For the woman who’s his perfect match, he’s willing to break the rules…

The moment Brand Berry meets beautiful, driven Sahara Silver, the connection between them is electric. It’s also something he can’t pursue. Sahara wants him, sure—to join Body Armor, where his MMA skills, size and cocky attitude make him perfect for her elite crew of bodyguards. For Sahara, the agency always comes first, and Brand needs more. Yet when she’s kidnapped by men searching for her missing brother, he doesn’t hesitate.

Somewhere along the way, flirting with Brand for the sake of business turned very personal. Despite his refusal to join Body Armor, it’s Brand who steps up when Sahara needs him most. Now there’s no more time for games, and no point denying the hunger they both feel. They’ll escape together or not at all. But if they survive, can Sahara finally surrender control to claim this blazing passion?

Also By Lori Foster

The Body Armor series

Under Pressure

Hard Justice

Close Contact

Fast Burn

The Guthrie Brothers

Don’t Tempt Me

Worth the Wait

The Ultimate series

Hard Knocks (prequel ebook novella)

No Limits

Holding Strong

Tough Love

Fighting Dirty

Love Undercover

Run the Risk

Bare It All

Getting Rowdy

Dash of Peril

Edge of Honor

Ready, Set, Jett (ebook novella)

When You Dare

Trace of Fever

Savor the Danger

A Perfect Storm

What Chris Wants (ebook novella)

Other must-reads

Tucker (A Buckhorn Novella)

A Buckhorn Baby

Built for Love (ebook novella)

A Buckhorn Bachelor (ebook novella)

A Buckhorn Summer (ebook novella)

All For You

Back to Buckhorn (ebook novella)

Heartbreakers

Charade

Up in Flames

Turn Up the Heat

Hot in Here

Animal Attraction (ebook anthology)

Love Bites

All Riled Up

The Buckhorn Legacy

Forever Buckhorn

Buckhorn Beginnings

Bewitched

Unbelievable

Tempted

Bodyguard

Caught!

Fallen Angels

Enticing

And look for an incredible new novel

Cooper’s Charm

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Fast Burn

Lori Foster

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08332-4

FAST BURN

© 2018 Lori Foster

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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Praise for New York Times bestselling author Lori Foster

“Teasing and humorous dialogue, sizzling sex scenes, tender moments, and overriding tension show Foster’s skill as a balanced storyteller.’’

—Publishers Weekly on Under Pressure (starred review)

“Best friends find hunky men and everlasting love in Foster’s latest charmer…. Her no-fail formula is sure to please her fans.”

—Publishers Weekly on Don’t Tempt Me

“Foster brings her signature blend of heat and sweet to her addictive third Ultimate martial arts contemporary.”

—Publishers Weekly on Tough Love (starred review)

“Emotionally spellbinding and wicked hot.”

—New York Times bestselling author Lora Leigh on No Limits

“Storytelling at its best! Lori Foster should be on everyone’s auto-buy list.”

—#1 New York Times bestselling author Sherrilyn Kenyon on No Limits

“Foster’s writing satisfies all appetites with plenty of searing sexual tension and page-turning action in this steamy, edgy, and surprisingly tender novel.”

—Publishers Weekly on Getting Rowdy

“A sexy, believable roller coaster of action and romance.”

—Kirkus Reviews on Run the Risk

“Steamy, edgy, and taut.”

—Library Journal on When You Dare

Dear Reader,

I’m excited to introduce the fourth and final book in my Body Armor series, featuring hot alpha males whose überprotective instincts are put to good use in their roles as elite bodyguards.

Brand Berry is the only one of his closest friends who hasn’t yet left MMA fighting behind to join the elite Body Armor personal security agency. Being a bodyguard definitely appeals to him—but so does the agency’s gorgeous and fearless owner, Sahara Silver, and Brand isn’t one to mix business with pleasure, so he’s been resisting her efforts. Yet when Sahara’s quest to find her missing brother puts her in a kidnapper’s crosshairs, Brand doesn’t think twice about appointing himself as her protector—even if working alongside her brings him to a closeness he can’t resist.

I hope you enjoy reading Brand and Sahara’s romance as much as I enjoyed writing it. Many of you have said you don’t want to leave the series…but all good things must come to an end. I promise to do my best to make the next series just as much fun and every bit as sexy.

Have some thoughts on the books? You’re always welcome to reach out to me. I’m active on most social media forums, including Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and Goodreads, plus my email address is listed on my website at www.lorifoster.com.

Happy reading!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Praise

Dear Reader

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

CHAPTER ONE

SAHARA SILVER SAT behind her enormous desk in her posh office on one of the upper floors of the elite Body Armor agency. Bright October sunshine splashed through tall windows. A large vase of fresh flowers, delivered that morning from a very content client, filled the air with sweetness.

For the most part, she was content.

She ran the most elite security agency in the area, probably in the whole country. To stand out from the crowd, she’d taken a different approach in selecting her bodyguards—sexy competence. To prove the old mantra that “sex sells,” she’d acquired a trifecta of studly employees, ex-MMA fighters with ability, skill and yes, sexiness. Her agency was recently instrumental in solving a high-profile case, but she was no less satisfied with the outcome of other, more personal, cases.

Body Armor saw results. Clients could come to her with a wide array of needs and know they’d be in good hands.

Yes, her life would almost be perfect...if her brother weren’t missing, presumed dead by everyone except her.

Once she found her brother—because in her heart she knew he was still alive—he’d reclaim control of the company he’d founded. He wouldn’t be thrilled with the changes she’d implemented over the past year and a half, but always, from the time she was a know-it-all preteen, he’d encouraged her independence, her fearlessness and her confidence. Scott would understand why she’d had to put her stamp on the agency once she’d inherited it.

Not that it mattered. She’d turn it all over in a nanosecond to have him back. She’d live in a cardboard box on the street if she could just hug her brother one more time.

“Brand Berry is here to see you.”

Surprised, Sahara glanced at Enoch, her right-hand man and very good friend. “Brand is here?” She immediately felt flustered. Absurd. “I wasn’t expecting him. Did I miss a meeting?”

“No.” Enoch lowered his voice in a conspiratorial way. “He said he only needed a minute of your time when you were free, and since you’re free right now—”

“Yes, of course. Show him in.” Even as she said it, a tiny unfamiliar thrill ran through her.

She’d made a point of surrounding herself with some of the finest male specimens on the planet—professional fighters that she’d turned into prime bodyguards, each of them in high demand. It was her vision for Body Armor, to get rid of the stuffy Men in Black clones and offer instead real men, with real muscles, certifiable machismo and lethal ability with or without a weapon.

No, she didn’t fire the previously established bodyguards; that would have been disloyal to her brother, who’d hired them. She simply reassigned them to the more boring cases, and overall they were happy with that.

Anything to do with a celebrity, a dignitary or a politician her elite team now covered.

She desperately wanted to add Brand to that team.

Thinking she’d have a minute, she was just circling out from behind her desk when Brand stepped in around Enoch. Instead of waiting in the guest area, as a client would do, he must have been hovering right outside her door.

Her toes curled in her high heels.

Enoch was on the small side, five-two, slight of build, with average brown hair and eyes. It was his keen intelligence and attention to detail that made him so perfect at his job.

But his size didn’t really matter when he stood next to a man who made most everyone seem small, her included. Brand was a big and badass professional MMA fighter with a solid steel frame of muscle all wrapped up in a cocky attitude.

Faded jeans molded to his thick thighs, going well with his running shoes and an ancient Aerosmith T-shirt that stretched over his chest and broad shoulders. Reflective sunglasses pushed to the top of his head made his golden-brown hair messy. Darker brown eyes held her captive as he murmured, “Sahara.”

Leaning a hip against her desk, she drank in the rugged, virile sight of him. “Be still my heart.”

Wary exasperation rooted him to the spot.

Yes, she always spoke her mind. Why not? She was the boss and her employees knew her interest in them wasn’t personal. Of course, Brand wasn’t yet an employee.

Putting her hands together, her fingers extended to frame him in a square, she remarked, “A photo of you looking just like that could launch my new line of advertisement.”

He crossed his arms. “Advertisement for what?”

“Bodyguards with ability and sex appeal.” He’d look great on a billboard, maybe with a gun in his hand. She could already see it. Maybe she should ask Enoch to keep a camera at his desk for occasions like this?

When Brand just stood there, his expression amused, she smiled. “Tell me you’ve come to give me good news.” She’d been after him for a few months now to join the agency, constantly throwing out bait, trying to reel him in. He’d nibbled, but he wasn’t caught. Not yet.

“I came to talk about that, yes.”

Elation conflicted with disappointment. There were times when she hoped they could take a different path from employer and employee, one more personal, intimate.

Even...sexually satisfying.

But in the end, the business came first. Always.

She hadn’t given up hope for her brother, and when he finally returned, he deserved to find the company thriving.

She’d put her heart and soul into making that happen. There was no time for anything else.

“Perfect.” She tried to be excited, but it wasn’t easy.

“Actually,” Brand said, coming to stand very near her, “I’ve been offered another fight.”

That gave her pause. She’d thought he was done with the Supreme Battle Challenge, better known as the SBC, for very difficult, personal reasons that he’d shared with her, but not many other people. “I thought you needed to be around more for your mom.”

“My mother,” he corrected, “not my mom.”

For Brand, there was a huge difference between the two. Sahara knew because he’d explained it to her. “Right, sorry.” Still, the woman had suffered cardiac arrest and, due to complications, had almost died. Personal conflicts aside, Brand had overseen her care. “But don’t you need to—”

“I decided an influx of cash would be better.”

So he could pay for what was needed, instead of getting so closely involved? That, too, made sense given their backgrounds. “I see.”

“The SBC would reward me for taking the fight with a nice bonus.”

“Oh?” If that’s all it took, she could offer some signing bonuses of her own. “So how long do I have to wait for you to finish up—”

“It would be my last fight, but,” he said with gentle emphasis, before she could make assumptions, “I’m not agreeing to be a bodyguard.”

Her stomach bottomed out. This felt too much like losing, and by God, she did not lose. Determination stiffened her spine. “Tell me what it is you need.” More money, obviously. She could swing that. “Designated time off? Better benefits for dependents?” Working around that would be trickier, but she’d figure it out.

Brand shook his head. “Truth is, Sahara, I can’t see myself working for you.”

Wow. Now that hurt. Peeved, she moved away from him to sit in the chair behind her desk. A power position.

She met his gaze without flinching. “I see.” No, she didn’t.

“You’re too pushy.” He smiled as he said it, taking away some of the sting of that nasty observation. “And too used to getting your way. You love being in charge, but then, so do I.”

Never in her life had she been so offended. “Those insults are your way of telling me you don’t like me?” She rose from the chair again without realizing it, hands flat on the surface of the desk as she leaned toward him in challenge. “I got a very different impression.”

“I like you,” he confirmed, but then added, “because you’re not my boss.” He surprised her by mimicking her position until their noses almost touched over the middle of her desk.

She didn’t know where to look. His eyes drew her, so dark they were almost black, and always filled with wickedness.

Then there was his firm mouth set in that small, teasing smile that did crazy things to her. High cheekbones, a strong jaw, a masculine nose...

And oh, what that straight-armed pose did for his biceps.

She inhaled...and breathed in the scent of warm, musky male.

It seemed imperative to put some space between them so she slowly straightened.

Brand’s smile widened and he, too, straightened. “Coward.”

“Oh no,” she corrected. “But I have priorities that take precedence over...other things.”

He went back to crossing his arms. “Over me, you mean.”

“Nonsense. You are a top priority right now. I want you on the team.”

“The agency isn’t a team, Sahara. It’s you dictating and others following orders.”

She said through her teeth, “I’m the coach. I direct, encourage and—” Bossed. “—cheer. Rah-rah and all that.”

