Hot for His Hostage (4 page)

“Bet your ass we will.”

“We?”

He repeated the brow-jerking thing before glancing to her friend, still totally toasted
in his arms. “So you’re saying you can handle all of this yourself, tiny dancer?”

The stubborn woman tightened her pout. “Look—Mr. Burnett—”

“Let’s go. The taxi queue is this way.”

Damn it.

Zoe almost spat the words aloud, despite risking another heart-halting “look” from
Mr. Shane Burnett. She could ignore her animal-level attraction to everything else
about the man—his thick chestnut hair, sinful gold eyes, model-perfect jaw, and linebacker-wide
shoulders—but when he turned on
the
look
, something strange happened to her bloodstream.

Strange. And magical. And terrifying.

It had been a long time since she’d had some scary magic in her life.

Too long to be projecting such feelings onto a stranger in an airport bar.

She’d first seen him use “the look” on his phone, glowering at the thing as if willing
the texts on it into submission. He’d likely succeeded, too. God knew how
her
knees went weak, surrendering to the heat that flowed between them and the most tender
folds of her body, from just watching him.
Caramba
, the man was all her favorite flavors, and none of them were vanilla. She would’ve
bet her favorite shoes he was a lifestyle Dominant—and imagining him in a Dom’s skintight
leathers, holding a flogger in his hand instead of a phone…approaching her across
a dungeon with
that look
on his face…

Ohhhh, yes.

Ohhhh,
no.

She couldn’t foster that fantasy again. Ever. The near-disaster with Bryce had taught
her that much. Her submissive dreams were doomed to be just that. Dreams. If she had
a drop of truly submissive blood in her body, fate had dried it up well before she
could do anything about it.

No, it wasn’t even fate’s fault. When Mom died,
Papi
had fallen apart. Someone had to take care of Ava, and Zoe was the obvious choice.
Maybe the angels had forgotten about her being only eleven years old. She’d been livid
with them for a while, of course, but now saw it gave her a stubborn strength she
was proud of.

Most of the time.

On other occasions, she opted for full retreat. Seemed the easiest route tonight with
Mr. Sexy Scowl. She’d gone for duck and cover, sipping her water and checking her
phone, praying El and Brynn would get a clue about the man’s polite rebuffs. Before
that could happen, Ellie had become Sleeping Beauty on the bar. Then the man himself
had gained a name. He was no longer anonymous-fantasy-Dom-to-ignore but Shane Burnett,
a businessman with endless patience for her friends, a smile more captivating than
his scowl, and a protective streak as huge as the arms in which he now held Ellie.
 

And one more “little” thing.

A presence that pulled on her like the moon did the tides.

Which was why she could muster nothing but a prissy huff before following him out
of the terminal and into a cab.

What the
hell
was she doing? She was easily the only sober one left in the company tonight. She
had to take care of the others, not just El and Brynn, yet she followed Burnett right
out the door, letting him load the three of them into a cab. She was aware, perhaps
better than most, that dominant men could also be assholes, even abusers. Though Burnett
directed the driver to the Hilton, what plans did he have for the three of them after
he got them to the room? Images blared to mind of tomorrow’s headlines, relaying the
news that she, El, and Brynn had been beaten to death by an unknown attacker…

She shook her head free of the melodrama. Resolve time. She simply wouldn’t let him
get past the lobby elevators.

For the time being, he offered a true favor. El was down for the count, Brynn still
more than a bit blasted. Handling them by herself really would have been a bitch.
The ride was only four blocks, and—

Every inch of it was going to be hell. In all the most tantalizing, torturous ways.

Zoe realized it the second Burnett slid into the car and closed the door. Even after
he unloaded El, letting her head slide down into Zoe’s lap, he seemed to consume the
taxi’s back seat. With Brynn opting to grab shotgun in front, Zoe found herself the
sole object of the man’s concentration, a focus he drilled into her without mercy.
Or apology.

