Courting Trouble: Running with the Devil Book 6

by Jasmin Quinn

  COURTING TROUBLE

  Running with the Devil Book 5

  Jasmin Quinn

  Courting Trouble Copyright © 2018 by Jasmin Quinn. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Cover designed by Jem Monday Publishing

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Visit Jasmin’s website at www. www.jasmin@jasminquinn.com

  ISBN: 978-1-7751853-8-3

  Books by Jasmin Quinn

  Running with the Devil Series

  The Darkest Hour (Running with the Devil: Book 1)

  Secrets inside Her (Running with the Devil: Book 2)

  Black Surrender (Running with the Devil: Book 3)

  Without Mercy (Running with the Devil: Book 4)

  Hard Lessons (Running with the Devil: Book 5)

  Courting Trouble (Running with the Devil: Book 6)

  Anthologies

  The Horror of Our Love – A Twisted Tales Anthology

  CONTENTS

  About Running with the Devil Book Series

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Shattered

  COURTING TROUBLE Playlist

  About Jasmin

  Stay connected with Jasmin

  ABOUT RUNNING WITH THE DEVIL BOOK SERIES

  It’s so good to be bad!

  Jasmin Quinn’s steamy romance series takes readers on a thrill ride as the rivalry between Rusya Savisin, Russian Mob Boss and the mysterious Mr. Jackman heats up. Romance blooms with intensity as innocents get drawn into the dark terrifying worlds that Jackman and Savisin rule. Each book in the series is standalone but are connected by common themes and characters.

  As the series unfolds, more and more will be revealed about the feud between Jackman and Savisin, including answers to the following questions:

  Are Jackman’s intentions honourable or does he have as much blood on his hands as Savisin?

  What is the root of the hatred between Jackman and Savisin?

  What is Randall Scott’s role in the ongoing feud?

  Who is the traitor in Jackman’s house and will this double-agent ultimately bring down Jackman and his operatives?

  CHAPTER 1

  Hugo Marsden was a beast. He knew it and he embraced it. He loved everything about his life: his money, his freedom, the respect he garnered. And he was feeling fine tonight, at the Mirage, at a bar, not drunk. He didn’t do drunk, but smug, definitely smug, with a cold beer in his hand and another quarter-mil in his bank account thanks to his favourite mobster, Jack Creed. Yup, he lived a charmed life.

  Hugo was sitting on a bar stool, facing away from the counter, leaning his back against it as he scanned the tables, thinking about getting laid and wondering who the lucky girl would be tonight. The bar was quiet, but it was a Monday after all and a bit early for the hostiles to be out. Problem was that pickings were slim – a lot of couples, none looking interesting enough for Hugo to try to charm into a three-way. Besides he preferred two women fighting over him rather than fucking around with another guy in the room.

  He was just about to give up and take his business elsewhere when she strolled into the bar. Fuck if he didn’t almost fall off his stool. The woman of his dreams just walked into his life. Thick, long unruly honey-blonde waves of hair tipped by pink, and blue eyes a man could drown in if he looked too deep. Cinnamon-painted lips and a generous mouth built for sucking his cock.

  She was tall, 5’8 or ‘9, with curves that didn’t quit. Beautiful firm breasts that bounced with each step she took, a soft belly and a slim waist flaring into hips that hinted at an exceptional ass and perfect cunt. Next to him, she’d be petite, but lusty and strong enough to give as good as she got. She was fucking perfect. He wished she’d turn around so he could get a good look at her ass, but that would mean she was leaving, and the only fucking way she was going to leave the bar tonight was on his arm.

  She was wearing a fringed suede vest over a khaki green, figure hugging ribbed tank that exposed the creamy mounds of her ripe breasts. He dipped his eyes lower - faded blue jeans, tight enough to show every womanly asset she had and worn western boots with little bits of turquoise adorning the leather. Hugo imagined them on her as they were fucking. He thought of his opening line – did you lose your spurs on the last guy you took a ride on? Top all that off with an expression that said mind your own fucking business or I’ll mind it for you and he was in insta-love. Yup, they were in Vegas and if she’d have him, he’d marry her.

  She stopped a few feet inside the bar and ran her long fingers through her hair, pushing it off her face as she scanned the room. Every fucking male in the bar was scanning her back. Even the women were watching, some scowling, but some looking speculative, like they would switch teams if she gave any indication she might be interested. Her eyes flicked from man to man like she was looking for exactly the right cowboy to take back to her bunkhouse. Then those baby blues settled on Hugo, moved past, paused and came back. His heart skipped a beat and he ran a hand over his mouth trying to appear cool as her appraising eyes lingered on him.