He laughed.

Not with her, no. He laughed at her.

“Where did you work before you took over here?”

Was he genuinely interested or just trying to move past her obvious irritation? Not that she’d stay irate long. It was a waste of time. She was more about positive forward strides.

Or getting even.

For now she’d work on moving forward by answering his question. “Before Scott disappeared, he often had me involved with the business. I learned everything here from the ground up.”

“Describe ‘ground.’”

“All right.” He probably thought she’d been pampered, placed in a high-paying position from the get-go. Nothing could be further from the truth. “When I was still very young, Scott let me sit in on meetings just to get a feel for things. When I turned eighteen, I worked as an attendant for the private elevator to his office.”

Surprise showed in his eyes, but he covered it by asking, “Was there an armed guard even then?”

“You say it like it was the Stone Age.” Feeling more confident, she again circled her desk but instead of getting closer to him, she moved to the wall of windows to look down on the Cincinnati traffic. “I’m thirty, so it was only twelve years ago. And yes, Scott always had top-notch security at the agency, including an armed elevator guard.”

“But instead of the guard escorting clients up to his office, he had you do it?”

“Yes. The guards were stationary, one at the main floor and one at his office.”

Brand joined her, standing close at her back so that his stirring scent enveloped her. “I bet they got an earful before they ever reached your brother.”

Dear Lord, was that a blush she felt on her face? She didn’t embarrass easily—except that he’d nailed it perfectly. How many times had Scott remonstrated her for being too pushy?

“Sahara?” Brand prompted.

She wished she hadn’t worn her hair in her usual classic updo. With her nape exposed, the heat of his breath sent swirling sensations to riot in her belly.

Brazening her way through the awkward moment, she flapped a hand and admitted, “I might have been a little nosy.”

“And a little opinionated?”

“Maybe just a smidge.” His closeness made her edgy, so she again moved away, very casually in hopes that he wouldn’t know he had her on the run. “After that job, I was a lobby receptionist.”

“Fired from the elevator job, or was it a promotion?”

Damn him, did he really have such a low opinion of her? Maybe he didn’t like her. That was something she’d never considered. She got along great with the other bodyguards who were all friends with Brand.

Or...did they feel the same way, too? Did they humor her in person while resenting her the rest of the time?

Disliking that possibility, she paused near her desk and, doing her best to keep the frown off her face, said, “A lateral move, actually.”

“Uh-huh. Did Scott tell you that?”

Scott had told her to quit harassing the clients—but she didn’t feel like sharing that part. Although, seeing Brand’s expression, she’d bet he already assumed as much. He seemed to know her too well.

Better than anyone else, in fact.

“Scott told me he wanted me to experience every facet of the business.”

“But you were never a bodyguard.”

She took pleasure in saying, “Yes, I was.”

Now Brand frowned, and she loved how intimidating he looked. He’d make an ideal bodyguard if only he’d realize it.

“Bullshit.”

She tsked at the crude language, her idea of a reprimand. “Scott taught me to shoot. I’m actually pretty good at it.”

“I’ve never seen you practice.”

“Here, with my employees? Of course not.” She had to maintain some mystique. “Scott owned his own range elsewhere and now it’s mine.”

“Where?”

She smiled. “It’s private.”

He countered with “Protecting a client isn’t always about shooting.”

“No, it’s mostly about intelligent decisions, good planning and quick thinking.” She let her gaze dip over him. “It’s one reason I thought you would do so well at the job.”

“Me, yes. But you?” His long strong fingers circled her upper arm. “You’re brilliant, Sahara, so no problem there.”

The assurance that he didn’t consider her stupid would have been nice, except that the moment he’d touched her, her thinking faltered. So did her breathing. And her heartbeat.

“I’ve never known anyone with a quicker mind than you,” he went on. “But when it comes to strength?” He lightly caressed her arm. “Physical strength, I mean. Does a woman like you, a woman who’s always manicured and polished, have any?”

Just that simple touch, his warm fingers brushing over her bare skin, on her arm, and her priorities got all mixed-up.

At five-eight, she wasn’t exactly petite, but Brand still stood half a foot taller, and next to his chiseled bulk, she felt downright dainty.

Oh, this wouldn’t do. Sahara cleared her throat and made herself stare up into his eyes. “Brute strength? I’m definitely lacking.”

“Didn’t say you were lacking. In fact, I’d say you’re just about perfect, but not strong enough to tangle with someone intent on causing harm.”

“When someone is smart enough and quick enough, there is no tangling.” She gave him her best smug smile and pretended her knees weren’t weak. “I worked for three different clients. One job was glorified babysitting for a three-year-old while authorities tried to find a failed kidnapper.”

Brand’s expression softened to real concern. “The child—”

“She was okay. Her father, Mr. Drayden, chased off the masked man before he got away with her.”

“Thank God.”

Sahara agreed. “Drayden wouldn’t rest until he knew who the man was and why he’d tried to kidnap his daughter, and was assured he’d remain behind bars.”

“Did they ever get the guy?”

Sahara wanted to turn away, but that would be too revealing. “Yes. I shot him.”

After the briefest pause, Brand clasped her other arm, too. “Tell me what happened.”

“The sick bastard wouldn’t give up. In his second attempt, he crawled in her bedroom window. He...had a knife. So I killed him.” More brisk now, she explained, “He’d helped install the security system so he knew exactly how to shut it down. He claimed the girl was his, that he’d slept with Drayden’s wife. She denied it of course, and to his credit, Drayden believed her. That turned out to be a good thing because they found out the psycho had made the same claim about three other children. Apparently he fixated on kids and convinced himself they were his even though he’d never touched their mothers.”

“Damn.”

His hold was soothing, but the last thing she wanted from him, from anyone, was pity. “The little girl, Mari, screamed from the gunshot, but she never saw the body. Soon as the guy hit the ground I scooped her up and got her out of the room, telling her it was just a loud noise.” Sahara could still remember the thin arms clinging so tightly to her neck, the shaking of that small body and the soft sobs after the scream.

Until that day, she’d never thought about having children of her own. She missed Mari a lot.

“How long were you on assignment with the family?”

“Two months. But the time flew by since I mostly played with Mari.” She twisted her mouth. “Afternoon tea with a G.I. Joe, a stuffed bear and a Barbie. Oh, the scrapes Barbie and Joe got into. The bear and I would just watch in amazement.”

Brand grinned. “You know, I can almost picture it, you in a tiny little chair sipping out of an empty plastic teacup with an audience of toys.”

“Good times,” she said, then tipped her head. “Can you see me killing a man?”

After briefly locking on her eyes, his gaze moved over her face and settled on her mouth. “Yeah, I guess I can. If it came to protecting someone you cared about.”

Well, that was something anyway. “I had a shorter assignment with a twenty-three-year-old. I was only a year older than him and he had some serious misconceptions about the role of a bodyguard.”

“How so?”

“I spent more time fending him off than protecting him. He got impossibly grabby.”

Brand went back to scowling. “Your brother allowed that?”

“I didn’t tell him! That would have been like admitting I couldn’t handle the job, and it was an important one. He was a movie star’s son being hassled by a radical group that opposed the star’s last movie. Apparently, they didn’t understand fiction versus reality. They wanted to drive home their point by making his son miserable anytime he ventured into public. You’ll understand that it was all confidential so I can’t give names or details.”

“Sure. Tell me the part where you knocked the punk out.”

She grinned. “We’ve already surmised that I’m not physically powerful.”

He agreed by saying, “You should have quit.”

“I couldn’t. Scott chose me for the job because I was close enough in age to blend in. The boy didn’t want his friends to know he had a bodyguard. Guess it dented his macho pride or something.”

“First, he’s not a boy. At twenty-three, he’s a man. And second, I hope you dented the hell out of his pride.”

That was one of the nice things about Brand: he had a similar mindset to her and they often agreed on things. “Of course I did. We were at a club with his friends. He kept trying to force me to dance with him. I knew where that would lead with the octopus, so I refused. I could keep an eye on him from the bar, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He grabbed my wrist and wouldn’t let go.”

Expression darkening more by the moment, Brand asked, “What did you do?”

“I tripped him to the ground. That made him mad and he grabbed for me again.”

“To do what?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t want to find out, so I grabbed two fingers and twisted enough to break them.”

“Ouch,” Brand said with smiling satisfaction.

“He raged and decided it was time for us to go—with my wholehearted agreement. I had visions of the whole assignment going to hell, but it took an uptick when we stepped outside and the same group I was supposed to protect him from was there to mob him. That got him moving quickly to get in the car. On the way, I had to...ahem, assault a man who tried to drag my client back out of the car.”

“Assault him how?”

“With my knee.” She struck a pose, showing the knee she’d used and drawing Brand’s undivided attention to her exposed leg. “In a place where no man wants to get hit.”

Dragging his focus back to her face, Brand winced for real. “I gather that worked?”

“Like a charm.” At least that night she hadn’t shot anyone. “When Scott heard the whole story, he tore into the client and his father, and got me a bonus with an apology from the boy.”

“Man.”

“Man-boy,” she compromised. “The third assignment was just a matter of escorting a local politician to and from a speech. It went off without incident.”

“How come you never mentioned any of this before now?”

“Why would I?” She rarely discussed her background with anyone, because those stories all centered around her missing brother and left her grieving the loss anew. “My history with the agency has nothing to do with the reasons why you should sign on.”

He turned speculative. “And you’ve been all about getting my agreement.”

“Yes.” She gave that a quick thought and asked, “Does knowing my history make you more inclined to—”

“Not really.” Gaze intense, Brand slid his hands up her arms to her shoulders. “You’ve always amazed me, with or without the history report.”

As he leaned closer—to kiss her, she was sure—she said desperately, “Work for me.”

Without a smidge of regret, he said, “No,” and then his mouth was on hers, his lips pressing, his tongue touching until she opened.

The second she did, his tongue slid in and she melted against him.

God help her, it was incendiary.

* * *

FROM THE DAY he’d met her, Brand knew it’d be like this. Sahara Silver with her classic bone structure, her sharp wit, her beautiful blue eyes and slender body, was almost too stunning.

He meant to keep his hands on safe ground, but then, he hadn’t meant to kiss her either. Without really thinking about it, his palms slid over her shoulders and down her back, feeling the soft cashmere of her short-sleeved sweater, the firm resiliency of her flesh beneath.

She had expensive taste in fashion and always looked like a million bucks. She loved sugary pastry, but far as he could tell, she never gained a pound. No matter the company she kept, be it fighters, senators or twisted criminals, she was always comfortable.

She had no problem pampering herself, and no problem taking charge of any situation.

She tasted good, and felt even better.

But kissing her was a dumb move because Sahara wasn’t for him.

She wanted him, yes—to work for her.

She’d chased him—to get his agreement. For her, the hard-core campaign to win him over hadn’t been personal.

He couldn’t question her participation in the kiss, especially with her hands locked in his hair keeping him close, but when it came down to it she would always choose her brother’s memory, and thus the agency, first.

The sexual attraction was secondary for her, and that made it not enough for him.

If his friends Leese, Justice and Miles didn’t work for her maybe he’d take what he wanted before walking away. But that could end up complicating things for the guys who had left fighting for Body Armor, and he couldn’t do that to them.

Sahara pressed closer, her breasts to his chest, her belly to his dick, and logic nearly flew the coop.

He lowered his hands to her perfectly shaped ass, toned from the sky-high heels she favored—heels that made her long legs look even more amazing. Scooping her closer, he rubbed her against him, then stifled a groan.

Two seconds more and he’d be hard.

Ending the kiss wasn’t easy, not with her tongue dueling with his and all those soft, sexy sounds escaping her. He gentled her, slowed her down and finally freed his mouth. Hoping to make it less abrupt, he kissed a trail over her stubborn jaw to that sensitive spot just beneath her ear.

