Mine to Crave

What the hell ever.

All Drake knew was that his voice usually got action.

It got action right then, too. The woman gave a yelp, and the man swore.

But the fool didn’t let the lady go.

Jasmine.

Drake liked that name.

“This is personal, buddy,” the man snapped at him. “You just need to mind your own business.”

“Oh, but it is my business.” Drake waved a hand toward the parking garage. “My casino, my club, my parking garage. All very much my business.” He cocked his head as he studied his prey. “So when a lady gets accosted at my place, well, you can imagine that tends to piss me off.” He kept his eyes on the man. The guy had dark hair, thinning a bit, a broad forehead, and a too perfect tan. Drake pretty much hated the fool on sight. “Let her go,” Drake ordered, “then get the hell off my property.”

More footsteps pounded in that stairwell. Drake’s gaze lifted just a bit, moving over the man’s shoulder. The security team was right on time.

Swallowing, the guy dropped his hold. “This is a huge mistake,” he began.

Nodding, Drake said, “Yes, it is.”

The redhead quickly made her way to Drake’s side. As she neared, Drake caught the sweet rush of her vanilla scent.

“No!” The man’s face had flushed a dark red. “You don’t know who she is! She’s—”

“Some men just can’t take no for an answer,” the redhead murmured. “You would think when a woman ran away that would be enough of a clue.”

The guy growled and lunged toward her.

The security team locked their arms around him and jerked the idiot right back.

And the redhead sidled even closer to Drake. That vanilla scent was tempting. The lady smelled good enough to eat.

Drake had a very big appetite.

“Get him off my property,” Drake ordered. He pointed at the struggling SOB. “If I ever see you at any of my casinos or clubs again,” and Archer Entertainment was becoming huge, “then you’re going to be sorry.” Because Drake knew too many ways to make a man pay.

He had his own law. His own rules.

The redhead’s hand curled around Drake’s arm. “I-I…thank you.”

The guards hauled away the jerk. But he kept shouting. Dumbass. The man didn’t know when to shut up.

“You’re the one who’ll be sorry!” The words thundered from the dumbass in question. “I’m Wayne Hardin. I’m a bounty—”

Heavy, metal doors swung shut behind him, finally stopping the guy’s snarling words.

The woman stepped in front of Drake. She was about five foot eight, maybe five nine so she had to tilt her head back to stare up at him. This close, he could see that her skin was a light gold, and a faint dusting of freckles scattered across her nose. Her eyes were dark—deep. He hadn’t expected that darkness. Her lips were red and full.

A beauty, no doubt, with her heart-shaped face, sharp cheekbones, and kiss-me lips. Plump, full, and red, those lips begged him to take a bite.

Her body was slender, but curved in all the right places. And her scent…

“Maybe you shouldn’t kiss strangers…” His words came out as a growl. “That’s a real bad habit, princess.”

She nodded, but then said, “Desperate times can call for desperate actions.”

Those sure weren’t the words he’d expected. He leaned toward her.

“You’re Drake Archer.”

“Guilty.” He’d confessed to owning the casino, so her knowing his identity wasn’t exactly a huge surprise. He’d made headlines in the Vegas press when he opened the Archer’s Arrow Casino a month before. He owned four other casinos, but three of them were in Biloxi, Mississippi, and his biggest place was in New Orleans.

He was already jonesing for a trip back to the Big Easy. That place had become home for him.

And I’ll be heading home very soon.

She smiled up at him. Her smile took him off-guard because he hadn’t anticipated the woman’s dimples. Cute, curving dimples that winked on either side of her mouth.

The lady was sexy. She had deep, dark, bedroom eyes. Curves that made him hard.

And…a damn cute smile.

“Thanks for being my hero tonight, Drake Archer.”

He had to laugh at that. “Trust me, I’m not exactly hero material.” He was more used to playing the villain of the piece.

She was still touching him. He was far too aware of her touch. He could actually feel the warmth of her hand through his suit coat. What was up with that?

“Why did you kiss him?” Wait, shit, had he just asked that question?

Her head tilted a little to the right as she studied him. “You were watching me.”

He didn’t reply. She already knew he’d been watching from upstairs. She’d crooked that finger, after all.

And here I am.

His shoulders stiffened as he stepped away from her.

She blinked a few times, appearing a bit lost.

“If you’d wanted to get fucked…” he said, and it wasn’t hard to make his voice cold and unemotional. Plenty of folks said that ice water ran through his veins, not blood. “Then all you had to do was ask.”

Her lips parted in surprise, but she didn’t speak.

Fair enough. Drake gave a little nod. He’d never been the sort to ask twice. He also wasn’t the romancing kind. “You’ll be safe for the rest of the night. My men won’t let that guy get within fifty feet of the Arrow.” But now it was time for him to leave. He’d thought that getting close to her would satisfy his curiosity. He’d been wrong.

Instead of being satisfied, he wanted to learn more about her.

Drake knew that was a definite sign he needed to back off. He eased to the side. Straightened his coat. And took a step forward.

“You’re just…going to leave me now?”

She had a faint accent in her voice. There one second, gone the next. Definitely something from the West. Maybe Texas? There were times when Drake’s voice slipped, too, and he let his southern accent roll out with a hard rumble.

That usually happened when he was angry. Or aroused.

“Head back into the club,” he told her and he didn’t look back as he began to make his way toward the elevator that would take him to his private lounge. “I’ll send orders for the bartender to give you whatever you want—”

“I know what I want.” Her voice was soft. Seductive.

Drake stopped.

“I-I have to ask, though…is that the way it works?”

His back teeth clenched.

“The ladies you take upstairs to your private room…they all ask?”

Those women knew the rules going in. Sex. Hot. Fast. Hard. No promises. No ties.

Ties were the last thing he wanted.

