Jasmine

It’s so dark outside the window of his car I can’t see anything but the flash of street lights. He drives in silence, palpable tension between us on so many levels my thoughts are muddied. Rico is angry I’m not cooperating, but he only thinks he knows the risks he takes. What he’s uncovered about my family’s operation is only a fraction of what they’ve really done, and with his limited knowledge, he doesn’t know what they’re capable of doing to him.

A little part of me hopes his anger masks fear. Fear of what will happen to me. But I can’t let myself even flirt with the thought that he really cares about my safety. If I thought for a second he doesn’t want me to be hurt, I’ll let my defenses down and I can’t do that.

I’m the one that does the seducing. I won’t allow myself to be his victim.

So I grit my teeth when he heads to the station and pretend I don’t feel his body beside me, taut with anger and what I hope is arousal. I want him hard for me so that I can hold some power here. Anything.

“Last chance, Jasmine,” he says. “Have you considered what will happen to you if you’re arrested without a plan?”

Fuck, he knows too damn much.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ricky,” I purr, letting my words drip like melted wax. “Without a plan?”

I jump when his large, rough hand settles on my knee and squeezes so firmly it’s almost painful. An unbidden shiver slithers through me, rattling my nerves. I don’t like that he has the power to affect me so easily.

“Drop it,” he snaps. “Drop the façade and talk real here.” His voice lowers, controlled but vibrating with anger. “If I take you to jail and it isn’t part of his plan, he’ll know you’re being sloppy. And you’ll suffer for it.”

Jesus, he’s right. I think about it before I reply.

“Fine, then,” I say, shoving his hand off me to punctuate my words. “Take me to your fucking safehouse then.”

Without missing a beat, he returns his hand to my thigh, but places it higher, gripping my inner thigh so hard it takes my breath away. “Good girl,” he says, mockery in his tone. I’m being a difficult brat and we both know it. “That’s the right answer. Maybe I’ll have to reward you for your cooperation.”

My core clenches as his touch scales higher, closer to where I want him to go. I can’t breathe. I want his touch so badly. I’ve craved it ever since he demanded my climax. I was nothing but a wanton puppet under his command. I can see that now. He holds the power here and it both excites and infuriates me.

“Whatever you want, Agent Rico,” I tell him, looking out the window. Christ, how I wish this was real. All of it. His desire for my safety. His desire for me. There’s never been anyone I could trust enough to really care for me. To protect me. Men have worshipped at my feet, but I despise men who grovel. They were too easy to manipulate. Passive, weak bastards who wanted my tits, my ass, my money. They’ve fawned over me like little puppies. It’s disgusting.

Not Rico. But I shouldn’t even let myself think about him as any more than my controlling captor. The very idea that I mean something to him evokes hope that could ruin me. And if my father or brother ever even suspected that I have even the slightest feelings for Rico… I shake my head involuntarily. I’ve seen what they’re capable of. They’ve never allowed me to have real relationships.

To my surprise, his hand softens on my leg and he’s no longer teasing me. Patting my thigh, he pulls his hand from underneath my skirt and brings his fingers to my neck. Massaging. Kneading. I involuntarily sigh into the relaxing touch and let my head fall to the side.

“Listen, Jasmine,” he begins, his tone gentle now.

No. No, I can’t let him do this to me.

I swallow and try to look away, but the tone of his voice arrests me.

“Be reasonable, sweetheart.”

No. Tears spring to my eyes. I can’t bear tenderness from him. It’s so much easier to resist him when he’s angry and commanding. Gentleness will undo me.

“I am being reasonable,” I say and fuck, my voice is a little wobbly. It drops to a whisper. “You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

I do. Businesses destroyed. Homes ripped apart, children left parentless and alone. Politicians ruined. Victims that screamed themselves hoarse begging for his mercy before he put them out of their misery with death.

My father gets what he wants, and the only reason I’ve played my hand so long is because I have my own plan for escape, one that involves no one but me because it’s safer that way.

“Jasmine.” To my surprise, he pulls his car to the side of the road. When he’s parked, he turns to face me. I have to resist the magnetic pull of those eyes. The way his voice softens with a gentleness of a tiger sheathing its claws. But when he reaches his hand to my face, his palm cupping my jaw so I’m forced to look at him, I harden my heart. I have to. I can’t fall for him.

“The reason I’m determined to keep you safe is because I know exactly what your father is capable of.”

I see it in his eyes. He speaks the truth. Jesus. He knows far more than I’ve given him credit for.

His grip tightens and his blue eyes narrow. “You listen to me.”

