when it did…
You’re mine, Jasmine. He’d take her back to Texas, bound and gagged if necessary.
Chapter Two
The door shut behind her with a faint click. Jasmine absolutely didn’t flinch, but she wanted to, and her muscles ached from stiffness. Her whole body was locked down because she didn’t want to show any weakness in front of Drake.
I’m here. I just have to take this whole business one step at a time.
“What’s your name?”
His voice rolled over her. Low and hard, a sexy, deep growl that had caught her off-guard when she’d heard him speak in the garage.
He had caught her off-guard. The shadows had surrounded him. Made Drake appear dark and dangerous. Well, he was dark and dangerous. Tanned skin. Tall and muscled, with broad shoulders that just stretched and stretched.
Yum.
“Your name.”
Crap. She’d just been s
tanding there, staring into his green eyes. Talk about not playing it cool. “Jasmine.”
Wait, she probably should have given him a fake name, but no…that jerk downstairs had called her Jasmine, hadn’t he? It was better to just stick to the truth. A bit, anyway. She forced herself to smile. “Last names aren’t important, are they?”
Hers was, and she planned to keep her mouth closed about it.
“You don’t look like the type.” He headed toward the bar on the right side of the room. There were at least four giant bars downstairs, but the guy had his own stash up there in his private lounge area.
Someone was overindulged a bit.
He popped open a champagne bottle. Poured the bubbly into a slender flute, then brought it back to her.
She took the flute quickly. Gulped down the champagne.
His brows rose. “Not the type,” he said again, voice musing.
She was so messing this up. “What type is that?”
His gaze swept over her. Lingered on her breasts. Her hips. Her legs. The green of his eyes seemed to heat, and Jasmine found herself clutching that champagne flute in a too tight grip. So tightly that she was afraid she might just shatter the thing.
“You aren’t dressed for seduction.”
Mostly because she didn’t have tons of clothing options at that moment. But, jeez, hadn’t he seen her shoes? Those were kick-ass sexy. She shifted her feet a bit, hoping to draw his attention there.
His gaze came back to her face. “Thief.”
It was a good thing she’d gulped the champagne. If she’d been lightly sipping right then, Jasmine would’ve choked. “Wh-what?”
He smiled. His smile made her nervous. It was too knowing. And it seemed to hold a threat. Smiles weren’t supposed to be threatening. They were supposed to be warm and reassuring. Apparently Drake had missed the memo on that one.
He took the empty champagne glass from her hand. His fingers brushed hers. Okay, now the guy was just making it hard for her to breathe. He put the flute down on a nearby table and then his hand came back. Those fingers of his—warm, strong, and slightly callused at the tips—curled under her chin. “You’re dressed like a jewel thief or a cat burglar.”
She felt heat sting her cheeks. “Know a lot about burglars, do you?”
“I know you aren’t what you seem, not at all. This isn’t about sex, is it?”
Jasmine inched closer to him. “Kiss me, and find out.”
“Is that what you said to the jerk downstairs?” Anger hummed in those words.
Jasmine shook her head. “You shouldn’t just watch…” And wasn’t that exactly what he was doing? Shutting himself away up there and watching the world below?
She pushed higher onto her toes.
But she didn’t need to press upward. He was already bending over her. His mouth pressed to hers.
This wasn’t anything like the kiss downstairs. His mouth was hard, but sensual. He explored her lips. Stroked her, and when she gasped against him, his tongue thrust into her mouth.
Wow. The guy definitely knew how to kiss. He’s better than I am. A whimper built in her throat. She’d thought—mistakenly, obviously—that she was skilled. Drake was in a whole new category. The make-you-weak-in-the-knees category. Her knees were already jiggling.
Her lips parted even more for him—because Jasmine wanted to make sure that she savored this experience. The man’s taste was incredible. Enough to make her feel a little drunk, and, as a rule, Jasmine never got drunk.
Her hands grasped his shoulders. Her short nails sank into his coat. Her breasts were aching, the nipples tight…just from his kiss.
He was controlled. Deliberate. He seemed to take his time caressing her, and she liked that. She liked far too much about him.
A pity, since she’d been sent to betray him.
His head lifted, and their lips broke apart. She sucked in a breath then, gasping for that last taste of him. A girl had to enjoy her moments when she could. Then she forced her eyes to open.
There was desire on the hard planes of his face. In the glint of his green eyes. He wanted her, as much as she wanted him. She could certainly feel that proof in the hard thrust of his cock against her.
She didn’t speak for a moment. Jasmine normally had plenty to say, but she found that she didn’t want to speak at all in that moment. Maybe because she didn’t want to lie to Drake.
Maybe because she wished that things were different.
“Unexpected…” His voice came out as a deep rumble.
