Lori Foster - Fast Burn

Damn. “All of the men?”

“Two were carried out, but yeah, there were six of them.”

“Sahara is going to be pissed.”

“Somehow I get the feeling you’ll talk her around.”

Hearing the note of humor in Miles’s voice, Brand said, “Fuck off.”

Moving right past that, Miles asked, “She’s not hurt, is she?”

“Hurt? She was planning a massacre.” Ready to get her to safety, he added, “We’ll head to the corner of South Street and Garfield. You can pick us up there.”

“Dicey area. Watch yourself. I’ll head back to get the car and be there in five.”

Brand returned to Sahara. She was right where he’d left her, eating M&M’s out of her purse. When she heard him coming, she asked, “Brand?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you eaten? Because I’m starved.”

Would she ever cease to amaze him? He knew she had a hundred things on her mind, all of them more important than food. Then again, she was a pragmatist, especially when it came to basic needs.

Her no-nonsense approach meant she’d be doubly disappointed to know she couldn’t question anyone, so he ignored the mention of food and broke the bad news. “I’m sorry, honey, but the goons took off.”

She absorbed that in silence, then slammed her weapon against a rickety wall. “I told you I should have interrogated those men!”

He caught her shoulders before she could begin pacing. “They were carried out, so my guess is they couldn’t have answered your questions, no matter how you tortured them.”

“Oh, they’d have talked,” she promised in an evil voice.

Brand grinned again. “You’re scary, you know that?” He kissed her once more, a little longer this time. “Mmm. You taste like chocolate.”

“It’s the candy.”

He went in for a deeper taste, and damn her, she let him. When he pulled back, she breathed, “I wanted to hold you so badly, but I have M&M’s in one hand and this trusty dagger in the other, so—”

Later, he promised himself, then shook his head because he couldn’t seriously be thinking about going down that path. Everything Sahara did ultimately ended up back at the same place—with her need to find a brother who was no longer alive.

For hopefully the last time, he took her trusty dagger from her and led her through the crumbling building and out to the street. At least the air was fresher here, even if everything dripped from the storm. “We have to meet Miles a few blocks up. It’s a nasty area so if anyone shows up, for the love of God, get behind me and let me handle it.”

“Like a knight in shining armor?” She sighed. “So romantic. It’s almost like you were born to be a protector.”

He huffed a laugh. “You never give up, do you?”

“When I want something this much? No.”

If she wanted him that much, he’d be flattered. But she wanted another employee and that was a whole different game.

They made it to the corner without incident. It was a little busier here, more bustling with traffic passing and a few places lit up: a bar, a convenience store, a gas station. He watched as Sahara buttoned up her coat, tied the belt and turned up the collar.

Her long hair curled a little from the stormy humidity and she looked so damned sexy, so sweet, all he could think about was having her.

It was in part due to the adrenaline dump. Back in the day he’d been a regular street brawler and, to be honest, he’d loved it. But his mom hadn’t, and so he’d gotten his shit together, went legit and made it to the SBC.

That was all up in the air again, though, and odds were, he’d have to quit after the next fight.

But not yet.

And not to be Sahara’s underling.

“I’m cold.”

“Is that a hint for me to warm you up?”

“Could you?” Without waiting for an invite, she stepped in to him, her cheek against his chest.

Feeling her shivers, he held her closer, his free hand wrapped in her hair. “How come you never wear it down?”

“Because I’m the boss.”

She said it like it made perfect sense. “Bosses can’t have long hair?”

“Bosses have to look controlled.”

Trying to figure her out, he asked, “And the clothes you wear?”

“They’re my expensive, professional, classic I’m-in-charge-and-I-know-it clothes. Perfect for a shark.”

She sounded sleepy, and that automatically led him to thinking about her going to bed. At her big mansion. Alone. “Tired?” he asked.

“A little, but I need food before I rest.” Keeping her chin on his chest, she turned her face up to his. “Do you feel like eating?”

A loaded question, especially with the way she looked at him. Did she mean to put carnal images in his head? Whether she did or not, he got a distinct visual of her on her back, her long legs over his shoulders while he stroked her with his tongue.

“Brand?”

Damn it, now she sounded breathy but he couldn’t tell if it was exhaustion or interest.

Bottom line, if she wanted company, he’d be company. “Sure. Where do you want to go?”

“My place.”

Her place? Oh hell no. Trying to be reasonable, he said, “I was under the impression that the kidnappers know where you live.”

“Clearly, but once I’m locked inside they can’t bother me.”

“They’ve already bothered you.”

“Yes, but there’s nowhere more secure than my home.” She walked her fingers up his chest. “And you can ensure I get inside safely, right?”

Be alone with her in that mausoleum? With her braless, her hair down and the caveman testosterone still pumping hard through his bloodstream? Bad idea. “Sahara—”

“Look, isn’t that Miles now?” Once she spotted him, she straightened with relief. “Thank goodness because, much as I hate to admit to a weakness, I’m ready to crash.” As if he didn’t already know it, she heaved a heavy sigh and said, “It’s been a trying day.”

What an understatement.

And what a woman. Sahara would always be a handful...but then, Brand had very big hands.

* * *

HE WAS INCREDIBLY PISSED—and also impressed—to the point where he couldn’t reconcile the two emotions. He sat in the back of the van with his downed men, ready to finish them off the second they came to.

Carrying them out hadn’t been easy, not up those stairs. Sahara...carrying her had been a pleasure. She was a shapely thing, slender and toned but still soft in all the right places. And she smelled good. It had taken great resolve on his part not to turn his face against her hip and...

“They’re coming around finally,” Olsen said.

Ross gave him a dark look and he went silent again. Olsen had a problem keeping his mouth shut. No one was supposed to talk to her but him. He, at least, hadn’t underestimated her.

Much.

But Olsen, with his ideas on the weaker sex, couldn’t stop his blathering. It’s a wonder Sahara hadn’t flayed him alive.

Ross had no doubt that if she’d decided to, she’d have found a way.

When the man closest to his outstretched legs groaned, Ross gave him a nudge. “Think carefully before you say anything. One fucking lie and I’ll throw you out to the street where you can die without being a pain in my ass.”

Not taking the threat to heart, he groaned again.

Ross sat forward. “Tell me she didn’t do this to you.”

The groan mixed with a laugh. “No. A man...he came in to get her.”

Ross relaxed, but only a little. Of course, Sahara hadn’t done all that damage. The lady might have brass cojones and plenty of ingenuity, but she didn’t have the bulk and muscle needed to demolish grown men. “And what the fuck were you doing? Jacking off?”

“Talking to Terrance.”

Uh-huh. “So you two geniuses were so lost in conversation, you didn’t hear this guy come in?”