The car’s confines seemed to shrink more. She breathed deep, battling to calm her
racing nerves, but wound up drenching her senses with his scent, instead. Earthy strength,
woodsy spice. An escape to the forest in the middle of Century Boulevard.
Wow
.

Time for Plan B. But returning the man’s stare with a scrutiny of her own was another
failure. Why did he keep studying her like the rest of the world didn’t exist? The
neon signs of the airport district whizzed by—
Girls on Fire, Strip-A-Rama, Boobalicious Beauties
—but the temptations could have been dust mites for how weakly they dragged his attention
from her.

Ohhh, God.

Wait
.

Maybe he was gay.

The possibility was such a relief, she smiled for a second. That was all the time
he gave her to enjoy the feeling. As he extended his arm along the top of the seat
then dropped two fingers to her nape, the inquiry on his face intensified. He added
a third finger to the pressure, his gaze again a wordless query, seeming to question
whether she’d welcome him or shirk him.

Before she could help it, a long sigh spilled from her lips.

Burnett’s alluring mouth parted a little. His jaw undulated in quiet assessment, flashing
with a small tic of muscle.

Her whole body zinged with awareness.

Crap.

Not gay.

She scrambled for logical argument. This was insane. Unreal. Serendipity that only
happened in movies, to people who had perfect lives and all the right lines pre-written
for them. Not someone like her, who’d made a
desastre
of her last “relationship” and now must have a tattoo on her forehead, visible to
men only.
Hit on me; I haven’t had sex in almost a year.
People who could summon a drop of moisture to their mouths instead of letting their
tongue turn to cotton from the simple press of a man’s fingertips.

“You’re tense.”

He murmured it between a couple of El’s snores. Wait. That wasn’t El. It was Brynn,
who slumped against the window like she’d pricked her finger on the same enchanted
spinning wheel as Ellie.

Great
.

She pulled in another breath. And was hit by another arousing wave of his fresh forest
smell.
Vaya
, it was nice. Why did a guy in a designer suit smell like he’d just stepped off an
alpine hiking trail? Further, why did she sense he’d ditch the suit for the trail
in a second? With that jaw, that hair, and those eyes, he was stunning enough to fill
one of the Rolex watch ads on the billboards overhead, yet claimed he was in the airport
for “business.” Now he was stuck in a dingy city cab, in the middle of a freak LA
fog bank, with two women who might rouse from their drunk stupors any second just
to barf on him—and a third who’d gone dizzy from the effort of resisting his smoke-dark
stare.

She finally managed to answer, “And you, Mr. Burnett, are nearly a stranger.”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “A nice one” —he trailed his fingers up the back of
her neck— “unless you ask me not to be.”

There was a rebuff in her brain for that. Somewhere. But as he emphasized his point
by sifting his fingers into her hair and pulling by the tiniest degrees, all she could
do was gasp. The sound trumpeted what he’d just done to the sensitive nerves between
her thighs.

“Damn,” the man whispered.

Zoe straightened with a jerk. “What is it?” she demanded. “What’d I do wrong?”

“Wrong? Not a damn thing, beautiful.” He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck
too. “As a matter of fact, if you do things any more right, I’ll be bugging out of
the Hilton on
three
legs.”

She surrendered to a nervous laugh. At the renewed curiosity in his golden silk eyes,
she explained, “You sure you’re just a mild-mannered businessman, Mr. Burnett?”

“Define ‘mild-mannered.’” He kneaded his neck harder. “Why’d you ask?”

She settled her back against the cab’s door and regarded him for a long moment. “Because
you talk just like the army sergeant who’s going to be my brother-in-law come New
Year’s Eve.”

His expression didn’t change. But if it was true what the New-Agers said about a person’s
energy having a color, his just amped from focused purple to alarmed crimson. Before
she could discern why, he flashed an extra-smooth smile and countered, “You know,
I’m tempted to boomerang that at you.”

What was this? A hint at playful? The switch-up gave her hope of gaining back some
composure. “Is that so?”