Subtle perfume vied with the natural scent of her fragrant skin.

She tipped back her head.

Unable to ignore that invitation, he teased damp kisses along her throat before drawing her head to his shoulder. He returned his hands to her upper back, moving up and down to soothe her.

Against her temple he said, “I’m sorry, Sahara. I shouldn’t have started that.” But he wasn’t sure anything could have stopped him from tasting her. “This isn’t the time or place to get carried away.”

Awareness drew her back and she stared at him in shock, her blue eyes wide and vague, her lips—now slightly swollen—parted.

Brand smoothed a tendril of thick, light brown hair that had escaped her pins. “You okay?”

That got her stepping quickly away. “Yes, of course.” She brushed her palms against the tight material of her skirt over her thighs. “It was only a kiss.”

For some reason, it annoyed him that she downplayed the impact. “A kiss that had you crawling all over me, and you damn near yanked out my hair.”

Her eyes widened even more...and then she laughed. “We did get a little carried away.”

“A little,” he agreed, still nettled. Could she really be less affected than he was? Or was she hiding behind her usual cool persona?

“I’m fine.” She reached up to remove his sunglasses, then stroked her fingers through his hair. “But did I hurt you?”

Her touch ignited him all over again. Dangerous. He’d known that about her within minutes of their first introduction. Catching her wrists, he lowered her hands—but then couldn’t let go.

And she didn’t pull away. After a long look, she said, “We could...discuss this more tonight.”

Hell of a suggestion, but he’d damn near lost it in her office with Enoch just outside the door. If he had her alone, no way in hell would he be able to keep his hands off her. So he shook his head and explained, “I’m meeting the guys at a bar tonight.”

One slender brow arched up. “My guys?”

Did she think she owned them? “If you mean Leese, Justice and Miles, yeah, they’ll be there, but arriving at different times. I think Leese is between assignments, right? And both Miles and Justice should finish up for the day in time to join us.”

“Us?”

“A half-dozen other fighters, some of their wives. You’ve met most of them.”

She nodded. “Will you be going to that quaint little hometown place, Rowdy’s?”

Damn it, did she plan to crash the party? Actually, how the hell did she know about Rowdy’s? He thought about asking her, but decided he’d be better off getting out of there. “That’s the plan, yeah.”

She waited, but when he said nothing more, she briefly looked wounded before giving him a cool smile. “Have fun then.” She went back behind her desk and turned on the monitor to her PC in clear dismissal. “Do let me know if you change your mind.”

“I won’t.” But he didn’t like being dismissed. “My sunglasses?”

As if she forgot she held them, she looked at her hand in surprise. “Oh sorry.” Nonchalant, she leaned forward, offering them to him without getting up, her attention still on the monitor.

Proving he had a perverse streak a mile wide, Brand let his fingers slowly graze hers as he took the glasses.

Her startled gaze flew to his face, but she only grinned, once again in full control. “Wicked, that’s what you are.” She fluttered her fingers at him. “Thanks for stopping by.”

And she went back to staring at the screen.

Left with nothing else to do, Brand walked out. That meeting hadn’t gone as planned, but then nothing with Sahara ever did.

He knew he’d done the right thing.

So then why did it feel like he’d been kicked in the chest?

CHAPTER TWO

SHE WOULD NOT feel dejected, Sahara promised herself as she walked through the lobby toward the parking garage exit. Her heels clicked on the marble tiles and she smiled automatically at every friendly face she saw.

Anita, the lobby receptionist, stood to ask, “Done for the day, Ms. Silver?”

“I am, yes.” She liked Anita, so she stopped to ask, “How’s the weather out there? Still raining?”

“Storming, unfortunately. Do you need an umbrella?”

“I’ll go from the garage here to my garage at home, but thank you. What about you?”

“I’ll make a mad dash into my apartment, but I have a raincoat with me.”

“So you’re not worried about melting either?”

She laughed. “I like rain, actually. Always have.”

“Same here. A good storm leaves everything fresh.” Sahara buttoned up her lightweight coat and pulled up the collar. “Be careful driving then.”

“You, too, Ms. Silver.”

She waved as she stepped away.

Other employees spoke to her, all of them friendly and familiar but still respectful. For her, Body Armor was a business with a family vibe. After all, she’d practically grown up here. Being sixteen years older than her, Scott had taken over raising her while their parents traveled the world. She’d always known she was an unpleasant surprise for them, but she’d never doubted Scott’s love.

The agency was all she had left of him and being here, surrounded by people he’d hired, protocols he’d put into place, contacts he’d built, made her feel closer to him.

Brand was a distraction, the first to consume her since she’d taken over the agency, and that scared her a little. She had to shake it off. She was not a woman to brood.

So he’d kissed her senseless, then made it clear that he didn’t want her to join him for the evening. Men were fickle. She’d been dealing with them long enough that it shouldn’t have bothered her.

But...she’d thought her men, all of them, liked her as more than a boss. They had an easy camaraderie. She’d spent time with them outside of work and they’d never seemed to mind. She liked to think she’d been helpful when it came to various problems they’d encountered.

Holding her purse strap over her shoulder, she pushed through the security doors to the parking garage. Her black Mercedes-Maybach, looking much like all the other black sedans in the garage, sat in isolated splendor in her private spot.

The spot reserved for the boss.

The spot where her brother used to park.

Stop it. Melancholy doesn’t suit you.

She could have used a driver, as she often did. But tonight she’d wanted the solitude of a quiet drive home.

The storm raged and she pulled onto the road cautiously. At only 7:00 p.m., it looked like midnight, dark clouds obliterating any light. There wasn’t much traffic, and even driving more slowly, she neared her home outside the city within twenty minutes.

She could see the keyless entry gate for the long private drive when suddenly an SUV pulled crossways into the road, blocking the way. She slowed, the sense of danger overwhelming her. Headlights shone in her rearview mirror as another black SUV approached and that vehicle, too, pulled across the road.

Well, hell. Her doors were already locked, so using the automated voice control, she called Leese Phelps.

He answered with a lot of noise in the background, so she assumed he was at the bar already. “Hey, Sahara.”

“I probably have thirty seconds at most,” she said quickly and with, she hoped, admirable calm. “With my driveway in sight, two cars blocked the road. There are three men from each car approaching.” Her throat tightened. “They’re wearing masks.”

“Jesus.”

“I do believe I’m going to be taken.” At least she hoped that was the case, that they wouldn’t murder her outright.

“Keep your doors locked.” She heard the urgency in his tone. “I’m on my way and I’ll call the police to meet me.”

“You won’t make it in time. Until this is resolved, you’re in charge.”

“Damn it, Sahara—”

“You know the protocol we used with Catalina. Enoch has the details—” She froze as one big man stood in the pouring rain beside her car, his face and body hidden in black. She couldn’t even make out his eyes through the water dripping along the window.

Then he reached inside his jacket.

“Sahara?”

She ignored Leese’s demand, her heart pounding in fear...until the man slapped a photo of Scott against her window.

“Sahara!” he said again, his voice pure gravel.

“No police,” she insisted. She’d take no chances spooking men who might have information on her brother. Leaving her car running, the call open, she shoved open the door and stepped out. “You know Scott? Where is he?”

Blue eyes, now more visible as she stood before him, narrowed in satisfaction. He wrapped a meaty hand around her upper arm. “You’re going to tell me. Let’s go.”

* * *

BRAND IGNORED THE woman trying to get his attention with touches inappropriate for a public space. He ignored, too, the snickers of his amused friends as he drew back the pool cue to take a shot, effectively forcing her away.

He wanted to win the game, but he didn’t care about female company right now. The leggy brunette who again tried to hug up to his side was cute enough, definitely stacked enough, but he couldn’t drum up an ounce of interest.

He sank two balls on the table...just as her hand came around the front of his jeans, seeking balls of a different sort.

“Jesus,” he muttered, catching her wrist.

“Stop playing hard to get.”

He scowled at her. “Actually, honey, I’m not playing.”

When Leese charged into the room, all but grabbing Miles and Justice, a sick feeling dropped into his gut. Brand thrust the cue at the pushy woman and, a few steps behind, followed his friends through the bar. He saw them talking as they went out the front door and into the storm, but through the throngs of people milling about, he couldn’t hear their conversation.

He’d seen the alarm on Miles’s face, though, and the rage on Justice’s.

Only seconds behind them, he stepped outside and found them standing huddled together under the overhang, Leese talking fast.

He heard, “Sahara was taken. She knew it was going to happen when two cars blocked the road she was on.”

Shoving his way into their throng, Brand demanded, “Where?”

Leese spared him a glance. “In front of her house, or very near it.”

Someone had taken her. Every fiber of his being rebelled against the possibilities. She couldn’t be hurt. Please, God, don’t let her get hurt.

Justice bunched up like a junkyard dog and growled, “Tell me what to do.”

“I don’t fucking know,” Leese said. “Right before she stopped replying, she insisted on no police. I heard her mention Scott to the men, six of them, so one of them must have said something, though I didn’t hear any of them speak. I’m heading over there now to see if I can pick up a clue.”

“I’m going, too,” Brand said.

“You don’t work for her,” Leese reminded him.

Making it perfectly clear, Brand said, “I don’t give a fuck. I’m going.” When his cell rang, he and Leese were still engaged in a stare-down so he ignored it.

Justice gave him a shove. “It could be her.”

Given the way things had ended between them, he seriously doubted that, but Brand dug the phone from his jeans pocket and glanced at the screen. He didn’t recognize the number so he answered with a curt “What is it?”

Sahara’s voice came through, along with a lot of static. “I have to make this very brief. I’ve been taken by some men who seem to think I know where my brother is.”

His heart tried to escape his chest. Her brother was dead. Everyone knew it except for Sahara. With a touch of his thumb he switched her to speaker. “Where are you?”

“We’re still driving, and I have no idea where we’re headed.”

“Can you see anything?”

“No windows.” Someone in the background gave an abrupt order and, sounding annoyed, she added, “I’m told, since I can’t give them Scott’s whereabouts, I could instead have one of my men bring a ransom. Apparently the same amount Scott owed them.”

Fury rippled through every muscle in his body. “I’ll come get you.”

“Yes, I was hoping that you would, Leese.”

Leese? Did she not recognize his voice?

“The men know the agency well, including all my bodyguards. I’m sure they’ll recognize you when they see you so please don’t try sending the police instead. There are to be no police. Do you understand? Promise me.”

Knowing now that she wasn’t alone, Brand said, “I promise.” He pictured some psycho next to her, manipulating her, forcing her to detail those terms, and rage worse than he’d ever known churned inside him.

There was some fumbling through the connection and suddenly a deep voice said, “Listen up, Phelps. Come alone and don’t try anything or your boss is not going to have a pleasant time with us.”

The man thought he was Leese, so he’d go with that. “Tell me when and where, and how much to bring. I’ll be there.”

Miles, Justice and Leese stared at him in strained silence. The storm raged around them with flashes of light that crackled across the black sky, and ground-trembling booms of thunder.

But it was nothing compared to his personal turbulence.

“Soon,” the man said. “Repeat any of this to the cops and I’ll gut her slowly—after enjoying her a bit.”

“Touch her,” Brand warned, “and you’re a dead man.” The call ended before he could say more.

Blood pumping fast, Brand clutched the phone and looked at each of his friends. He hoped like hell someone knew what to do.

“I’ll rip him apart,” Justice growled quietly.

Brand knew that when Catalina, one of Leese’s clients—a woman he ended up marrying—had been in serious danger, Justice had been Sahara’s personal bodyguard, protecting her against the threats that had spilled over to them all. Since then, Justice still felt overly protective toward her, even though he, too, would soon be marrying.

“He thought I was you,” Brand said to Leese, trying to make sense of it.

