2. Jasmine
JASMINE
With his jaw clenched and a pistol pressed under the chin of the Italian man who had been seconds away from kidnapping me on the worst day of my life, the most insanely attractive guy I’ve ever seen now stands between us.
His lean, muscular frame moves with effortless confidence, and his head tilts slightly as he sizes the Italian up, an almost amused smirk tugging at his mouth.
The Italian man chuckles humorlessly, as he settles his chin comfortably on the barrel, “Stronzo idiota!”
“If anyone is a prick it’s you. Kidnapping an unsuspecting girl in the middle of suburbia.” The man clicks his tongue, his British accent rolling over me like honey and a warm summer sun, making my pulse spike for reasons that have nothing to do with fear.
Get it together girl! You are in the middle of a standoff.
The British man shrugs, a hint of humor in his tone. “That just doesn’t sit well with me.”
The Italian man steps in closer, eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what you’re interfering with.”
“Oh, I do,” the Brit says with a low chuckle, cocking the gun, his free hand dropping casually onto the Italian’s shoulder. “But I am Landon Hart. Ring a bell mate?”
The man’s eyes bulge slightly, and his hands shoot up in surrender, lips quaking into an apologetic smile. “Landon--”
“Yes?”
“I-I didn’t know.” The Italian stutters, knees shaking as he tries to bow to Landon as if he is his king, but the stiff barrel of the gun keeps him standing straight.
“No you didn’t, but I would hate to remind you who I am in front of this young lady,” he peaks over his shoulder, winking at me with the brightest ocean blue eyes I have ever seen in my life.
Jeez, how does anyone get anything done with him looking at them? I haven’t been attracted to a man ever again, since the night I learned just how easily a man can break me down — show me how small, how insignificant I can be.
How easy it is to use and abuse and discard me like I’m nothing.
But that was the old Jasmine.
This Jasmine — the one currently eye-fucking the sexiest British gunman in all of Texas, most likely the entire South — doesn’t feel small, and she sure as hell doesn’t like men. But hot is hot, no matter the gender, and Landon is fucking smoldering.
The click of Landon’s tongue snaps me back to the moment, and the man is nodding in agreement with the barrel lightly tapping his right temple. “Good boy, coglione! No go run off to your whore of a mob boss and tell him this pretty girl is under my protection.”
“Y-yes Landon.” He nods, taking one tentative step backwards.
Landon waves with just his four fingers, with what I imagine is a cocky-ass smile on his face that the Italian man runs like his pants are on fire, no looking back. I fold my arms across my chest and settle on my right hip as I look at the ripple of muscles along his back.
He sighs, turning around and stuffing his gun into the waistline of his jeans. “When I finally introduced myself to you, I was hoping it would’ve been more dashing.”
My lips twitch into a smile against my will, and I shrug. “I don’t know, threatening to kill my kidnapper is kind of heroic, in my opinion.”
Landon smiles, one of those pearly white panty-dropping smiles that you only see in the movies. He runs an open hand through his curly brown hair, while the other pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.
“I can deal with heroic. ” He slides a cigarette into his mouth and pulls a lighter out of his front pants pocket, right next to his gun.
“Great, well, I love that you love being the hero,” I say, grabbing one of the garbage bags stuffed with all my things, “but I just realized you said when I finally introduced myself —so, I’m guessing you’re a stalker.
” I sigh, hoisting the bag. “So thanks for not murdering me, but I’m gonna bounce. ”
I reach for the other bag as he lights a cigarette, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat as he shakes his head.
“Oh no, Peach—you’re coming with me.”
“ Peach? ” I snort, stepping to the side to pass him, but his hand wraps around my arm. “Uh… that’s my arm,” I deadpan.
“No, Peach.” He grins, tightening his hold just slightly. “ This is my arm, because you’re coming with me.” He winks, pulling me in just enough that the scent of ocean air—clean, a little salty, with a hint of sage—hits me, and for a second, I almost gasp at how stupidly good he smells.
“And where exactly are you taking your arm?” I narrow my eyes, playing along, because well—I’m only human, and he’s, once again, the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever laid eyes on.
He takes a slow drag on his cigarette, and that’s when it hits me: there’s something diabolical about a man who knows exactly how attractive he is—and downright devilish about one so confident—I feel this sudden, burning urge to knock him down about thirty pegs.
Hell, it would be my crowning achievement if I could get a guy like Landon to fall for me.
It would probably be my undoing if I actually could get Landon himself to worship me.
Fuck! I haven’t thought like this in years! Where’s Willow when you need to talk about one guy who makes you more bi-curious than gay?
“There is a man who asked me to keep an eye on you, and I think it is important for him to know that people are now trying to kill you.” Landon flicks the cigarette and shrugs as if he is doing me a favor.
I let out a sharp breath, folding my arms. “Oh, so you do other guys’ stalking for them? That’s cute.”
Landon lets his smirk curl lazily at the corner of his mouth, that British drawl wrapping around the words like silk. “It’s easy to stalk someone when they’re this great to look at.”
I snort, hoisting one of the garbage bags higher on my shoulder. “Well, too bad you’re wasting your time—I’m batting for my team. Sorry babe.”
His grin only deepens, a flicker of mischief in those ocean-colored eyes. He takes a step closer, cigarette dangling between his plush, pink lips. “You sure about that, love?”
I open my mouth, ready to fire back some snappy reply, but then his free hand lifts—slow, deliberate—and two fingers brush against the side of my neck, right where my pulse is hammering like it’s trying to break free.
I stiffen, a flush creeping up my throat before I can stop it. Dammit.