The man leaned forward, matching the angle of his head to hers. “Are you sure you’re
just a mild-mannered dancer, Miss Chestain?”

She arched a brow. “You’re asking that of a Las Vegas backup dancer, mister. They
make us check our ‘mild-mannered’ cards at the door.”

“Ahhh, yes. That’s right. A dancer for a ‘hot’ Sin City show.”

“Did Brynn and El tell you that?”

“They supplied the ‘hot’ part. The rest is original material.”

She tossed her head the other way, giving the move some spunk. The man was comfortable
to talk to when she stopped fantasizing about him with a paddle in his grip or his
hand on her ass. “You know ‘Sin City’ isn’t exactly new, right?”

She raised a hand to put the cliché into air quotes but lowered it when he straightened
his head, zapping her with the full, delicious effect of his darkening stare. “Sin
itself isn’t original, little dancer. But what one does with it can redefine a man.”
He jolted her anew when scooping up her hand, rotating it over, then dipping his lips
to the center of her palm. “Or a woman.”

So much for comfortable.

Or any semblance of rational.

Do it again. Oh God, please do it again
.

Fortunately, her brain was more cooperative than her libido. One second of clarity
later, she successfully yanked her hand back. “You’re a naughty man, Mr. Burnett.”

She didn’t have any strength—or motivation—to add humor. That didn’t stop the guy
from smirking again, looking like a
Survivor
player who’d found the immunity idol. “Nah,” he drawled. “Just a grunt doing my job,
ma’am.”

She narrowed her gaze. “Who
really
likes doing it with a shitload of those cute military words.”

For a second, long enough for her to notice, his smile wavered. “Some of my best friends
are ground pounders,” he supplied. “That probably explains it.”

“Hmmm.”

She didn’t alter her gaze. He maintained his, too.

“You don’t believe me,” he finally asserted.

Zoe bit the inside of her bottom lip. “Actually,” she murmured, “I do. But that’s
the trouble.”

He propped his head on a tripod of the fingers that just been on her skin. “Why?”

She had an answer. But the best way to phrase it?
Caramba
. Thankfully, her confusion lasted for all of two seconds. “What the hell. It’s not
like we’re going to see each other again.” She squared her shoulders. “Because there’s
something else you’re not telling me, Mr. Burnett. Maybe a lot of something else’s.
And—”

“And?” His soft smile matched his prodding tone.

“And I can’t figure out why that bothers me.” She frowned and glanced back up. Not
unexpectedly, his stare awaited her again, only he’d ramped up the trying-to-see-through-her
factor. His neck was taut, his strong lips pressed together. His whole body seemed
poised and ready.

For what
?

“I understand that,” he murmured.

“You do?”

“I want to know more about you, too.” Even as the driver guided the car around a tight
turn, requiring him to wrap a hand around Ellie’s calves to stop her from slipping
off the seat, his focus didn’t waver. “A lot more than we can handle in a five-minute
cab ride.”

Zoe had done her part to prevent El’s fall. But releasing her grip from her friend’s
elbow played her hand right back into Burnett’s grip. Her breath snagged as his fingers,
massive and warm, closed around hers.
Dios
, he had big hands. So certain and strong. Long and graceful. Ohhh hell, what they
did to her thoughts. Was there a shred of truth in the adage about the size of a man’s
hands in correlation to his other…parts?

Get your mind out of the gutter. Now.

Fat chance. She wetted her lips before stammering, “Five minutes can be an eternity.”

He molded his tightly around hers. “Is that so?”

“Mmm hmm. Just ask a dancer trying to look sexy during a major show finale at a dance
rave pace.”

He chuckled. The expression spread over his face, igniting it into a captivating sight.
She’d have no trouble with taking up a new hobby: counting the captivating flecks
of topaz in his eyes. “You have a very good point.” Just as quickly, those specks
heated. “So maybe we should take full advantage of our eternity.”

Once more, everything from her head to her toes felt like electric lines in a hurricane
.