Taken: Saved by the Billionaire Bad Boy

by Audrey Alexander

His rough palm cupped my cheek, and I shuddered uncontrollably at his touch.

  “You don’t feel cold,” he said quietly.

  “I’m not actually cold,” I said in a whisper, my body arching toward his.

  His mouth was on me then, his tongue spreading open my lips. I moaned and closed my eyes, pressing my body up against the hard planes of his chest. His thumb rubbed against my cheek as his kiss deepened even more, and my heart began to pound hard in my chest.

  God, everything about him felt so damn good.

  My breath quickened, and my thighs grew wet as he slid his hand up to cup my breast underneath my shirt. His finger teased my nipple, making the ache between my legs so overwhelming that I felt the need to cry out, both in pleasure and in pain.

  His lips moved down to my neck, his tongue slipping across the delicate skin underneath my ear.

  “Franklin,” I gasped.

  Suddenly, a harsh vacuum of cold air was between us. He pulled away, his eyes wide, his cheeks flushed, his breath coming out in quick gasps. He shook his head and pounded a hand against his forehead, and disappointment flooded through me at his reaction. He seemed angry, pissed off.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, tears pricking my eyes.

  “I’m so sorry, Rosie,” he said in a gruff voice, glancing away from me. His jaw rippled as he clenched his teeth. “I can’t do this. It isn’t right.”

  “It isn’t right?” I couldn’t help the hurt that spread throughout me. I’d presented himself to him, opened up my body for his taking, and now he was pushing me away. For no fucking reason at all.

  “You don’t know me.” He stood from the bed and grabbed a pillow. “I’m the worst possible thing for you right now.”

  I scoffed. For some reason, I’d thought this guy wouldn’t play those stupid games. It’s not you, it’s me. Always bullshit, always a code word for: you’re just not what I want.

  “You know what? Fine.” Huffing, I twisted in the sheets and pulled my shirt back down over my exposed breast. Embarrassed, my cheeks still flamed and my heart still raced. I squeezed my eyes tight and pretended I was going to sleep. I could feel him standing in the middle of the hotel room, staring down at me with those smoldering dark eyes of his.

  Everything inside me wanted to look at him, but I didn’t give in. Eventually, I heard him settle onto the floor with a sigh. The floor creaked as he tried to get comfortable, and immediately I regretted letting him sleep down there instead of on the bed with me. But my pride wouldn’t let me give in. After a few long silent moments, his breathing deepened and his body stilled. He’d managed to fall asleep.

  Meanwhile, I couldn’t relax at all.

  Bright lights shone on my face, and confusion rippled through me as I tried to place where I was. Memories of the night before flooded my brain when I saw Franklin’s tall and muscular frame silhouetted by the morning sun. Franklin. Scooter. Running in the freezing rain. Me throwing myself at a hot guy who wanted nothing to do with me.

  Oh god. Shame flushed my cheeks and I scooted further under the sheets, wishing I could disappear without facing Franklin. What would I say? How would he look at me? He must have thought I was some kind of crazy girl who just threw herself at any guy who fell into her mess of a life.

  Hell, I didn’t even know his last name.

  The sliding door whirred open and shut, and I peeked over the sheet to see Franklin edging quietly back into the room.

  “Morning,” I said.

  “Good morning.” A frown pulled down his lips, and lines criss-crossed his forehead, as if he were deep in thought. For a moment, I felt pure panic that he might abandon me now. Even though I liked to pride myself on my independence, I’d realized as I tossed and turned in bed that I needed his help if I wanted to get Owen out of here.

  “I need to talk to you about your handler,” he said.

  I frowned. I certainly hadn’t expected that. After last night, I’d assumed we’d make some kind of acknowledgement about what had passed between us, but no, he was being a typical guy. Ignore it and it’ll go away. Ugh. Men.

  “What about him?” I sat up on the bed, making sure that the sheets covered my bare legs. Now that he’d turned me down, I couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing my body. How freaking embarrassing.