His voice dips lower, velvet-smooth. “Because your eyes are dilated, your breathing’s shallow”—his fingers linger just a second too long on my neck right above the pulse of my heart—“and your heartbeat…”
He leans in slightly, his breath warm against my ear.
“…is beating out of control, love.”
I huff, jerking my head back just enough to glare up at him. “Congratulations, Sherlock. You’ve discovered the human fight-or-flight response.”
Landon chuckles under his breath, stepping back just enough to give me space—but not enough to stop that insufferable, gorgeous grin. “Oh, I don’t know. You don’t strike me as the ‘flight’ type.”
He licks his lips, that flash of tongue catching the light just before he steps in again, close enough that the scent of salt and sage curls around me like a snare.
“But you do seem like the type that likes to fight.”
For a second, my heart stalls in my chest—not the flustered skip it did a moment ago, but a cold, steel-wire pull that yanks the heat right out of my veins. My smile falters, fingers tightening around the straps of my garbage bags.
“Oh, so you like your girls to fight you?” I murmur, my voice hard and low. “You like a struggle?”
His grin flickers—just slightly—and his eyes sharpen, a flicker of awareness slipping into that lazy, cocky face.
“Easy, love.” His voice softens, just enough to sand down the edge. “Didn’t mean it like that.”
“Oh yeah?” I cock my head to the side, my nostrils flaring as I prepare to knee him and run. “In what way did you mean it?”
Landon’s eyes narrow. With a flick of his fingers, he tosses the cigarette aside, the faint hiss of it dying on the pavement.
“I meant that you’re strong, Jasmine.”
The sound of my name on his lips lands like a slap and a caress all at once, freezing me for a breathless second.
“You know my name?” I snap, forcing my voice to stay sharp even as fear curls uneasily in my gut.
“I wouldn’t be a very good stalker if I didn’t know my target, Peach .” Landon smirks, reaching down for one of my bags. Despite my death grip on the handle, he shimmies it easily out of my hand like I’m a child clinging to a toy.
My jaw tightens. “Landon, I fucking swear?—”
But his voice cuts clean through my warning, calm and sure.
“I don’t fight women.” He lifts the bag over his shoulder without breaking eye contact.
“We might play. Flirt. Argue. Hell, maybe even fuck the anger out if we’re both stubborn enough.
But anything I do with a woman is consensual, mutual, and wanted. ”
I swallow hard, the adrenaline still thick in my veins. “Congratulations,” I mutter. “Your bar for human decency is on the floor.”
His mouth curves, slow and amused. “I never said I was a decent human, Peach. I just said I don’t fight women.”
“Right, but you still kill people?” I shoot back, my chin tilting defiantly.
“I never said I killed people.” Landon winks, a lazy flicker of charm sliding across his face.
“Oh, so you just point guns at them and let them run home to tell the story?” I arch a brow, arms folding tight across my chest. “Very noble of you.”
Landon chuckles, a low rumble in his chest as he starts walking, tossing me a glance over his shoulder. “I knew I was going to like you, Peach. You’ve got teeth.”
“Yeah, well, don’t get too close.” I scowl, trailing a few steps behind him. “I bite.”
I can sense his grin widen as he flirts back. “That’s what I’m counting on.”
I groan, throwing my hands up. “God, you’re insufferable. ”
“That’s what they keep telling me.” He winks, opening the back seat of a slick black Rolls Royce and tossing my bag in the back. “Come on, we can't keep the bossman waiting.”
And maybe you’re wondering why I’m even going with this stranger. The honest truth? I don’t know. But really, what the hell do I have left to lose—besides my life? And he’s already saved that once.
It’d be pretty stupid to go through all that just to kill me now, right? Right?
“Where are we even going?” I grumble, shooting him a sidelong glare. “And who are you taking me to see?”
Landon flashes me another one of those panty-dropper smiles that should honestly be illegal— no, like seriously, the world would be a safer place without it —and then swings the backseat door shut before taking a step closer to me.
. “So many questions from the girl who’s about to climb into my passenger seat anyway. ”
“I didn’t agree to go with you!” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Peach,” Landon purrs, his tone dipping dangerously low, “you’re either going to do this the easy way and get that pretty little ass in my car all by yourself, or we can do this the hard way—and I will haul you in there myself.”
His eyes rake over me, molten and slow, like lava moving under the surface of a mountain just waiting to break. “And trust me, love—I want to do it the hard way.”
My pulse stutters, panic and a sharp flicker of electricity sparks down my spine.
“I thought you don’t fight women,” I manage, narrowing my eyes, trying to cling to my slowly withering irritation.
“I don’t,” Landon murmurs, stepping in close enough that the air between us thins. “But carrying you over my shoulder? That’s not fighting. That’s just a relocation strategy. ”
My jaw drops slightly, and I let out a sharp laugh, part disbelief, part excitement to see if he would really do it. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I would ,” he says smoothly, flashing a wolfish grin as he turns around to pop open the passenger side door for me. “But lucky for you, I like watching you walk ahead of me better.”
I sputter for a second, before sliding into the passenger's seat, muttering curses under my breath, because as much as a part of me wants to walk away I could not withstand him touching me right now.
“That’s it, Peach,” Landon calls after me with a laugh. “March that cute little attitude right into my front seat.”
As I secure my seatbelt with a little more force than necessary, and then I glance up at him. “You know, for someone supposedly trying to help, you’re awfully close to getting punched.”
Landon closes the door, and jogs over to slide into the driver’s seat, shooting me a grin that somehow manages to be both infuriating and stupidly attractive. “Baby, if that’s what it takes to keep you alive, I’ll take the hit.”
My cheeks flame and I slouch in my seat, arms crossed over my chest as the engine rumbles to life.