Proving why he was top dog at the agency, Leese said, “Sahara either put in the call or gave them the number, and she sure as hell knows the difference between us. She said something about the men knowing all her bodyguards, that they’d recognize you—me.”

Miles said, “It was a tip. She wants a face they won’t recognize to show up.”

“I assume so,” Leese agreed. “That way, when I go to deliver money, the other, unknown person will have a chance of getting to her.”

Brand ran a hand into his hair, then tugged in frustration. “She’s never let up on trying to hire me to Body Armor. Hell of a way to lock me in, though.”

Justice looked murderous. “You don’t want to do it, fine. I’ll go incognito.”

Miles scoffed. “Like anyone would mistake a behemoth like you?”

True enough, Brand thought. Justice was enormous. “It was just an observation, Justice. No way in hell am I passing the buck.” Even if Sahara hadn’t singled him out, he’d insist on it.

After all, she’d called him.

“If she’s hurt,” he said, tortured by the thought but unable to obliterate it, “if one of those bastards even touches her—”

Leese interrupted his growing threat. “You’re not trained, Brand. My best guess is that Sahara wanted me to find someone else who can fill in, but she didn’t specifically mean you.”

Digging in, Brand repeated, “I’m doing it.” Leese and the others didn’t know that he and Sahara had something personal going on, despite his efforts to the contrary. And he wouldn’t tell them. They were Sahara’s employees and if she wanted them to know, she’d do the telling.

But that didn’t mean he’d let them cut him out. The way he saw it, Sahara had reached out to him, and by God, he’d be there 100 percent.

“You don’t know how to shoot—”

“I’ve been shooting since I was fifteen.”

That gave them all pause. “You have?” Miles asked.

“Are we really going to discuss my past right now?”

“No.” Leese turned away with purpose. “We can ride together.”

“To where?” Brand asked, even as he followed into the downpour.

Speaking loud over the storm, Leese explained, “In one breath Sahara put me in charge until she’s back, and then she mentioned Enoch.”

Soaked through to the skin, Miles and Brand climbed into the back seat of an agency SUV. Leese got behind the wheel and Justice rode shotgun. As they buckled up, Brand asked, “Enoch?”

“Respect him a lot,” Miles said. “But he’s an assistant, not a bodyguard.”

“He’s a hell of a lot more than an assistant to Sahara.” Leese glanced at each mirror, then pulled onto the rain-washed road. “Remember when Catalina was taken?”

Justice said, “I’ll never forget it.”

“None of us will,” Brand said, though he’d been involved only peripherally.

“We found her because Sahara had planted a GPS device on her.” He paused as he switched lanes, then continued with “I think she has one on herself, too.”

Brand gripped the seat behind Leese. “She said so?”

“She reminded me of the ‘protocol’ for Catalina. At first, I didn’t understand, but it’s starting to come together. I assume Enoch knows how to track her.”

Justice already had out his phone. “I’ll call him now.”

Miles withdrew his phone as well. “I’ll notify the others why we booked. They’re going to wonder, especially since our cars are still there.”

Brand hated feeling ineffectual, but while the others all seemed to know what to do, he hadn’t a fucking clue. He kept picturing Sahara, her attempt to look blasé at what she saw as his rejection.

Fuck, it had been a rejection.

Of the job...and of her personally.

But not for the reasons she thought. He wanted her, too much in fact. More than she wanted him, obviously, since she would always put the agency first.

“I got hold of Armie,” Miles said as he put the phone away. “He’s letting the others know. They’ll head over to her place to ensure her car is safely off the road.”

Armie, like Brand, was a fighter but not a bodyguard, but as a close personal friend to each of them, he’d do what he could. “They know where she lives?” Brand asked.

“They followed us there when Catalina was threatened.”

He’d missed a lot, Brand realized. Maybe too much. It pissed him off.

“Enoch is meeting us at Body Armor. Poor dude is frantic.” Justice pocketed his phone again. “He and Sahara are close.”

“She’s special to everyone who knows her,” Miles said.

Brand almost groaned. Special? Hell yeah, she was, in too many ways to count. From the time his friends had signed on at Body Armor, Sahara had been after him to join up, too. For too long now they’d engaged in a game of enticement and resistance—Sahara enticing and him resisting.

If it was just the job, no problem.

If it was only the strong physical chemistry, he could probably fight that, too, despite the fact that Sahara personified sexy in a classy but still touchable way.

It was more than that, though. Sahara was the whole package, a gorgeous woman with an enormous heart and a real head for business. She knew what she wanted and she went after it without reserve.

She’d wanted him...but he’d turned her down. And now men had her—

Miles nudged him.

Lost in his thoughts, Brand glanced up and caught his friend’s frown. “What?”

“Take a breath. If you’re going to do this, you need to get a little control.”

“I am controlled.” Hell, that was one of the major ways that he and Sahara clashed. She wanted all the control, always, in every situation, but then so did he.

“You look ready to erupt.”

Shaking his head, Brand shoved the rage deep inside and locked it down. He’d get Sahara back, then he’d destroy the bastards who’d taken her. “I’m fine.”

“It can’t be you,” Leese said from the front seat, “because you don’t know what you’re stepping in to.”

“Like you do?” Brand didn’t get annoyed. It didn’t matter what reasoning Leese used, he wouldn’t change his mind. “You can’t tell me that rescuing your boss from kidnappers is part of your normal workweek.”

“No, but each one of us has dealt with similar situations.”

“We’re tried and tested,” Justice said. “You’re not. God only knows the number of ways you could fuck it up, and Sahara will be the one hurt.”

Miles was the only one not giving him shit. “Fact is,” he pointed out, “Sahara called Brand, and she made it clear that the goons who have her would recognize us. Even if we can trace her, who’s to say they won’t spot us and kill her for it?”

“No,” Justice insisted.

“She called me.” Brand drank in a deep breath of humid air. “Plus you’re all married—”

“Not me,” said Justice.

“You will be soon enough.”

Justice couldn’t deny that, and it had him growling again. Maybe, like Brand, the lack of ability to fix this problem ASAP left Justice frustrated.

But Justice didn’t have the knowledge that he’d parted ways with Sahara under less than ideal circumstances. That was all on Brand and it was fucking well eating him up, adding to the need to do something. “Tell me the plan and I’ll see that it happens. But understand this—I’m going after her and that’s it.”

“Let’s get to Body Armor and see what we’re dealing with.” Leese drove aggressively despite the rain. “After that, we’ll make some quick decisions.”

Along the way the men called their significant others. Their low voices were intimate, except for Leese, who spoke via the speaker through the car’s Bluetooth.

“Dear God,” Catalina said, her worry plain. “Poor Sahara. She has to be frantic.”

Logical assumption, yet Brand couldn’t picture her being anything other than her usual cool, in-charge self. That, too, could be a problem. He reminded himself that Sahara was intelligent. Surely, she wouldn’t provoke her kidnappers.

“Please be careful, Leese,” Catalina whispered, “and please bring her back safe.”

“You know I will.”

Each of the women knew and cared about Sahara, so Brand had no doubt they’d all shared those sentiments.

Enoch was in the lobby waiting for them when they arrived. He’d already assigned extra guards on the building, not only on the ground floor but also as lookouts on the upper floors. “If there’s surveillance on the building, we’ll know.”

“Smart move.” Leese led the way to the elevator and they all rode up to Enoch’s office. He had his computer on and immediately showed them what he’d found. “She’s not far from her house, only about forty-five minutes.”

They each stood behind Enoch, leaning forward to see the screen. “They’re not driving anymore?” Miles asked.

“Don’t appear to be. The GPS has her stationary for about five minutes or so.”

“Looks like she’s in the slums,” Justice complained.

“The program can’t show me exactly where,” Enoch explained. “But if you get near the area you should be able to pick up her signal on this cell phone.” He handed it to Leese.

Brand took it from him.

No one said anything about it.

“I have access to some funds,” Enoch explained. “But I doubt it’ll be enough to pay off kidnappers.”

“Let’s wait and find out how much ransom they demand, then we’ll decide what to do.”

The waiting went against the grain for all of them, but until they got that call, it was all they could do.

“If Sahara was here,” Enoch stated, “she’d ask me to get coffee, so that’s what I’m going to do. All of you, make yourselves comfortable and I’ll be right back.”

* * *

THE VAN BUMPED over rough ground, taking her farther and farther away. No one spoke to her, but the four men riding in the cargo area continually watched her.

She pretended not to care and merely looked back, making note of what she could. Even sitting, their height was discernible, and under the dark sweatshirts and jeans, she could guess their weight.

One man had pushed up his sleeves and she saw that he was freckled. Another had darker hands, as if he spent a lot of time in the sun.

The man who appeared to be in charge was the only one not eyeballing her. He spent his time on his phone, not speaking but definitely perusing something.

When the van stopped, he pocketed the phone and moved to crouch in front of her.

“Give me your hands.”

Sahara glared into faded blue eyes. “Why?”

His answer was to roughly grab her, jerk her arms forward, then hold her wrists while another masked man wrapped them in rough rope.

Clearly, they’d never done this before because with a little wiggling, she’d be able to pull free. What good that would do her, she didn’t yet know. If she remained in the van with six men, two up front and four guarding her, she may as well be hog-tied.

For now, though, she held still and merely muttered, “I scare you that much?” She tsked. “And here I’m so much smaller.”

His hand came up to clasp her throat, not tightly but in clear warning. “You have quite a mouth on you.”

“Quite a brain as well.” Defiant, she stared at him. I will not let them cow me. “What do you know about Scott?”

Disgusted, he let her go with a slight shove and sat back against the metal wall of the van.

Sahara said, “You know something, obviously. I want to know what.”

The big man waited, watching her, and finally shrugged. “Do you believe your brother is dead?”

“No.”

He sat forward again. “Have you had any contact with him?”

“No.”

With a note of frustration, he asked, “Then what makes you think—”

“Somehow, if he were truly gone, I’d feel it.”

The freckled guy barked a laugh. “Female logic.”

She snorted. “Male logic would be an oxymoron, wouldn’t it?”

“Shut up,” the leader said.

The two men in front got out, closing their doors seemingly without fear of being heard. That told her that they must be someplace isolated...or perhaps they had a way of sneaking her out of the van without anyone noticing.

Seconds later the doors at the back of the van opened.

Sahara could see they were inside a large garage or warehouse. Dim, smelly and cold.

Three of the men climbed out. The leader, bent over in the confines of the van, took her arm and said, “Let’s go.”

For once her heels were a hindrance. With her hands tied, she couldn’t use them to help her gain her feet. He solved that dilemma by dragging her on her butt toward the doors.

“Brute,” she accused.

“I didn’t drag you by the hair, did I?”

No, and she didn’t want to prod him to it either.

When another man reached in, the boss said, “I’ve got her,” and everyone else backed off.

Sahara realized what he meant when he stepped down, then hauled her out and over his shoulder. With one muscled arm he pinned her legs behind her knees, and with the other... Dear God, he had his hand spread wide over her behind!

She reared up, using her bound hands to brace against his back. “So a kidnapper, and a perv, too?”

The swat he landed on her cheek stung, but she didn’t cry out. She just gritted her teeth and, as he possibly intended, kept quiet.

He carried her as if she weighed nothing, going down concrete stairs and into a smaller, colder, darker room. Along the way her hair spilled loose, draping down to cover her face. She also lost a shoe, but the man paused to pick it up. He turned a corner, careful not to smack her head on the wall, and went down more stairs.

Her heart started to pound nervously and her mouth went dry.

Someone turned on a light and she saw that her prison was even worse than she’d suspected. Very small, maybe eight feet square, all concrete.

She did not want to be alone here, but as he set her on her feet she quipped, “How quaint.”

The big man actually laughed.

Then he surprised her by bending down, clasping her ankle and helping her to step back into her shoe. From his kneeling position, he looked up the length of her body.