  “You said your handler knew you were coming here.” He began to pace back and forth across the room, his jaw rippling, his arms crossed tight across his chest. “You said he was aware that you wanted to retrieve Owen from Carlsville.”

  My cheeks burned as I watched him pace. That hadn’t been the entire truth, but I hadn’t felt comfortable filling him in on everything about my situation. “Yeah, that’s what I said. Why are you asking about it?”

  He stopped pacing, turning to face me. “I can’t help you if you aren’t honest with me, Rosie.”

  Something flickered in my brain, some kind of warning. How could he have known I hadn’t been totally honest? Taking a slow breath, I tried to steady my nerves, but the intensity of his stare made that impossible. “What makes you think I’m not being honest?”

  “I’ve just spoken with your handler,” he said after a moment of silence. “He had no idea you left your safe house, and he certainly had no idea of your intentions to come to Carlsville this weekend. You should have told him. He would have sent a team for extraction. It could have prevented this whole thing from happening.”

  “You talked to my handler? How?” Anger and shock tore through me, and I scrambled backwards off the bed. My ears rang, and my heart thumped so hard it shook my chest. “Who the hell are you?”

  Chapter Nine

  Franklin

  Rosie stared at me as if I had betrayed her. And maybe in her mind I had. Her body trembled just as it had last night when she’d been freezing from the wind and the cold rain, and her hands clutched at her too-small Tennessee orange shorts. I wanted to reach out and wrap my arms around her, to drive the fear and confusion from her mind. But I couldn’t let myself do that.

  “Rosie,” I said, taking a step forward.

  She backed up hastily, her back slamming into the wall beside the bed. “Stop. Tell me who the hell you are or I swear I’ll scream bloody murder.”

  I held up my hands. “Now just wait a minute. Hear me out.”

  “You better tell me right fucking now.”

  Her eyes blazed with a fury that made her entire face flush with red. Nostrils flared, she slanted away her body and slowly began to move toward the door leading out into the hotel hallway. Something about her anger sent a thrill through me, making me feel alive. I wanted nothing more than to push her up against the wall and drag my tongue across every inch of her silky skin until she screamed out, pleasure driving away all of this pain.

  Shaking those damn unwanted thoughts out of my traitor of a brain, I glanced away.

  “I used to work for the agency,” I said, choosing my words carefully. I couldn’t tell her everything, just enough to offer up an explanation for my knowledge about her situation. I certainly had worked for the agency after all, but she didn’t need to know the details of my job and how I’d come to find myself cut off and hunted. She wouldn’t even understand. Civilians never did.

  “Wait, what?” She paused mid-step. “You used to work for the fucking FBI?”

  “That’s right. About a year ago. When you told me your situation, I wanted to check in with your handler because I knew he shouldn’t have allowed this to happen.”

  “So, you used to work for the FBI.” She stayed rooted to the spot, fiddling with the bottom edge of her shorts. “How come you don’t anymore?”

  “Things didn’t work out,” I said in a flat voice. What a massive understatement. Someone had made a ruin of my life, pointing a finger at me for a crime I never would have committed. I didn’t know why, who, or how. All I knew was I’d been burned and the agency wanted me dead or alive.

  “So, what were you? A spy or something?”

  Narrowing my eyes, I said,
“Enough about me. Why didn’t you tell your handler about this? You’ve risked your life for no goddamn reason.”

  Her eyebrows arched high on her forehead. “You think my son is no goddamn reason? Well, you can go straight to hell.”

  “For fuck’s sake, that’s not what I meant.” I strode closer to her and pointed a finger at her chest. “If you’d told your handler, he would have been able to help you. Instead, you just ran off alone without any backup. It was a stupid-ass move, and it almost cost you your life.”

  “Back-up?” She raised her voice and swatted away my finger. “You know what he would have said if I’d told him? He would have told me I was shit out of luck. I had my chance to bring Owen with me, and that was that. Trust me, I wouldn’t have run off without telling him unless I had a damn good reason.”

  “Bull. Shit,” I said. “I just spoke to the man. He would have sent in a team.”