  She said a couple of words to herself under her breath and then nodded in agreement. He loved that about her - she heard voices and talked back to them. The threesome was still on. Fucking perfect!

  She seemed to make up her mind and approached him boldly. The sway of her hips and the bounce of her breasts had him praying that when she reached him, she would throw her right arm around his neck and kiss him like she’d been on a seventeen-year man-drought. He put his beer down on the counter just in case.

  She stopped in front of him, just shy by a foot
of being able to crawl into his lap and suck his face. He was disappointed. She tucked the tips of her fingers into the top of her jean pockets and flashed him a sexy smile. In a cool, sultry voice that stroked his cock and squeezed his balls, she said, “I’m Olivia West.”

  He grinned ferally. He knew how this night was going to end and so did his dick. “I’m Hugo Marsden.”

  “I know,” she replied. “I want you to find my husband.”

  Every fucking thing deflated. The universe was a prick.

  CHAPTER 2

  I want you to find my husband.

  Hugo didn’t have many rules, but the few he did have served him well over his 36 years of hard-living. He didn’t get drunk, he didn’t do drugs, he didn’t borrow or lend money, he charged exorbitant prices for his services and made sure his clients got their money’s worth, and his most important rule, one learned the hard way, was he didn’t fucking do married women.

  “I don’t find husbands,” he snarled like a boy who just had his popcorn stolen from him. He swiveled to the bar, turned his back on Olivia-fucking-West and picked up his beer.

  “Jack said you’d be a prick about it.” She slid in beside him and casually motioned to the bartender with her hand. Another round. As she slapped a twenty onto the counter, Hugo took solace in the fact that at the very least he was going to get a free beer out of this.

  The bartender dropped the bottles in front of them and she picked up hers, brought it to her lips and took a deep swallow. He couldn’t help himself – married or not, she was a looker. He was entranced by the way she tipped her head back, the stretch of her neck, the bob as she swallowed, her full lush lips pressed against the rim of the bottle. He licked his lips. Maybe he would reconsider his rule just this once.

  She caught him looking and grinned as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “How much would you like?” she said. “I can pay you in money or fucks, or both if you want.”

  Hugo ignored her provocativeness. “Who the fuck gave you my name?”

  “Jack Creed.” She lowered her voice as she said this. Smart too.

  “Well he was mistaken.” He wanted to ask how the fuck she knew Creed, what the connection was but he didn’t want to engage further.

  “Why?”

  “Don’t need your money.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t have that much anyway.”

  He turned to her, a snarl on his lips. “Creed knows I don’t do charity cases.” The next time he saw Jack Creed he was going to have a talk with the mob boss about being a little more judicious when he was handing out Hugo’s calling card. It would be a nice talk – he tried not to bite the hands that fed him, but still there’d be some talking. He swallowed the last of his beer and set the bottle down on the counter with a bang.

  “Thanks for the beer,” he muttered as he got to his feet. She had fucking ruined his night.

  She stood up too. “Hugo… Mr. Marsden, I can’t do this on my own.” As she said his name, her voice cracked and he could see a savage vulnerability in the depth of her eyes. Just a brief flicker, a small loss of composure, before she slid her brazen mask back into place. But it was enough. Saucy, sexy and X-rated was one thing, but then add vulnerability to the mix and it seared him straight to the core. He was no boy scout. He wanted to rip her jeans off, fuck her ‘til she begged him to stop, then do it all over again. And he knew he could. He saw it in her eyes, even the shuttered ones. She’d already appraised him and found him worthy.

  But he was smart enough not to get mixed up with a blonde, married siren who would ultimately lead him around by his cock until the mister showed up unexpectedly and blew his head off. He looked her up and down, eyes lingering on her breasts, her pussy, then her face, waiting for a flush that didn’t come. “Sorry, Olivia-fucking-West, you’ll have to get some other asshole to find your husband. I’m busy.”

  He turned his back and stalked out of the bar. He hated the Mirage’s fucking nightclub, too noisy and smelled like sweat, but there were women there too. He’d find another. One that didn’t have problems or a husband.

  CHAPTER 3

  Sorry, Olivia-fucking-West, you’ll have to get some other asshole to find your husband. I’m busy.

  Olivia watched as Hugo Marsden strode out of the bar, a small frown playing at her lips. She didn’t listen to her instincts, which were not always that good. They were telling her to follow him out, throw herself at him. He would capitulate. A man didn’t stare at a woman like he did at her without his cock doing some of the looking. But she resisted. Following him from one bar to another was more likely to irritate him and she needed his good will, not his anger.

  She sighed as she reseated herself on the bar stool and motioned to the bartender for another beer. It was a quiet night, he looked bored, intrigued, but not interested in Olivia in the least. As gay as a gay bird, she thought as he set the beer down in front of her.