My spine straightens. It seems the taste of his belt and the palm of his hand has made me intuitively snap to attention. Great.

“Yes?” I swallow hard, trying to maintain my composure. I want to crawl onto his lap and lay my head on his shoulder.

“Trust me,” he says. “I can take care of you. I’ll make sure he doesn’t find you, and if anyone threatens your safety they have to get through me.” I let my gaze wander over the breadth of his shoulders. The way his neck muscles flex under his collar. The muscles that bunch when he moves, and in one split second I imagine what he looks like shirtless. But I regain my composure with a hard swallow.

“My leaving puts our entire operation in jeopardy,” I tell him. “The aftermath of such a decision will be disastrous for many.”

“I don’t care about many,” he says and his blue eyes flame with sincerity. “Just you.”

With an effort that tears at my heart, I remove his hand from my cheek and pull away from him.

“Fine,” I tell him. I’ll let him believe I’m agreeing to this. It’s the only way I’ll be able to escape. The only way I can save him from the wrath that will come.

It’s dark when we reach our destination, and I jerk myself awake. I fell asleep just long enough to drift into a dreamless sleep, and when I wake I’m shivering with cold.

“We’re here,” he says. Like we’re on a date, he walks to my side of the car, opens the door, and reaches for my hand. I take it curiously. What’s his next move? It’s so dark here I can’t see anything until someone a few yards ahead of us opens the door and a voice cuts through the quiet.

“Rico.”

I squint, trying to see who’s waiting for us, but can’t see much beyond Rico. He stands in front of me, a wall of nicely-clothed alpha male, as if he’s blocking me from seeing anything. Or maybe blocking anyone from seeing me.

“I’m starving,” I snap, grumpy after being woken up from sleep and shivering with cold.

Rico grunts unintelligibly and tugs me along beside him to the door.

“Proving you’re related to the Neanderthals,” I mutter, but he doesn’t take the bait. His gaze flickers to the left and right and he moves faster than I thought a man of his size could. We reach the steps and he has me go ahead of him. When I reach the entrance, I look up to see Rico’s associate Colt, his dress shirt open at the collar and his eyes tired with fatigue.

“Miss Francoise,” he says with a stern nod, his lips thinning when I give him a nod back.

“Thank you,” Rico says, shutting the door with a bang. “Jasmine, have a seat.” He yanks a chair out and points. I’m too tired to argue. The men have a hushed conversation, their voices rising and falling until I hear Rico mutter, “It’s my call.” Colt sighs, nods, then takes his leave.

I suspect Rico’s got me in a safehouse off record. I’m glad someone warns Rico of the danger he’s in by housing me. It was getting a little tiresome being the only one.

I look around the small room, but I’m tired and don’t notice much. There’s a fireplace with a small but comfy-looking brown leather sofa, a small kitchenette, a bathroom to the side, and near where I sit, the entrance to a bedroom. I do notice there’s only one bed.

Interesting. I wonder where we are.

In silence, Rico prowls through the small house. His agent cleared it for our arrival, but I suspect he has to check out of pure habit. Maybe he can’t help himself.

“Right, then,” he says. “Off to bed with you.” I wonder where he’s put my phone. I need to get it from him somehow, though I’m not exactly sure how that would work. “We’ll discuss more details as to what we’ll have to do in the morning. Consider yourself under house arrest.” His lips quirk up in a sardonic grin. “Agent Rico style.”

“What?” I snap. What exactly does that mean?

Sitting on the edge of a sofa, he props one foot on his knee and unfastens his shoe, then slides it off while levelling a stern gaze at me. “You should be serving time for what you’ve done. I gave you the offer of jail or a safehouse. Need I remind you I apprehended you for speeding?”

“Excuse me, but the last time I checked, speeding earns a fine, not jail time.” My pulse races with anger. I don’t know if I like the idea of Agent Rico’s house arrest. I reach into my bag and yank out a pile of bills, then toss them at him. Green flutters through the air and cascades around him like leaves tossed about in the wind, but he doesn’t even blink. He places his second foot on his other knee, and calmly unfastens his shoe. When he’s in his stocking feet, he leans back and tucks his hands behind his head as if he’s leaning back to watch a game of football.

“Pick those up, Jasmine,” he says, his brows raising as he looks pointedly at the money strewn all around him. “You have precisely one minute.”

I cross my arms on my chest and glare at him. “I agreed to come here, not be bossed around by you,” I sputter.

“Fifty seconds.”

“Or what?” I snap.

The ghost of a smile crosses his lips and he pats his knee. “You really need to ask that? Forty.”