Grateful for her coat, which still covered her, Sahara tried to feign confidence. It wavered a lot when he came back to his feet, lifted her chin and gently brushed her hair out of her face. Sahara jerked away, but he only grabbed her upper arm and finished running his fingers through the unruly tresses, finding two pins still caught in her hair and pocketing them.

So maybe that wasn’t about inappropriate thoughts, but rather he didn’t want to take the chance that she’d know how to pick a lock.

She did, of course, but whether or not a hairpin would work depended on the lock.

Around them, she realized the others were working, turning on an overhead light—and blessedly, an electric heater. She moved closer to it, holding out her hands and trying to stop her shivers.

A cot was set up in the corner. It looked clean with a folded blanket and a pillow on top. One of the men added an extra blanket. Did they expect her to sleep here?

She hated that possibility.

“We realized after we had it arranged that you, being female, might find it too chilly.”

Clearly the freckled guy had some notions about “females.” In this case, since she was cold, she let it go.

When he continued to look at her, she said, “Thank you?” and he nodded in satisfaction.

Every second of this kidnapping got more and more bizarre.

Other than the cot, she noticed a portable toilet in the farthest corner, with a roll of paper on the ground beside it. Oh, no and no.

“Who are you people,” she demanded, “and what do you ultimately want?”

Ignoring her question, the boss said, “It’s time.”

Her heart again stuttered. They would leave her here alone now?

But no, apparently only the boss would go, because he sent a penetrating look to each of his cohorts. “No one touches her, understood?”

They nodded.

Then looking at her, he said, “That rule is rescinded if she tries anything.”

Oh, that didn’t sound good. “Define ‘try anything,’ please.” If she breathed, would that be provocation to jump her? “May I sit on the cot? Could I move the cot closer to the heater? May I have my purse back?”

“You’re a smart lady. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” He started to go, but then paused. “No, you can’t have your purse. Not yet anyway.”

The freckled guy clutched it, as if he held the prize.

Sighing, she watched the leader go back up those stairs and wondered how long he would be. For some insane reason, she felt marginally safer with him nearby; since he’d been the one doing all the talking, she felt she knew him a little better.

The rest, other than Freckles, were unknown quantities. They could be rapists, murderers—or just plain insane.

Predatory gazes tracked her as she circled the room, inspecting it. Other than the heater, the portable potty and the cot, the room was empty. She saw no other electrical outlets, so she went over to the cot and, using her knee, nudged it away from the wall. She bent, put her hands against the rickety frame and began scooting it toward the heater. Thanks to the metal legs on concrete, it loudly screeched as if death was near.

Two men came forward and, without a word, lifted each end. They carried it toward the heater. One of them, with a questioning look, waited.

It was in her nature to test the limits, so she said, “A little to the left please.”

They obliged.

“No, a little to the right now.”

Again, they did as she asked without comment.

“Perhaps a tad farther back—”

The cot hit the floor with a clatter and the two men walked away to stand with the others.

She smiled inwardly and said with sugary sweetness, “Thank you so much.”

All five of them nodded.

Hmm... There was an odd gallantness to their behavior in direct conflict with hardened criminals. Testing that, she sat on the side of the cot and tried to look dejected.

Time ticked by in utter silence. Only the occasional sound of someone shifting position intruded.

She let out a sigh. In the smallest voice she could manage, she asked, “Am I going to die?”

Someone—she wasn’t sure who, since she didn’t look back—said, “Not if you follow orders.”

Well. They certainly weren’t ruling it out. Hopefully, Leese had understood her subtle message and was already at the office with Enoch. The tracking device could be easily positioned in her clothes or jewelry. For now, she’d made it part of her necklace. She prayed they wouldn’t take that from her—if it would even work down in the bowels of the building.

She stood to pace. Her heels made a distinct clinking noise against the concrete. It wasn’t just the feminine style of stilettos that she loved, it was the sound the heels made that really did it for her. The cadence helped her to focus.

She’d deliberately called Brand instead of Leese. If she’d had more time to consider it once they thrust the phone into her hand, she might have come up with another solution. But the boss man had already explained that he studied up on all her guys and had files on each of the bodyguards, new and old. That meant she had to take them by surprise somehow.

They wouldn’t have anything on Brand since he wasn’t part of the agency. At least, she hoped they wouldn’t. He’d been there a few times, most recently that very day. But then, clients came and went, too, as did delivery people. For all they knew, Brand wasn’t anyone special.

She knew better.

Brand Berry was her own personal temptation, and that made him special indeed.

Dragging him in to things kicking and complaining wasn’t really her style, but then neither was losing.

Would he come after her?

She honestly didn’t know and wasn’t sure if she wanted him risking himself anyway. Circling the room again, she thought about what she’d say to him, what he might say to her—

“Sit down,” one of the men said.

Another added, “Or at least take off those heels.”

With a toss of her hair, she continued to pace. “If I’m dying anyway, I might as well suit myself.”

She heard the footsteps as one of the men started forward with a snarl.

Then the boss man’s voice intruded with “Back off,” as he bounded down the steps.

“She started it.”

Sahara turned with disbelief. “Grade school complaints? Really?”

A hard hand clamped around her arm and the boss said near her ear, “Quit pushing your luck,” while propelling her toward the cot.

She couldn’t keep herself from asking, “Or what?”

He pulled out a big shiny blade—and effectively stole her bravado.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE SHRANK BACK as he brandished that knife—then let out a thick breath when he only cut away part of the knot holding the ropes around her wrists.

Resisting the urge to rub the abraded skin, she asked, “Just to be clear, you’re not going to stab me?”

“No. But if you can’t contain yourself instead of needling my men, I’ll take away all of your clothes and tie you naked to the cot.”

As far as threats went, that was a doozy. To cover her horror over such an idea, she grumbled, “I’d freeze.”

An arrested expression showed in his eyes seconds before he laughed. “You’re entertaining, honey, when you’re not provoking.” He spun her around and, without a lot of finesse, jerked away her coat.

“Wait,” she protested, trying to hold on to it. “I really will freeze and I promise not to—”

He tossed it to one of the others and said, “Check the pockets.” Then he eyed her up and down. “Behave.”

She had to swallow twice to get her heart out of her throat. Rather than agree with his edict—because she really wasn’t sure she could behave—Sahara crossed her arms. The small room had already warmed considerably, so everyone would see it as a defensive move and she knew it.

“Nothing in them.” The man handed the coat back to her, but when she only glared, he dropped it on the bed.

The boss extended a hand past her and Freckles brought him her purse. He upended it on the cot, then pawed through everything. A comb, her cell phone, a bag of M&M’s, a small tin of aspirin, a tampon—he balked at the sight of that, then balked again at the pack of condoms.

Pale blue eyes slowly pinned her.

She shrugged. “I’m nothing if not prepared.”

He stared a moment more, then asked, “Did you leave your keys in the ignition?”

“Please. My car has a keyless ignition.” She gave him a look of haughty indignation for thinking she’d be so foolish. “The key fob is in an inside zippered pocket.”

He opened it, his large hands clumsy against the small accessory. Her keys went in his pocket along with her cell phone—not that she’d expected to keep either. It’d be great if they at least left her purse with her.

“This?”

“Makeup remover cloths. Never know when I might need to do a touch-up.” She unbent enough to reach for the purse. “Allow me, before you destroy something.”

He gestured in a be-my-guest way, but said, “Any tricks at all, and you won’t like the results.”

She glanced up and saw two men with guns trained on her.

Definitely no trust at all. Opening another pocket, she retrieved her lipstick and mascara, with a small vial of perfume. The last pocket, on the bottom of the purse, held a power bank and extra cord. “In case my phone dies.”

He took everything, squeezed every inch of her purse to ensure nothing else was inside, then dropped it on the bed with the things he hadn’t confiscated.

Considering how he’d just manhandled her purse... “What did you do with my car? And if you say you torched it and shoved it off a cliff, I’m going to be really pissed.”

Amusement curled one side of his mouth. “It’s parked at the end of your driveway.” He eyed her askance. “Know a lot of cliffs around the city, do you?”

She waved a hand. “I meant that metaphorically.” She gave him her own shrewd look. “How did you know where I live?”

His gaze hardened. “We know everything about you.”

Well. That was alarming. “You’ve been following me for a while?”

He reached out and smoothed his thumb over her cheek, freezing her with the alarming gentleness. “Get comfortable, Sahara. It’s going to be a long night.”

Now she clutched at him. In bold accusation, she said, “You’re leaving me here alone—” she stabbed a finger toward the others “—with them?”

All she could see were those pale eyes, but they definitely softened. “You’ll be on this side of the locked door, and the guards will be on the other. Stay quiet, stay still and they’ll have no reason to disturb you.”

A little desperate, she blurted, “But I’m hungry.”

“You have candy.” He gestured at the M&M’s on the cot.

“I need real food! I worked all day, straight through lunch in fact, and was going to eat dinner as soon as I got home.”

Under the tight mask, his jaw flexed. He turned to one of the men and said, “Go rustle up something. Make it quick.”

The guy literally bolted from the room, taking the steps two at a time.

Glad of the slight reprieve, she sat on the cot and sighed again. “How much did you ask for?”

He knew exactly what she meant and replied, “Half a million.”

The quick answer threw her. “Really? How did you come to that number?”

“Why not? You’ve got it.”

She had it, yes, but it wasn’t lying around like petty cash. Was poor Enoch scrambling, trying to figure out a way to get the funds together?

Or more likely, Enoch and her men were coming up with a daring and romantic play to get her back without giving the villains a single dime.

She liked that theory better. “So because I have financial security, you figured you’d rob me of it?”

“We’re not robbing you. Scott’s the one who cheated us out of it.”

“By dying?” she asked, incredulous. No other conclusion came to her because her brother was an honest, honorable man.

Snorting, boss man sat beside her. “You don’t believe that any more than I do.” His massive thigh pressed against hers and she felt the heat of his body all along her side.

“No, I don’t.” Trying for subtlety, she inched away. “Tell me why you don’t believe it.” She needed some reassurance, damn it.

He gazed down at her. “You don’t know your brother very well, do you?”

Insulted, she half turned to face him. “I know him better than anyone!”

“If you did, you’d know that whole death scene was a setup.”

The words wrought a visual in her mind, choking her more than a fist could. Over sixteen months ago, her brother, Scott, and his then-girlfriend had gone out on his yacht on a beautiful sunny afternoon—and never returned. The Coast Guard found the yacht floating at sea, the deck covered in blood, his blood and hers...but no bodies.

Most people believed they were murdered and thrown overboard, but Sahara had never bought into that theory.

As if her love could keep Scott alive, she refused to believe it. She’d hired a PI and had had him on retainer ever since then.

“I hope that’s true,” she whispered. “I hope he devised the whole thing for some reason.”

As if she were a puzzle to be solved, the guy angled his head, his gaze searching hers. “You wouldn’t be pissed, would you? Even though all this time, you’ve thought he was dead?”

“All this time,” she corrected softly, “I’ve believed he was alive and that eventually he’ll come back to me.”

After a few seconds of palpable pity, he patted her thigh.

She promptly removed his hand—or tried to.

He wasn’t really cooperating; actually, his hold tightened.

Then luckily, her food arrived—a sandwich in a sealed plastic lunch bag, chips and a can of cola.

Her mouth watered. “Manna from heaven.”

That got her another strange look—from most of the men, really—but she didn’t care. She ate when nervous, and God knew, she had plenty of reason to be nervous right now.

“Where’d you get the food?” Were they close to a deli? A grocery? He’d only been gone a few minutes...

One thick shoulder lifted. “I’d packed it for later, in case I got hungry.”

“And you gave it to me?” She put a hand to her heart in dramatic appreciation. “Thank you. That’s...well, I’d say it was sweet, but after all, I am your victim. Still, I’m grateful the plan isn’t to starve me.”