  “Just face the facts,” Rosie said, pushing at my chest. “Your agency? Is full of assholes who don’t give a damn about the people they say they’re trying to help. All that matters is catching the bad guys, regardless of the emotional cost. And if you used to work for them, I’m sure you’re just as bad as they are.”

  “The hell I am.” Voice raised, I towered over Rosie. She glared up at me, her eyes flashing with an intoxicating mixture of anger, suspicion, and something else. Something that made my breath catch in my throat.

  “Prove it,” she whispered. “Prove it to me by helping me get to my son.”

  Chapter Ten

  Rosie

  What the hell had I just done? One minute, Franklin was telling me he was some kind of retired spy, even though he only looked like he was in his late-twenties at most. And then the next minute, I’d begged him to help me yet again. I just hadn’t been able to help myself. He’d looked so strong and so fierce, glaring down at me with his muscles tensing. I’d seen the hard planes of his pecs through his thin gray shirt, and all I’d wanted was to run my hands up and down his chest before burying myself in his arms. He seemed solid and real, so unlike my handler. How could someone like him be anything but what he said to be?

  “I’ll help you,” he finally said, his breath sounding a little more rough than it had before. “But you’re going to have to do things my way.”

  “Fine.” I gave a nod. “Give me two seconds, and I’ll be ready to go. We’re going now.”

  Shouldering past Franklin’s muscular frame, I headed toward the bathroom to change into my clothes, but before I could reach the door, he stepped in front of me to block my way.

  “I’m serious, Franklin. No more waiting around. I have to go and get my son.”

  “That’s not a good idea,” he said, refusing to move out of my way.

  “Why the hell not?” Franklin was starting to irritate me again. I hated it when men decided they knew what was best for you and ordered you around as if you had no real mind of your own. I made my own choices, dammit, and right now I needed to go and get my son.

  “Like I said, I spoke to your handler,” he said in a slow and steady voice, clearly sensing my frustration. “He’s coming here. With some back-up. It’s the best and safest way to extract both of you from this situation.”

  “Extract us from this situation?” I rolled my eyes and tried to move past him, but he side-stepped in front of me again. “You really did work for the agency. You definitely have their stupid vocabulary.”

  “Stop being so difficult.” He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. “Look, I’m trying to help you here. Can’t you understand that? Why do you have to fight against everything?”

  “Because no one has ever given me a reason to do anything but fight.” I balled my fists and glared at him.

  Franklin sighed, his shoulders slumping. A flicker of guilt passed through me, but I brushed it aside. I was glad for his help, but I didn’t need him calling up the FBI to come charging in here. I didn’t even understand how it was possible. I’d dropped hints at my handler for weeks, and he’d made it clear that I’d had my chance to have my son in my life. They wouldn’t do anything to bring him to me. They didn’t care about Owen. All they cared about was catching Scooter.

  “Rosie,” he said. “You should wait until they’re here. At least think about it for ten minutes before you go flying out of here like a bat out of hell.”

  “Fine, but I’m going to change back into my own damn clothes. These shorts are riding up my ass.” I shoved past him and slammed the bathroom door behind me, pressing my back against it to catch my breath. I didn’t know what it was about Franklin. He made my blood boil with rage and my veins sing with lust, always at the exact same time. He’d done nothing but try to help me, but I couldn’t help but feel edgy when he bossed me around, like I was some damsel in distress he wanted to save, riding into town like a white knight.

  Though I probably did look like a mess to him. I had an ex-husband who was out for my blood, a son I’d abandoned three months ago, and a handler in the FBI while I rotted away in witness protection. No wonder he kept trying to save me. I sounded like a charity case if there ever was one.

  Quickly, I slid out of the Tennessee orange clothes and donned my dry jeans and shirt from the night before. They felt a little stiff from where they’d dried naturally, and a damp smell had clung to the fabric. My mother would probably have my hide when I showed up in the clothes I’d been wearing the day before. She’d know I’d spent the night with a man. I never had been able to get anything past my mom, her eagle eyes always catching the slightest of indiscretions.

