A Gorgeous, Mysterious Stranger #3
The gun clicks empty, the slide snapping back, and he curses again, hesitating—one of them peeks around the corner, and he hurls the empty gun at the other man.
His throwing aim is better than his shooting, as the empty gun hits the man in the forehead, eliciting a howl of enraged pain and a string of curses in some European language I don't recognize, other than perhaps belonging to a Slavic family of languages
"Run, goddammit!" He shoves me, hard, and I trip into a run, wobbling on my heels.
He catches me when I wobble, keeping me upright and moving forward—half carrying me, if I'm honest.
"I can't run!" I snap at him. "Do you see what I'm wearing?”
"So kick off the shoes and hike up the dress."
"They're Louboutins," I argue. "Vintage."
"I don't fucking care if they're Cinderella’s glass fucking slippers," he snarls. "Unless you want to die, kick them off and fucking RUN!"
"Fuck me," I grumble, letting my beloved shoes fling away. "You…owe me, you big…dumb…jackass." I'm gasping already; I'm strong, but I don't do a lot of running, for two rather large reasons.
"I'll buy you…a goddamned…warehouse…full of shoes…if we…if we survive this," he says, panting almost as raggedly as me—that makes me feel a little better.
"We?" I screech, jerking him to a halt. "I don't know you! I don't know them! I don't know a single goddamned thing about what's going on!"
He lifts me bodily off the ground as if I weighed nothing, tossing me so I have no choice but to trot, stumble, and keep running. "No, you don't," he growls. "And I'm sorry I got you into this. They've seen your face, now, though."
My bare feet slap against the sidewalk, and he jerks me this way and that, ducking down alleys, crossing streets, weaving through traffic. More than once, he yanks me out of the way just in time to avoid being plowed into by a car.
The shouts of our pursuers have faded. The man, his bare arms, thick and tanned and rippling with muscle, stretch the short sleeves of his button-down. Why I notice that even as we run for our lives, I couldn’t say.
Or don't want to, at least.
He glances up at a high-rise as we pass it, and his expression darkens.
He pulls me to a halt, shoves me through the revolving door and into the dark, echoing marble cavern of a lobby, yanks me aside away from the doorway and presses me up against the wall next to the revolving door, chest heaving as he peers outside, watching.
"Are you going to at least tell me your name?" I say, once I've caught my own breath.
"I think we've lost them, for now," he murmurs, and he turns those eyes on me—night-black, cold, glittering with cunning and intelligence. “My name is…Jakob." The pause seems significant, for some reason.
"And why does it seem like you're unhappy to be inside this building in particular?"
"Because I used to own it," he mutters, then frowns at me. "I should not have told you that. Not sure why I did."
I shrug, smirking. “I have that effect on people, Jakob…” I trail off, leading him toward telling me his last name.
"Just Jakob," he answers, peeking outside. Looks down at me again. "And you are? Other than absolutely fucking breathtaking, that is."
I can’t help grinning at his offhand compliment. “Brys Bennett."
He offers me a smile, and I get the impression that smiles from this man are a rarity, to be savored and appreciated. "Brys Bennett? Any relation to Lawrence Bennett, of BDI?”
"My father. He passed a few years ago. I'm CEO, now." I frown up at him—at 5'9", I'm not exactly short, but he still towers over me. "You know it?"
"You resemble him," he says, and looks down at me. "I almost owned BDI, a long, long time ago, in another life. Larry backed out at the last second and wouldn’t come back to the table. One of the only men to ever successfully tell me no."
"I have vague memories of that," I answer. "I was in college at the time."
He frowns again. "And yet again I find myself telling you things you have no business knowing."
"I told you," I say, "I have that effect on people."
His face is close, dark eyes now opaque and unreadable. "You're going to be trouble, I think, Brys Bennett."
"You have only yourself to blame," I whisper, mesmerized by the darkness in his eyes, the anger and sorrow and guilt that seem to swirl around him, emanate from him—along with power and authority and charisma.
And sexual tension.
Lots and lots of that.
"Believe me, I know." He stares at me. "I know I shouldn't kiss you again, but…"
"Fuck it," I finish for him.
I lift up on my toes and kiss the shit out of him, surprising us both.
A beam of light sweeps across the lobby, and Jakob crushes me against the wall. "Go, go, go," he whispers, pushing me into a walk, shoulder to the wall, leading toward the elevator banks and the stairwell.
"Hey!" a male voice shouts. “You can't be in here! How'd you—fucking Greg, never locks the damn door."
Jakob shoves me into the stairwell and I trot up the stairs on aching, hurting bare feet, Jakob right behind me.
We reach the first floor landing and I yank the door open, stumble through it, and then Jakob is yanking me around a corner, into a dark conference room. His hand presses my head down, and I drop to my ass on the floor…
And then he's on top of me, rolling us under a desk as the security guard sweeps his light this way and that.
When we rolled, I ended up on top of Jakob, and his hands grip my hips, his eyes searching my face.
"I am sorry to have involved you in this," he whispers.
I'm not sure I am. He's kissed me twice already, and both kisses have been…
Well…
Pretty damn epic.
"You promised me a warehouse full of shoes," I answer. "I expect you to deliver. And not cheap shit, either."
He doesn’t exactly smile, but his eyes communicate amusement, somehow. "If we live, I will. You have my word."
"If we live?" I echo. "Would those men really kill me just for being seen with you?"
"Let's just say you probably don't want to find out."
A few moments pass, and then he rolls us out from under the desk and helps me to my feet—lifts me like a child and sets me on my feet, I mean. "Come,” he whispers. "Let's sneak out while the guard looks for us."
"And go where?" I ask.
He scans me, his gaze lingering on my chest before flicking to my eyes. “Your place. If you're going to run for your life, you can't do it in that dress, as sexy as you look in it."
Well, I can honestly say that of all the things I expected to happen when I woke up at five this morning, the events of the last twenty or so minutes were definitely not on the list.
Yet here I am, running for my life with a gorgeous, mysterious stranger who kisses me with absolute mastery, and sets my pulse racing.
I have no way of knowing what's going to happen next, but I find myself hoping it involves more kisses.
And maybe a little bit more than a few kisses.
Or a whole lot more.
As long as I don't get killed in the process.
I'm not sure why, but I'm not afraid. This man, Jakob, exudes competence. Courage.
Somehow, I just know that as long as I'm with him, he'll take care of me.
"You got me into this," I tell him, when we reach the street outside the building he claims to have once owned. "I'm trusting you to get me out of it intact."
"I promise," he answers, gaze locked on mine. "I'll see you through it."
I find myself believing him.
I suppose we'll find out, won't we?