Yes, he certainly was unexpected. Not an easy mark. Not a man to use and forget. More like a man who would haunt her long after she’d slipped from his life.
She was too conscious then of the watch around her wrist. Jasmine knew she should be monitoring the time. Oh, so carefully, especially because of that little detour she’d been forced to take to the parking garage.
But she didn’t move. She kept her body against his and kept pretending that she was just a woman who wanted the man before her.
“I like the way you taste,” Drake told her.
She could’ve given the same words right back to him, only “like” seemed to be far too tame of a word. She wanted to drink him in, to take more…to take everything that the guy had to give.
A faint vibration shook her wrist. Her alarm. Quickly, Jasmine pulled her left hand away from Drake, hoping that he hadn’t felt that slight movement of her watch. But he was still staring at her with the gaze that had gone hard and dark with lust.
She had a role to play. Jasmine was supposed to smile up at him then, give some flirtatious line, and keep him distracted for a few more minutes. She should have done that, but instead, she heard herself say, “I have a problem. I tend to want what I can never have.”
Holy hell. Those words had not been on her agenda.
A faint furrow appeared between his brows. “What is it that you want?”
Right then…you. Jasmine pulled in a deep breath. One more. She tried to steady her racing heartbeat. No luck there. “I’ll be gone in the morning.”
She didn’t even have a hotel room in Vegas. It wasn’t a pleasure trip. Just business.
She was there to destroy Drake.
The man had no idea just how many enemies he’d made. Or maybe he did know, and he didn’t care.
“We can have tonight,” she said, lifting her chin before she realized what she was doing. Jasmine could’ve cursed herself for that little “give.” She’d been warned about it before. She notched her chin when she was scared, and she was never, ever supposed to show fear—not real fear, anyway.
But Drake’s big, warm hand curled around her waist. “Damn straight,” he said, voice thick with his own hunger. “Let’s enjoy the night.”
His head lowered toward hers once more.
His lips were an inch away from hers. A breath of space. Jasmine wanted that space gone.
A shrill alarm cut through the room. Right on time.
Drake jerked away from her. “What in the hell?”
Jasmine let surprise flash across her face. “Wh-what’s happening?” She rather thought that the tremble in her voice was a lovely touch. “Is that a fire alarm?” Hurrying now, she rushed toward the tinted glass so that she could look down at the crowd. “No one is moving.” The alarm kept beeping—the sound was making her ears ache. That noise was worse than the music had been. “They have to hear it—”
“It’s not a fire alarm.” Now he was grim. “Those people down there don’t hear anything. It’s a private alarm—a signal just for me and my security team.”
She whirled toward him and gasped dramatically. “Are you being robbed?”
The man’s jaw had locked down as he checked his phone. Got the system linked in there, do you? “The warning alert is coming from the casino’s vault.” Um, his expression was deadly. “Someone’s tampering with it.” He rushed for the door.
Jasmine hurried after him. Now he had his phone to his ear, and the guy was
barking orders like mad to whoever was on the other end of that line.
“No one screws with my business,” she heard him snap.
She gulped at that. He had the door open. She was just a step behind him.
Drake whirled around. The phone was still at his ear, but now he seemed to be focused on her. “Where are you going?”
“Uh, with you?” Wasn’t that obvious?
He shook his head. “Stay here. We’re not done. Not even close.”
A vault break-in hadn’t stopped the guy from wanting sex?
His eyes gleamed. “Not even close.” Then he shut the door and vanished.
Jasmine didn’t move. The alarm stopped after a few more tense seconds, and then she heard nothing. Nothing but her own drumming heartbeat, anyway.
How long would Drake be gone? And he truly expected her to just sit and wait for him like a good little girl?
Poor guy. He didn’t realize that she’d never been good. Not really.
Turning, she let her gaze sweep over the room. Leather couch. Bar. And…
His desk. His computer.
Because this place wasn’t just a private lounge. It was his inner sanctuary at the Arrow.
Jasmine sidled toward that desk. Her avid stare skimmed over its surface. Then she reached down and opened the top drawer. Business papers were inside. Spreadsheets. Profit projections.
The second drawer contained some mail. One big, brown package had already been opened. She lifted that package. Let the contents spill into her hands.
But the only thing inside that package was a picture. Black and white. Drake was there…so were two other men. Men she recognized because they were famous and infamous.
Trace Weston, the man behind Weston Securities. Weston Securities was the biggest private security firm in the U.S. From the rumors she’d heard, Weston had plans to make his firm the biggest in the world.
The other man she recognized was Noah York, a hotel magnate who’d made headlines because he and his fiancée had both barely escaped death a few months before.
Only he wasn’t engaged any longer. Noah York was married now. She was staring at his wedding picture. Noah was in his tux, and his bride beamed at his side. A woman stood with Trace, too—a delicate ballerina type. Well, that fit since