  After I gave my hair a comb through and splashed some cold water onto my face, I exited the bathroom with my breath held tight in my throat, not entirely sure what to expect. Franklin would either be scowling or he’d be looking at me like he wanted to rip my clothes off. I wasn’t sure which option I wanted to find.

  But, instead of either, I saw him hovering over the hotel phone, his back toward me. His body was tense, the muscles of his arms trembling as he spoke quietly into the receiver. He must have heard the bathroom door open, because he whirled toward me, and a knot of dread grew in my gut at the pained expression he wore.

  “It’s your mother.” He held out the phone, not meeting my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Rosie.”

  With a gasp, I grabbed the phone out of his hand, my heart hammering hard. All I could think was, Owen, Owen, Owen.

  “Mom, what’s wrong?” I asked in a rush of words.

  “It’s that damn asshole, Scooter,” she said, her voice shaking. “He came here and took your boy.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Franklin

  Rosie’s whole body shook as she spoke to her mother. I began to pace back and forth across the floor, my mind whirring. Scooter and his delinquent friends had stormed the house that morning, demanding to know where Rosie was. When he realized she wasn’t coming back, he took their son instead. I couldn’t begin to imagine how Rosie felt.

  Rosie hung up the phone and faced me, her face drained of all color. “Tell me what to do, Franklin. He took my son.”

  “Call the cops,” I said, flexing my hands and wishing I could get my hands on that bastard for what he’d done.

  “The cops?” She frowned and shook her head. “Scooter is his father. What can the cops do?”

  She was right, of course. “Did he say anything to your mother?”

  “Yeah,” she said, eyes widening. “He wanted a phone number where he could reach me.”

  Shit. It was clear as day what Scooter had planned, and I started to hate the man even more than I already did. Rosie wasn’t going to like this. Not one bit. And if I knew this girl at all—and I was starting to believe I understood her pretty damn well—she’d go along with whatever shit Scooter threw at her if that meant getting Owen out of this place.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  “Franklin?” She still stared at me with wide and fearful eyes, tears leaking out of them, and my whole heart turned to mush. I couldn’t stay stro
ng against a look like that. I’d do whatever it took to take this pain away from her, though the logical part of my brain told me to drag her out of this town right now so she could get far, far away.

  At least then she’d be safe for good.

  But she couldn’t leave behind her kid, not with that asshole.

  “He’s going to ask you for a goddamn exchange, Rosie.” I crossed my arms and tipped back my head to look up at the ceiling, as if held answers I couldn’t find in my own head and heart. “I can almost guarantee you he’ll want you to exchange yourself for your kid.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath, and then pulled her whole body up straight, looking several inches taller than she was. “If that’s what he wants, then that’s what he’ll get.”

  “I can’t let you do that. He’ll kill you.”

  “You can’t stop me from doing what I want.” She rushed toward me then, jabbed a finger at my chest, but just as quickly as the rage came, it left. Her whole body began to shake as the tears streamed from her eyes. Groaning inwardly, I wrapped my arms around her back and pulled her close, letting her cry out the tears she so desperately needed to shed. Her face pressed against my shirt, soaking it within moments. But I didn’t push her away. I just stood there in the middle of the room, holding her and stroking her hair.

  “Shh,” I said quietly, my heart constricting in my chest. How the hell was I going to get her out of this? I had no idea, but I knew I had to try. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll get Owen. Don’t you worry.”

  “How?” She pulled back to look up at me, and I could see the stain of her tears on my shirt.

  “I don’t know yet,” I said, “but I’ve handled far worse than Scooter Stone. I’ll come up with a plan. One that’ll get both of you out of here and that guy behind bars.”

  The trust and hope I saw in her eyes was almost too much too bear. I meant every word, but a little niggling voice reminded me that I was no longer the agent I once was. Bulldog could have taken down Scooter Stone and his whole entourage without breaking a sweat, but I was Franklin Snow now. A nobody. With my assets frozen by the FBI, I didn’t even have access to the bloated bank account that could have bought me anyone and anything to take this guy out.