Given the sheepish bent to his head, she imagined her makeshift hero was blushing. He might’ve shuffled his feet at any moment if the boss man hadn’t given an aggrieved sigh, snatched the food from his cohort and thrust it toward her.

She took the plastic-wrapped food and the cola, looked for a place to set them, didn’t see one, and instead put the cola on the floor. So that she could eat in private, she shooed them away while opening the sandwich bag. “Go on. Do your business so I can get out of here.”

“You,” boss man said, “don’t give the orders.”

“But I’m so good at it.” She bit into the sandwich, hummed at the taste of bologna, cheese and Miracle Whip, chewed and swallowed. “It wasn’t a surprise to me, you know. That I could take over Body Armor and enjoy running it. I’ve always been an on-point, decisive person. Scott knew that. I only hope he’ll be pleased with the changes I’ve made.”

There was a general round of grumbling over that, as if they were personally offended over her interference in the agency.

She raised a brow, considering them. Men who disliked women in business...or something more? Perhaps it was personal to them. But why?

Had they worked at the agency?

She mentally jumped on that possibility, especially since it made more sense than anything else. If she could only see them, but their masks covered everything, and in some cases even shadowed their eyes.

Did they expect her to recognize them? She hadn’t fired anyone, so they shouldn’t have any grievances against her.

But what if Scott had...

“Get going,” boss man ordered, sounding perturbed.

She tried to study each of them as they went up the stairs. Maybe something in their postures would trigger a memory, or if any of them had an unusual stride...

Rough fingers again lifted her chin.

This one particular kidnapper had a nasty habit of touching her far too often. She let him know it with a glare.

In answer, he stepped closer, until his big feet were braced around hers, leaving her unable to shift away.

It gave her the perfect opportunity to land a painful knee to the groin...but she didn’t dare.

“Two guards will be outside this door.”

Hmm... She said, “Yes?” in a way that sounded like a flippant “So?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Oh please. I am never stupid.” She lifted away from his hand and, trying not to look intimidated, took another bite.

He didn’t back up. “I’m leaving orders for you to be tied and gagged if you give them any problems.”

At least this time he didn’t threaten to take her clothes. She found some consolation in that.

“I’m in a dungeon,” she complained. “What problems could I possibly cause? Now be nice and allow me to eat.”

Shaking his head, he muttered, “Un-fucking-believable,” and joined his mates. A second later she heard a heavy door clang shut, then the unmistakable sound of a bolt sliding into place.

The four walls tried to close in on her. The silence all but throbbed.

A little creeped-out, Sahara ate a chip, wondering what to do next. It was so silent in the concrete room, the sound of the chip crunching seemed absurdly loud.

After that last threat, they probably thought she’d wait quietly.

Unfortunately for them, patience definitely wasn’t one of her virtues.

* * *

BRAND ZIGZAGGED IN closer to the building, pausing every so often and surveying the area with the night-vision binoculars Leese had given him. Under a lightweight jacket he wore a utility vest with Justice’s Glock in an inside pocket; in another was a knife along with a Taser, nylon cuffs and additional ammo that Enoch had taken from their inventory.

The Body Armor supply area was more like an arsenal, with multiple weapons in a locked room next to the shooting range, where bodyguards practiced against targets.

Miles’s voice burst into his brain straight through a wireless over-the-ear headset. “You there yet?”

“Yeah.” He saw some activity, four guys coming out, barely visible beneath dirty security lights. They kept their heads down, but black masks dangled in their hands. “Four men.”

“What are they doing?”

“Scoping out the area. Wait...they went back inside but I hear an engine.” He stared hard at the dark gap visible in the crumbling brick building. Seconds later, headlights came on and a white van pulled out. “They’re in a white van.” He read the license, repeating the numbers to Miles.

“Sahara said six, so there are at least two more still in there. Were you able to make out their faces?”

“No. The building looks abandoned and there’s only one light. This whole area is gone, everything shut down. Other than some junkies in the alley and a vagrant passed out on a stoop, I didn’t see anyone at all.”

“It’s after ten,” Miles said, meaning that they’d had Sahara for over three hours already. “If they’re leaving now, it might not be for long since the exchange isn’t supposed to happen until midnight.”

“Maybe they want to go over the location again.”

“That’s exactly what Leese is doing. They’re liable to run into each other.”

“Let him know.” Brand lowered the binoculars. “I’m going in.”

“They could be coming right back.”

“All the more reason.” No way in hell would he leave Sahara in there any longer than necessary.

Miles didn’t argue. “I’ll get hold of Leese and let him know, but keep the line open.”

“Will do.” Miles was nearby, positioned at a higher vantage point, there if necessary and to hell with being recognized.

Justice would tail Leese, far enough away not to be seen but close enough to get to him quickly if needed.

Enoch was back at the office, able to track Sahara up to a point if the cell failed to pick up the signal.

The storm had finally let up, leaving everything sodden, bringing with it a deep chill. Brand hadn’t changed clothes so he was still in jeans and running shoes but now he had the vest and concealing jacket over his T-shirt.

“And, Brand? If you find there are more than two guys, don’t do it alone.”

“I can handle two.” Hell, the way he felt right now, he could handle four. “If I need help, you’ll know it.”

They said nothing else as Brand made his way from alley to alley, shadow to shadow. As he ducked into one building, rats scurried behind him. He knew he shouldn’t rush, but thinking of Sahara, what she might be going through, ate him up. He had to put that from his mind or he’d charge hell-bent into the building and damn the consequences.

He wasn’t worried for himself. He’d die for her if that’s what it took.

But he wouldn’t risk her.

By the time he slipped through the same open garage door that the other men had exited, he’d regained his methodical control. Oppressive blackness filled the space, with little light penetrating from the street and a dank cold that sank into his bones.

Somewhere in this miserable hellhole, they have Sahara.

Using the night vision on the binoculars, he silently, stealthily, explored for ten minutes without finding any signs of her.

Knowing the others could return at any moment, frustration mounted...until he heard a man’s muted laugh.

Senses on high alert, he followed the sound, glad now for the rubber soles. The sounds echoed, making the noise hard to trace, but when the laugh came again, followed by low conversation, it led him to a heavy door, thankfully open, then to stairs and another door, this one partially closed.

Brand peered through the narrow crack and saw two big men talking in front of yet another door—that one bolted.

“Those fucking heels she wears. Goddamn, they’re hot.” One man cupped a hand over his crotch. “You saw what they did for her ass while she paced?”

“Am I blind?” His friend chuckled. “Not that an ass like hers needs any help. If she wasn’t so fucking mouthy, she’d be perfect.”

“I like the idea of gagging her. She wouldn’t be so hoity-toity then.”

The other guy checked his watch. “Give her a few more minutes. She won’t be able to stay quiet for much longer and then we can do as we please.”

A snort, then, “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“You heard what he said.”

“Yeah, and I know the threat was for her, not an excuse for you to paw her.”

Fury rose up. Brand wished like hell one of them would have used a name, but they were too busy fantasizing over ways to torment Sahara.

He knew in his gut that she was behind that locked door.

“Maybe if this rolls out as it should, he’ll let us have some fun with her before—”

Going for the element of surprise, Brand left the gun in his pocket and instead stepped into the small space, taking the men off guard.

They both gawked at him.

“Be glad you didn’t gag her, or you’d already be dead.” He landed a hard right against the first bastard’s nose, making him stagger back against the wall, then immediately kicked his friend in the face. He went down stiff, out cold.

Now with his nose streaming, the other creep tried to draw his gun. Brand had heavy fists and he enjoyed using them, in the cage, sure, during a competition.

But especially now, against a man who took pleasure in threatening Sahara.

He battered the man mercilessly, and it still didn’t expend the rage inside him. When the man slumped, unconscious, he finally let up, but turned to deliver more punishment to the first guy, who was just starting to rouse.

He held him by his shirt collar. “If I find a single bruise on her, I’ll come back and tear you apart.” Before the fool could say anything, Brand smashed his fist to his face and the goon’s head lolled on his neck.

Moving quickly, he retrieved the nylon cuffs and restrained both men with their arms behind their backs. Then he used the bigger cuffs to hobble their legs together. Lastly he checked them both for weapons, his movements efficient and without regard for any further discomfort he caused them.

When he finished, he stopped and listened, but heard nothing.

Heart punching in dread, he slid the bolt on the door and swung it open. More steps led down—how fucking deep were they hiding her?

The lack of sound sent fear burning through him. If Sahara was down there, she wasn’t moving, maybe not even breathing. He went down the steps, his gaze searching the barren room—and finally located Sahara to the side of the stairs, crouched down as if preparing to attack.

The stark concentration on her beautiful face cleared beneath incredible joy. “Brand! You came.”

Seeing that smile did crazy things to his pulse.

Her hair hung loose around her, longer than he’d realized it would be. She’d taken off her shoes and had them next to her. Her coat was off and under her to protect her from the cold floor.

She’d hiked her narrow skirt up to midthigh.

Seeing the mess around her, he asked, “What are you doing?”

“Quietly disassembling this small electric heater to see what parts I could use to defend myself.”

She still held a jagged piece of metal, folded to form the shape of a knife. To protect her hand, she’d wrapped something shiny and lavender around her makeshift handle. The weapon looked wickedly deadly—if she knew how to use it.

He assumed she did.

Maybe he’d done those men a favor, disabling them with their guts still intact.

He didn’t see any tools, so he asked, “How?”

“I used the rim of the cola can to loosen the screws, then I took off the back cover. My shoe made a nice hammer and I—”

“What’s wrapped around the handle?”

“My bra.” Her chin lifted. “I didn’t want to cut myself.”

Of course, his gaze went to her breasts beneath the soft cashmere of her sweater. Yup, braless. He inhaled slowly through his nose.

“I was going to hunker over here and when they started down, I’d be cutting ankles. Maybe tendons—”

“Damn.” Gruesome. Brand shook his head. “Tell me later.” He held out a hand. “Let’s go.” Unwilling to risk the others returning, his top priority was getting her safely away from the area.

She stood with the electrical cord in one hand, the piece of metal still in the other. “You disabled the men guarding me?”

“Yes.”

She quickly re-dressed, shaking out her coat and putting it on, hitching her purse over her shoulder and stepping back into her shoes.

“I don’t know how the hell you walk in those things.” And yeah, the way they stretched her legs and shaped her ass was something no red-blooded man would miss.

“I like them.” She sent him a look. “You don’t?”

Choosing not to answer that, he said, “Hurry it up.”

She nodded and picked up the metal shiv again. “Okay, but I need to interrogate one of the men.”

“No time for that.” When she finally got close enough, he attempted to take the modified weapon from her. “You don’t need this.” Her resourcefulness amazed him, but it wouldn’t be effective against armed men. “Here on out, I’ll see to your safety.”

Resisting, she stuck the cord in her coat pocket, switched the metal blade into her right hand and took his hand with her left. “That’s so sweet of you, but I’ll hold on to it just in case.” Then she tried to take the lead.

Brand’s immobility pulled her to a halt.

She glanced back, questions in her pretty eyes. Aggrieved, he moved around her.

When they stepped through the doorway to the landing, they found the two men still slumped, their bruised and battered faces red with their own blood, their hands and feet locked together.

Sahara stopped to stare. “Oh my. You managed all that rather silently.”

Now was not the time for her to schmooze him. “Let’s go, Sahara.”

She ignored that order. “I was hoping once I got them unmasked, I’d recognize them, but now... I’m not sure their own mothers would know them.”

“Do worms have mothers?” He tried again to get her going.

She tried again to pull free. “I told you, I need to question them.” She nudged the closest man with the pointy toe of her shoe but he didn’t rouse. “Is there water anywhere that I could throw on them?”