He turned back to look at her. “You came to this place looking for me.”

She backed up a bit.

He let his lips curl and knew his smile wasn’t going to be reassuring. “Be very careful. You don’t want to play with me.”

He expected her to scurry away then.

But her chin notched into the air. “Maybe I do,” she said and her voice made his cock jerk. Sex and sin—that was what she sounded like just then. Taking her time, she walked toward him. He noticed her shoes then. High, black heels. So she wasn’t as tall as he’d thought.

And those heels were definitely fuck-me shoes. She can keep them on for me, but I don’t want her wearing anything else.

The vanilla scent teased his nose once more. “I came here looking for you.”

Ah, a confession.

“I know you watch from up above, like a king surveying his land.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I just don’t like crowds.” A car horn echoed through the garage.

Why was he still standing there? Why hadn’t he left her already?

Her hand touched his chest.

The heat hit him again, rushing right from her hand to his heart.

And his dick.

Ah, yes, that would be the reason I haven’t left.

“I want to go upstairs with you.” She licked her lips, a sensual glide of her little pink tongue. “I need to go up there.”

He cocked a brow.

“So I’m asking, all right?” Her voice was breathy, and he hesitated. Was that quiver from excitement—like he sure wanted to think?

Or fear?

Unfortunately, Drake was too well-acquainted with fear.

But he offered his arm to her. He saw the quick exhale that she gave. That smile of hers flashed again.

Drake had to reassess then. The smile was disarming with its flashing dimples. But it wasn’t cute, as he’d first thought.

The woman’s smile was a killer.

***

“You’re making a mistake!” Wayne Hardin snapped as the two goons dragged him out of the casino’s parking garage.

“No, it’s your mistake buddy.” Goon Number One shoved him so hard that Wayne stumbled out onto the street. A taxi missed him by about five inches, and the angry horn had him jerking.

The guards glared at him as Wayne staggered to his feet.

“You heard the boss,” Goon One said. “Stay away from his business.”

And the guy’s business was now Jasmine? This was a headache he didn’t need.

He reached inside his coat.

“Don’t!” The sharp bark came from both guards.

Wayne stilled. “I wasn’t reaching for a weapon. You two already patted me down. You know I’m not armed. I was getting my ID!”

They turned away.

“I’m a bounty hunter! That little redhead who just sucked in your boss—she’s wanted in Texas!”

The door slammed shut behind them.

“Sonofabitch.” Wayne huffed out a hard breath as the lights of Vegas blazed down on him. Bright, blinking lights. So far away from the darkness of his Texas nights. “I hate this town,” he muttered.

He tilted back his head and stared up at the Arrow. Jasmine was in there. Thinking she was all nice and snug. Safe for the night. Safely away from him.

She was dead wrong.

He intended to collect on the bounty that was being offered for her. Giving up wasn’t part of his personality.

Soon enough, she’d be the one tossed into the street. Maybe she thought cuddling close to Drake Archer would offer her some kind of protection.

Think again, sweetheart.

He’d be waiting for her ass to hit the street. And when it did…

You’re mine, Jasmine. He’d take her back to Texas, bound and gagged if necessary.

Chapter Two

The door shut behind her with a faint click. Jasmine absolutely didn’t flinch, but she wanted to, and her muscles ached from stiffness. Her whole body was locked down because she didn’t want to show any weakness in front of Drake.

I’m here. I just have to take this whole business one step at a time.

“What’s your name?”

His voice rolled over her. Low and hard, a sexy, deep growl that had caught her off-guard when she’d heard him speak in the garage.

He had caught her off-guard. The shadows had surrounded him. Made Drake appear dark and dangerous. Well, he was dark and dangerous. Tanned skin. Tall and muscled, with broad shoulders that just stretched and stretched.

Yum.

“Your name.”

Crap. She’d just been standing there, staring into his green eyes. Talk about not playing it cool. “Jasmine.”

Wait, she probably should have given him a fake name, but no…that jerk downstairs had called her Jasmine, hadn’t he? It was better to just stick to the truth. A bit, anyway. She forced herself to smile. “Last names aren’t important, are they?”

Hers was, and she planned to keep her mouth closed about it.

“You don’t look like the type.” He headed toward the bar on the right side of the room. There were at least four giant bars downstairs, but the guy had his own stash up there in his private lounge area.

Someone was overindulged a bit.

He popped open a champagne bottle. Poured the bubbly into a slender flute, then brought it back to her.

She took the flute quickly. Gulped down the champagne.

His brows rose. “Not the type,” he said again, voice musing.

She was so messing this up. “What type is that?”

His gaze swept over her. Lingered on her breasts. Her hips. Her legs. The green of his eyes seemed to heat, and Jasmine found herself clutching that champagne flute in a too tight grip. So tightly that she was afraid she might just shatter the thing.

“You aren’t dressed for seduction.”

Mostly because she didn’t have tons of clothing options at that moment. But, jeez, hadn’t he seen her shoes? Those were kick-ass sexy. She shifted her feet a bit, hoping to draw his attention there.

His gaze came back to her face. “Thief.”

It was a good thing she’d gulped the champagne. If she’d been lightly sipping right then, Jasmine would’ve choked. “Wh-what?”

He smiled. His smile made her nervous. It was too knowing. And it seemed to hold a threat. Smiles weren’t supposed to be threatening. They were supposed to be warm and reassuring. Apparently Drake had missed the memo on that one.

He took the empty champagne glass from her hand. His fingers brushed hers. Okay, now the guy was just making it hard for her to breathe. He put the flute down on a nearby table and then his hand came back. Those fingers of his—warm, strong, and slightly callused at the tips—curled under her chin. “You’re dressed like a jewel thief or a cat burglar.”

She felt heat sting her cheeks. “Know a lot about burglars, do you?”