  He leaned on the counter with his arms. “If it’s any consolation, if I didn’t have it as bad for Mr. Marsden as you do, I wouldn’t have turned you down.”

  Olivia smiled. Maybe she should have followed Hugo. Her instincts seemed to be somewhat on point. “Thanks. I thought he wouldn’t be able to resist me. Not too many men can. Gotta name?”

  “Joe.” He held out his hand

  She reached out and shook it firmly. “Joe, the bartender. There’s a cliché. I’m Olivia-fucking-West, but you can call me Olivia.” She picked up the fresh bottle of beer and took a swig, then swiped at her lips with the back of her hand. She looked at Joe and added, “I’m fucked.”

  Joe grinned. “Not yet, but the night’s young.”

  “Maybe. But the only guy I want right now is Hugo Marsden, and not for the reasons we’re talking about. I can’t believe he walked away from me.”

  “Because you’re irresistible?”

  Uh yeah, Olivia thought. It was a certainty borne from experience. Men saw her, they wanted her, and many of the assholes expected her to give it up. “That’s exactly what I think, Joe.” She took another sip of beer, then set it down on the counter, her eyes challenging the bartender to disagree.

  Joe raised his eyebrows a fraction, then leaned toward Olivia, dropping his forearms on the bar. He grinned like he had a secret. “You know, you don’t always have to use sex to get what you want.”

  “You don’t think so? Even if I hadn’t used sex as bargaining chip, it would have still come up. It comes up every fucking time.”

  “Looks like you met your match.”

  Olivia scowled as she picked at the label on her beer bottle. “I have yet to meet my match, Joe.” She felt a little irritated that the bartender thought he could read her that easily so she added, “I don’t use sex to get what I want. I use sexual attraction. There’s a complete difference.”

  “Really?” Joe cocked his head to the side, stroking her with his eyes.

  “You doubt me, Joey-boy? If I fucked every man who wanted a go at me, I wouldn’t be able to stand up. My mother says that God gave me these gifts.” She waved her hand down the front of her. “To use, but not abuse. Sensibly, she says, or karma will get me.”

  “Hah! You don’t think karma will get you for being a tease?”

  Olivia considered this for a moment. She hadn’t thought herself a tease. She was who she was. She’d learned a long time ago that you didn’t have to be the prettiest girl in the room to be the most attractive. It’s how you entered a room, what you were wearing, the expression you wore on your face. She knew how to get what she needed, then tell the guy to fuck off in a way that made him thank her for being so understanding. Yeah, karma sometimes kicked her in the ass, okay a lot of the time, but she always thought that she was still working out the kinks from a previous life. “Perhaps,” she conceded. “It’s worked up ‘til now. I wouldn’t have thought someone like Hugo Marsden would care if I was married or not.”

  Joe shrugged as he straightened up. “I guess Mr. Marsden has his scruples.”

/>   “Fucking scruples,” Olivia muttered as she drained the last of her beer.

  “Another?”

  Olivia shook her head. The beer was making her fuzzy. Two bottles so close together and not enough food in her today. Plus, a little low on the cash. “I should go see if I can track down the tracker and try to convince him I’m worth the risk before I get shit-faced.”

  Joe picked up the empty bottle and gave the bar top in front of Olivia a swipe with his wet cloth. “I have a way you can get to Mr. Marsden without following him all over Vegas and interfering with his pick-up lines.”

  “You mean he’s out trolling for girls?” Olivia was uncharacteristically hurt by his rejection of her. She’d thrown herself at him and he’d found her wanting. Couldn’t be just because she was married, could it? Besides, she wasn’t technically married, but Hugo didn’t know that. Still, if this Hugo guy was associated with Jack Creed, he probably didn’t have very many lines he wouldn’t cross. Hard to believe one of them was married women.

  Joe nodded. “Mr. Marsden has his routines when he’s visiting Vegas. Likes the pretty girls, sometimes more than one. And the girls love him. From what I’ve heard, it’s justified.” He looked wistful. “Wish he swung both ways.”

  Olivia was annoyed, tapped her fingers on the bar top trying to think. “I get why you’re not getting some from him, but what the fuck’s wrong with me?”

  Joe grinned. “You gotta be a little more subtle with him I think. He likes to be the one calling the shots.”

  “Subtle is not exactly my strong suit. Not even sure I know what that word means.”

  Joe found that funny and laughed. Then he said, “I can solve your problem, Olivia.” He was leaning on the counter again, his head bent towards her, his words for her ears only. “$200 bucks and I can introduce you to a guy who will get you some alone time with Mr. Marsden.”