Brand clasped a hand to the back of her neck and leaned close, his gaze boring into hers. “We are going,” he said succinctly. “Now.”

Eyes flared with disbelief, she asked, “Are you threatening to choke me?”

He tightened his hold the tiniest bit, but she still looked only curious. “What I’m doing is getting your attention.”

“Very rudely.” She tried to shrug him off but he didn’t let go. He knew he wasn’t hurting her, but getting her on board with the rescue was imperative.

Scowling now, sparks going off in her eyes, she said, “You forget that I’m the boss, Brand. I give the orders.”

He took grim pleasure in saying, “You forget that I don’t work for you.” When she started to speak, he cut her off. “We’re leaving here. You either walk or I carry you. Up to you.”

Her jaw loosened. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Count of three, honey.”

“I have a weapon!”

“That you wouldn’t use on me, but if you think I couldn’t take it from you, you’re wrong.” He started to scoop her over his shoulder and she backed up fast, almost tripping over the downed men.

“Be careful before you stab yourself!”

“If I do, it’ll be your fault.”

“Sahara,” he ground out.

“Okay, okay!”

Brand turned, her hand once again caught in his, and got her moving. The dim light at the small landing faded as they maneuvered back to the main entrance of the garage, forcing Brand to use the binoculars. “Careful,” he said, guiding her around some fallen equipment of some sort.

No answer.

They went up the next flight of stairs.

Still nothing.

Shrugging, he decided that Sahara’s sullen silence afforded him the opportunity to share details. “Leese is headed to the exchange site, but then so are the other goons who took you. If they see him, they’re going to want the ransom—a ransom he doesn’t actually have. Once I get you out of here I’ll contact him and the others, and they can move in to try to round up your kidnappers. Then you can grill them all you want.”

“I didn’t know that,” she said, and then with more accusation, “You should have told me—”

“I shouldn’t have to explain when your life is in danger.”

“I wasn’t worried about my life,” she said in a small voice. “But you have to know I’d never willingly risk Leese.”

Yeah, he did know it. Just to tweak her temper, he asked, “You’d risk me, though?”

“Don’t be silly. You’d already pulverized those men and we’d have heard others before they reached us.”

“They didn’t hear me.”

“Because you’re stealthy, just as I knew you’d be. Admit it, you’re made for this job. Why, I bet—”

“Keep your voice down.” Used to her numerous, tireless pitches, Brand cut her off. “Everything echoes in here and we don’t want to draw attention from anyone on the street. It’s not exactly the suburbs.”

In a whisper, she asked, “Did you see anyone out there?”

“No. Just the four who drove off.”

“I think that’s all of them.” When she almost tripped, he caught her up against him. For just a moment her body pressed to his, the soft swells of her breasts reminding him that she’d removed her bra.

To make a handle.

For a shiv.

Holding her turned his voice gruff. “Those shoes are a hazard.”

“Quit picking on my shoes.” Her hand slid up and over his shoulder, then to his nape, where her fingers played with the ends of his hair. “If you weren’t dragging me through the dark, I wouldn’t stumble.”

For the sake of his sanity, he said, “Let’s try this.” He shifted her around behind him. “Hold on to my jacket and follow exactly in my footsteps.”

“Yes, sir.”

He wouldn’t mind hearing that much deference in bed. “Don’t let go, Sahara. I mean it.”

“I’m holding on, now get going.”

The urge to remind her who was in charge nearly got the best of him, but he beat down his inner caveman and led the way. Just as they were reaching the large garage door that would lead them outside, he saw headlights approaching from the distance.

“Shit.”

She snuggled close to his back and breathed, “Do we hide or make a run for it?”

“Both.” He steered her quickly to the opposite side of the room, pulling her down with him behind several crates, deeper into the shadows. He wanted to put an arm around her, but keeping his hands free was critical.

“It’ll be okay,” she whispered.

As if in slow motion, he turned his head to see her. Crouched on those impossible heels, her improvised blade back in her hand, she watched the entrance.

Un-fucking-believable.

And impressive. His Sahara had guts. Because he couldn’t resist, he pressed a small kiss to her forehead. “Don’t attack unless I tell you to.”

She nodded.

“I mean it, Sahara.”

He saw her white teeth when she flashed him a smile. “I know.”

As the headlights grew brighter, he explained, “Once they go down the first flight of stairs, you’re going over my shoulder and I’m running out of here.”

“Nope. I can run.”

“Your heels will make too much noise and you could shred your feet if you try it barefoot.”

“Oh.” She gave it some thought. “Second time today I’ve been over a shoulder, and I have to tell you, I don’t like it.”

Someone else had dared to? No, he’d have to think about that later or he’d be destroying someone for daring to touch her.

Suddenly Miles spoke through the earpiece. “This has all been enlightening, but don’t forget I’m here, okay?”

CHAPTER FOUR

THE INTRUSION OF his friend’s voice took Brand off guard.

Shit, he had forgotten—but no way in hell would he admit it. “It’s under control.”

Sahara glanced at him. “What?”

“I’m talking to Miles. He’s been with us the whole time.”

She gasped, then hissed low, “He heard you threaten me?”

Brand found her hand—clenching the bra-covered handle of her weapon—and gave it a squeeze, his way of requesting her patience.

Miles cleared his throat. “You’ll be able to get out?”

One way or another. “Probably.”

“I’m nearby,” he said. “If I hear anything I don’t like, I’m coming in.”

“Leese?”

“He and Justice are on their way back.”

Brand felt compelled to remind Miles. “Sahara doesn’t want police involved, so unless you know there’s no other way—”

“Got it.”

Sahara said, “Thank you.”

He gave her one more squeeze, then told Miles, “They’re here. Not a word, okay?”

“Understood.”

The driver backed the van in, and even the red taillights were bright enough to give them away.

Brand pressed farther away, taking Sahara with him. He didn’t know how she managed it, but she didn’t make a sound and she didn’t topple off those heels.

Conversation preceded the men from the van, and they sounded very disgruntled.

“It’s a hell of a trip to make twice.”

“When you’re running things,” the biggest of the men said, “you can fuck it up all you want, but I don’t like to take chances. Now we know that we’ll only be able to leave one guard here with her because everyone else will be needed to cover all the entrances.”

“We’ll have to turn right back around to get there by midnight and get set up,” another mentioned.

“You had something better to do?” The big guy, still wearing a mask, left the van with a box in hand. The open door kicked on the interior light, and Brand saw that it was a cardboard carrier for a bag of takeout and two colas.

Unfortunately, the men still wore their disguises, the fanatical pricks.

“I have better things to do than cater to her,” the friend grumbled. “That’s for sure.”

“She’s only had a sandwich. Feeding her won’t hurt anything.” He slammed the door.

So the head honcho was disgruntled, was he?

“You’re too soft on her.”

That muttered complaint must have pushed him too far. Holding the food box in one hand, he used the other to slam his cohort up against the side panel. “When,” he growled, “did I ever say we’d abuse her?”

“You didn’t, but—”

“She’s a means to an end, a way to get what we’re owed.” Clenching a fist in the complainer’s shirt, he jerked him forward, then slammed him back again, pinning his forearm across the other man’s throat. “That’s all she is. Now you can either get on board, or get the fuck out. What’s it to be?”

“He sure as hell isn’t leaving,” another man said. “We’re either in this together, or we’re all out.”

The one being strangled under the muscular arm rasped, “I’m in. Jesus. Let up.”

Seconds ticked by, three, four—and finally the boss shoved away. He flipped on a flashlight and stalked off, the beam bouncing ahead of him.

The remaining two men, the one who’d fucked up and the one who insisted he stay in, stared at each other.

“He’s soft on her,” the half-strangled dude insisted.

“Maybe, but one thing’s for sure, you better keep your fucking mouth shut because either way, he’s touchy when it comes to her.” He loosened the mask to scratch at his neck, then turned to leave.

His friend followed.

A million thoughts went through Brand’s mind, especially the supposed “softness” the head honcho felt for Sahara, but Brand knew they’d only have seconds to go so he shoved them all aside for now. He had to time it perfectly so that they weren’t close enough to hear him running out, but hadn’t yet reached the downed men to know they’d lost their bait.

He could practically feel Sahara’s trepidation. “Stand, slowly,” he whispered. He held her arm and helped her to do that. Then he took that freakishly wicked weapon from her.

Getting accidentally stabbed was not on the agenda.

“You’ll get it back when we’re clear,” he breathed into her ear, then, “Ready?”

“Yes.”

He tucked a shoulder against her middle and silently lifted her, his arm around her thighs to help balance her. Lifting the binoculars, he checked the path he’d take. Night-vision goggles would have been nice, but they weren’t available in the Body Armor inventory.

Later, he’d talk to Sahara about that.

He let the binoculars drop back to his chest and eased out from behind the crates. “Once we hit the street, I’m going fast.”

In answer, she grounded herself by clenching her hands in the waistband of his jeans. “Don’t worry about me. Just get us out of here.”

Brand strode silently toward the opening. A moonlit night would have been welcome, but the scent of the storm still hung thick in the air. His feet had just cleared the garage when he heard the chaos behind him.

Needing no more incentive than that, he ran flat out, first up the street, then into an alley so that he cut through to another street, then into an empty building, across the floor and back out to another alley. He paused, listening, but the sounds were distant now.

“Put me down, please.”

He did, letting her slide the length of his body, his hands going from her warm thighs to her shapely ass, to her small waist. He told himself he wanted to make sure she wasn’t hurt.

His dick told him he was a liar. “You okay?”

“I think you broke a rib, but otherwise I’m fine.”

Brand coasted a hand back up her body until he found her throat. He curved his hand there, using his thumb to tip up her face. “Did I really hurt you?”

“No.” Her hand covered his. She stepped closer. “May I have my shiv back now?”

Insane, but Brand smiled. Crazy, unpredictable, cool as a cucumber Sahara. “Do you actually know how to use it?”

“Stab,” she whispered, “and twist.”

He grimaced. “Yeah, that’d work.” He gave it to her, then said, “Stay right here. I’ll only be a second.”

“It’s dark and I hear rats.”

So there was something she feared? “They won’t bother you.”

“I’ll skewer them if they do, but hustle up.”

Tunneling his fingers into her hair as a guide, he bent and took her mouth in a firm, quick kiss.

Before he did anything else stupid, he edged toward the front of the building. Holding very still, he listened, but didn’t hear anything.

Miles said into his ear, “The van just sped away.”

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?”

Terrance struggled onto his side. “Didn’t hear a sound, Ross. Then suddenly he was there.” Gingerly, a hand to his nose, he sat up. “I think it’s broken.”

“You think?” Ross eyed the grotesque swollen flesh that used to be Terrance’s nose. “Your nostrils damn near touch your ear. Yeah, Sherlock, it’s broken.”

Olsen shook his head. “Figured it was a man. I didn’t think that skinny lady could do all that damage, but Ross wasn’t so sure.”

Ross slowly turned his head to glare at Olsen. “You haven’t yet figured out that she somehow signaled the guy who came for her?”

Olsen looked struck. “Signaled him?”

“How the hell else do you think he found her?”

Andy, too, managed to sit upright. “I didn’t recognize him as one of her bodyguards, but the bastard sure knew how to fight.”

“There wasn’t any fight,” Ross snapped. “He wiped the floor with the two of you.”

“I got taken by surprise with a kick to the face,” Terrance defended. “I don’t remember much after that.”

“And you?” Ross asked Andy. “Your face is so fucked, I barely recognize you.”

With only one eye open, Andy complained, “I don’t remember shit either.” He moved his tongue in his mouth, then spat out a tooth.

Ross gave a disgusted laugh. “So this guy just materialized out of nowhere and started destroying you both?”

Terrance glanced at Andy.

Andy, looking a little alarmed, tried to frown but Ross caught the look.