“Mon dieu,” I fume, running off my mouth in French because it’s somehow more satisfying to curse him out in French than it is in English. I pick up the money or he’ll punish me. I stare at the floor and let myself wonder if he’ll really follow through, and realize I don’t really have a way of winning here. If I defy him, he punishes me. If I obey him, he wins.

My brattiness doesn’t make him so much as flinch. I can’t manipulate him with the promise of sex, and my family’s power and influence won’t sway him at all.

How will he handle compliance? In a split second, I make my decision.

I fall to my knees and gather up the money with one massive sweep of my arms. Two bills still sit beside him, so I crawl to him on my knees and grab the last of the bills just before he says, “Time’s up.” Bowing my head in submission, I hand him the money and cast my eyes downward.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so difficult,” I tell him. I need to play this well. “I slapped you. I baited you. I tried to seduce you and threw money at you.” I shake my head, feigning repentance, but shiver as a cold wind picks up outside and leaks through the floorboards.

“Mmm,” he says, reaching his hand around the back of my neck again. “You’ve been a bad little girl, haven’t you?”

I nod. The warmth of his hand makes me close my eyes, even as my stomach rumbles with hunger. For a moment, I’m not sure how much of this is real and how much is pretend.

“Jasmine.”

I look up, reminding myself to the look the part of a repentant, submissive woman. “Yes, sir?”

I’m not prepared for how I feel kneeling before him, shaking with hunger and thirst and completely at his mercy.

Then he’s gathering me up in his arms. My hair swings like a veil between us, but he brushes it back with one hand and nestles me on his lap. He’s warm and so large, I fit comfortably between his arms, and without thought, I do what I’ve fantasized about. I put my head on his shoulder. I tell myself this is part of the act. If I’m to get away, he needs to believe I’m behaving myself.

When he tucks me against his chest, I lean my head on his shoulders. I try not to enjoy how perfectly I fit here. I try not to revel in how good it feels to be held by him. This is just part of my act.

Then he says the last thing I expect him from him. “Do you like macaroni and cheese?”

I can’t help but laugh. I lift my head off his shoulder and fix him with a curious stare. “Excuse me, Ricky?”

His brow furrows. “I’m not sure what we have here for food, but I do know there’s mac and cheese.”

“At this point, I’ll eat anything,” I admit.

“Good,” he says, but neither of us moves.

“It’s awfully cold in here,” I muse.

“I could build a fire,” he offers. Still, neither of us moves.

“We’ll have to share a bed,” I tell him. “This couch is far too small for you, and there’s no way you’ll let me sleep by the door.”

“Damn right,” he growls. “That’s what my agent was giving me shit about. Sorted it, though.”

“You mean you pulled rank.”

He doesn’t respond.

I finger the button by his neck. It’s warm from his skin, and glides easily under my finger. “Well, Ricky,” I tell him. “I promise I won’t try to seduce you under the covers.”

“Good,” he says. “I make no such promises.”

My belly swoops, but I cover my reaction with a little laugh. “What are the rules of house arrest, sir?” I try my best to imbue my questions with what I think a submissive would sound like, but it’s quite foreign to me. I’m not sure if he buys it or not.

“You will stay within the confines of this house. You don’t open the door, or even so much as open a window without permission. No phone. No internet.”

“This sounds like house torture.”

He shrugs, and I feel his muscles bunch and tense beneath me. “I’ll keep you busy.”

I smile to myself. I like the sound of that. “Will you be here the whole time?” I ask.

Frowning, he shakes his head. “Unfortunately, no,” he says. “I’ll have a man here at all times to be sure you’re safe, but I’m afraid if I take a leave, your family might suspect something’s up. I’ll have constant surveillance, though.”

“And how long do I stay here?” I ask.

The thought of days or weeks or even longer in this tiny place without so much as a shopping trip sends a shiver of dread through me.

“As long as it takes,” he answers. “But I’m not done with the rules.”

“Oh?”

“You’ll obey me, Jasmine.”

Keeping up the pretense of good little submissive, I nod my head. “Of course, sir.”

“I mean it,” he says, clearly not buying my act. “If you obey me, I’ll reward you.” His eyes glitter. He wraps his hand around my hair, weaving my hair between his fingers. “And believe me. You’ll like your rewards.”

“And if I don’t?” I ask with a pout, my heartbeat racing. I don’t need him to tell me what happens.

The grip in my hair tightens to painful. “If you disobey me, I’ll punish you,” he says. “You don’t want to earn my punishment, Jasmine.”

I shake my head, but I’m not so sure. Still, I give him what he expects. “Yes, sir.”