With throbbing menace, he asked softly, “What did you do?” Fury brought him slowly forward. “Did you touch her?”

“No.” They were both quick to deny.

Then Terrance, maybe seeing a way to deflect the anger off his own head, admitted, “We were talking about her, though, and I guess he overheard.”

Even softer now, Ross asked, “What did you say?”

Holding his ribs, Terrance scooted until he could sit with his back against the side of the van. “I just pointed out how hot she looked in those heels.”

If he hadn’t been so pathetically abused, Ross might’ve hit him again. Yeah, she did look killer-hot in the heels, but they knew his rules.

Sahara Silver was off-limits—and damn it, in his mind, that included fantasizing over her.

After touching the bridge of his nose and wincing, Terrance added, “Dumbass over there was running his mouth, though. I’m guessing that’s why he got the worst of it.”

Andy did look a mess, more deliberately worked over. Not a spot remained on his face that wasn’t bruised, swollen, split or bloody. It was a wonder he could speak at all with his lips so fat. Even his ears were mangled. Given how gingerly he moved, he’d taken plenty of body blows as well.

Ross didn’t care. He didn’t have an ounce of sympathy.

“What were you saying, Andy?”

“Nothing.” He must have thought better of that, and explained, “Same shit as Terrance.”

Ross waited.

As the tension grew, Terrance put his head back and closed his eyes. The other men looked away. Andy shifted—and groaned.

“Jesus H. Christ, Andy. Just spit it out,” Olsen snapped. “You’re making everyone uneasy.”

Sullen, Andy stared at his feet. “I made a joke about gagging her.”

Unaccountable rage gripped Ross. “And?”

“I just said she’d be perfect except for her mouth, and I joked—joked, Ross—about checking on her so I could gag her. I knew she wouldn’t be peacefully sitting down there, waiting like you told her to, and you did warn her what would happen if she didn’t behave. I figured she was up to something, and I guess I was right, wasn’t I? Somehow she called that prick and—”

“Did you actually touch her, Andy? Did you lay a single finger on her? Even get close to her?”

All of the men stared at him, aware that he just might snap if—

Terrance said quickly, “We never even opened the door, Ross. It was just talk, that’s all.”

Gradually, Ross got his shit together. He was making a fool of himself over her, but damn, he’d been studying her for so long, he felt like she belonged to him.

Being with her today, having control of her while also being her protection, had affected him in ways it shouldn’t have.

Means to an end.

That’s what she was, what she had to be. Allowing himself to feel anything else was beyond stupid. It didn’t matter that she was gutsy and fearless, refined despite the circumstances, bold and intelligent... He clamped down on all those wayward thoughts.

Means to an end, goddamn it.

Forcing himself to sound reasonable, Ross said, “She had no way to call anyone from the basement.”

“So she was down there behaving?”

Olsen snorted. “Hell no. She took apart the heater. Parts are missing. I’m guessing she made a weapon.” He grinned, seeing the surprise on Andy’s and Terrance’s faces. “If her boyfriend hadn’t stomped on you, she might’ve done it herself.”

“He’s not her boyfriend,” Ross said, his voice deliberately devoid of inflection. “She doesn’t date, not since Scott went missing.”

“Not a bodyguard, not a boyfriend,” Terrance said. “Then who was he?”

“I don’t know.” That fact really pissed him off. “But I intend to find out.” No, he silently promised her, we’re not done, Sahara. Not by a long shot.

And the next time I get you, I’ll make damn sure you don’t get away.

* * *

BRAND TRIED NOT to look as uncomfortable as he felt standing in Sahara’s grand foyer. Far as he was concerned, it was a terrible idea, never mind that she had a locked gate and a high-tech security system. She shouldn’t be alone, period. But she’d ignored all his arguments, damn it, and the other guys hadn’t been any more successful.

He suspected it was her pride insisting she stay in the house; she wasn’t a woman who’d easily show her fear. He knew it, he understood it, but Jesus, he hated it.

Now, after unsuccessfully trying to convince her to at least bring in the cops, the others had left.

“No,” she’d asserted. “This is personal. They know something about Scott. I’m going to handle it my way, so get used to it.”

Her way, for the remainder of the evening at least, was to pretend she hadn’t been taken hostage.

Her car, which probably cost more than some houses, had been parked in the end of the driveway just as, she claimed, the kidnappers had promised. She’d wanted to drive it up to the front door herself, but the men had outvoted her on that.

Once Miles had done a full sweep of the car, Justice drove it up to her garage. Of course, they’d wanted to take turns standing guard, but Sahara refused that, too. They all had upcoming assignments to prep for, and she felt safe in her own home, so they’d only hung around long enough to ensure she wasn’t too upset—ha!—and that no one had tampered with her house.

Brand would stay with her—she’d agreed to that much—but the guys didn’t like it. They trusted him, but as they’d said, he wasn’t a bodyguard. Still, he assured them that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her, and he intended to make good on that promise.

The keyless entries, one at the street that opened wide arched gates, and another at the end of the long lighted private lane that secured the main entrance, were still set.

If anyone without the passcode had tried to intrude, alarms would have gone directly to a security company.

Showing no residual effects from her adventures, Sahara stepped out of her shoes, wiggled her toes, shrugged off her coat and hung it on a coat tree. The enormous shiv she placed at the bottom of the stairs.

“What,” he asked, “do you plan to do with that?”

“I’m partial to it now, so it’ll probably reside in my bedroom.”

With her bra still used as a grip for the handle?

She gave him a tentative smile. “Come on.”

Brand wasn’t sure if he should remove his shoes as well. His running shoes wouldn’t hurt the polished marble floors, but then again, what did he know about the protocol for a mansion?

Without him having to ask, Sahara answered by hooking her arm through his and leading him to the kitchen. He felt the full curve of her breast against his upper arm and it kept his body humming with tension.

Any other woman and he’d have already checked the invitation to see how far it extended. But not with Sahara Silver, owner of Body Armor, self-proclaimed shark.

The kitchen was something out of storybooks, momentarily distracting him once she let him go. He turned a full circle taking it in. “Damn.” The detailed ceiling was its own work of art. One end boasted a sectional couch under tall windows, a center island held plenty of bar stools and at the other end was the thick wooden table that could seat six.

“Grab a seat. Do you want something to drink while I throw together a meal?”

Yeah, he wouldn’t mind the whole bottle. Maybe it’d help him get through this bizarre night. He shook his head as he pulled out a chair at the table. “I’m good.”

“Coffee then.” On bare feet she went to a massive refrigerator and retrieved several things, including chicken fillets. Going on tiptoe, stretching those sexy calves, she got down a bowl and dropped the chicken inside, then poured in Italian dressing, dashed in some other seasonings, and used a fork to stir it around. Next she set her oven, then washed her hands and got the coffee started.

She seemed to do it all with planned movements meant to best utilize her time and streamline all processes.

Nothing new in that. Sahara was one of the most efficient people he’d ever met.

After grabbing a cookie from a big round jar, she joined him at the table, watching him while she nibbled. She held it out. “Want a bite?”

He shook his head. “What are you cooking?”

“Italian chicken, baked potatoes and salad.”

Hell of a meal to “throw together” after midnight. He lifted a brow. “Dessert first?”

“Oh, honey, a single cookie could never be dessert.” She popped the rest in her mouth, left her seat to poke at the chicken with the fork, then got out a dish and prepped it with butter. “How hungry are you?”

Starving...but not for food. Every time she went on tiptoe, he had the burning urge to run his palms up the inside of her thighs. The movement of her breasts under that soft sweater kept drawing his attention, too. Her nipples were just tight enough to be visible—and to make his mouth water.

She looked over her shoulder in a provocative way—deliberately or not, he wasn’t sure. “Brand?”

He met her gaze with a piercing stare, very deliberately. “I would have been fine with a sandwich.”

Blue eyes lit up. “Something fast and easy, huh?” Her mouth curled. “Not my style.” Looking away from him again, she washed two potatoes, then put them on a plate and into the microwave. “Although, this meal is pretty quick and not all that difficult.”

Brand was still pondering her “fast and easy” comment, knowing he might be fast with her, but not easy. No, he wanted to claim her. He wanted that bad. “I get the feeling you’re teasing me, Sahara.”

His tone alerted her, and she turned to face him. “Maybe a little. You always resist easily enough.”

Not tonight. “Trying to see how far you can push it?”

She braced her hands behind her on the counter, which pushed out her breasts. One leg bent, her gaze sultry, she said, “I’m curious. Aren’t you?”

He already knew his breaking point, and he was damn near it already. Smiling just to confuse her, he asked, “So how long is this meal going to take?”

The oven dinged and she turned away. “Thirty minutes.”

He watched as she got everything in the oven. She ate another cookie while putting together a salad, and then she set the table, leaning close to him, brushing against him.

She was really feeling frisky tonight—or was it something more?

When she started to move away, Brand caught her arm. Her skin was soft and warm, her bones delicate, but the woman had iron in her blood and a will made of titanium.

Brushing his thumb over the silken skin inside her elbow, he asked, “Is this your way of reacting to the evening?”

A flash of uncertainty filled her blue eyes, then cleared behind a big grin. She put a hand to his chest. “One of the most appealing men I’ve ever known is in my kitchen, and you want to dissect my mood?”

That evasive nonanswer only made him more determined. “Yeah, I think I do.” He tugged.

Of course she resisted his efforts.

And of course he won the small battle.

She either overestimated her strength, or underestimated his.

Sahara ended up sprawled in his lap, a sexy, squirming armful. As he worked to contain her, he asked, “Easy or hard, Sahara?”

Her eyes flared wide and her lips parted.

Cursing himself over his unfortunate wording, Brand briefly looked away. When she again tried to scramble free, he locked his arms around her and pinned her with his gaze.

Being so close, he saw the thickness of her lashes, how her pupils dilated—he even felt the warmth of her faster breaths.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth.

Fighting his way out of the cage with the number one heavyweight would have been easier, but he managed not to kiss her. “We’re going to talk about what happened tonight, especially what happened while you were alone with them.”

“We are?”

He saw no reason to repeat himself, so he merely waited.

Proving she wasn’t on her A game right now, she cracked. “There’s nothing much to tell. They said Scott owed them money and they were getting it back by ransoming me.”

That sounded true—but no way was it the whole story. “You said someone put you over his shoulder?” Even though he’d done the same thing, it infuriated him to imagine it.

“The boss man,” she confirmed with an indignant nod. “The one in charge. He warned the others not to bother me, and they didn’t. Shoot, they hardly spoke to me. But he explained a few things.”

“About Scott?”

“No, just...the rules.”

Something in her expression, in the way her voice dropped, alerted him. Opening his hand on her back, he soothed a path up and down her rigid spine. “What rules, honey?”

She stared at him. “You’re comforting me?”

“Something like that.”

“Oh.” Suddenly she tucked herself closer, her cheek against his shoulder, her hand sliding up his chest. “This is nice.”

Drawing out her name like a warning, he said, “Sahara.”

“I really don’t want to talk about it. Nothing happened, I promise.”

Brand tunneled his fingers into her hair, then tugged her head back. “I know you better than that.” He wanted her trust. He needed her to know that she didn’t have to be the boss every minute of every day, not with him.

Her searching gaze bounced back and forth over his. “You have really thick, dark eyelashes, Brand. Did you know that?”

“Sahara—”

“And all this sexy stubble,” she said, reaching for his face.

“Enough.” Brand tilted out of reach. “You’re going to tell me what happened to you, so stop trying to distract me.”

Groaning, she whacked his shoulder. “You’re not normal, damn it! Why can’t you just take what I’m offering—”

His mouth covered hers in the most expedient way to silence her annoyance. She immediately sank against him, all the vibrating agitation draining from her slim body.

Perfect.

Too perfect.

Bordering on dangerous...and wasn’t that absurd given the situation they’d just escaped?

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