Page 45 of One in a Million

Jasmine doused the headlights, gunned the engine, and shot down the road toward home. The road was familiar, and the moon lit her way. But only now did it strike her how much risk Sam had taken in coming to her rescue. Not only had he violated his own—or more likely the FBI’s—code of ethics, but if caught helping her, he could be arrested himself. Sam, who’d refused to get involved, Sam, who’d barely touched her, had put his job, his freedom, even his life on the line to save her.

* * *

Glancing back toward the game ranch, Sam could see headlights coming down the lane. By now, the lawmen would have learned where the demonstrators had parked their vehicles. Soon the place would be swarming with troopers, breaking into the cars, trucks, and sport vehicles, getting vital information about the owners while they waited for the tow truck. He’d made it here just in time.

The Corvette started on the first try, the engine purring to life, then roaring as he pulled out of the parking spot and opened it up. Even without lights, he could see well enough to fly down the road. But there were animals on the loose, both escapees from the game ranch and cows that might have wandered through the broken fences. Caution compelled him to slow down to a reasonable speed.

The Jeep’s taillights had already vanished down the road toward the Culhane Ranch. He should have warned Jasmine about stray animals. Knowing her impulsive streak, she might not have thought of the danger. He could only hope she was all right and that he would arrive at the ranch to see the Jeep safe in its parking spot. Only then would he allow himself to think about what he’d just done and the possible consequences.

He was nearing the ranch now. A glance in the rearview mirror reassured him that he wasn’t being tailed. But that didn’t mean everything was all right. Would the police already know who Jasmine was and where she lived? Had they bought his story about her being a wanted fugitive? Or would they come to the ranch, looking for her—and for him? Worry tightened its grip as he realized her troubles—and his—were far from over.

He opened the main gate using the remote that was clipped to the visor. To his relief, the Jeep was parked in its usual spot. Jasmine had made it home safely.

The house was dark. There was no light in the window that he knew to be hers. But she might have left the room dark on purpose.

He drove the Corvette to the vehicle shed and left it, taking the keys. He could return them to Jasmine in the morning.

Worry and exhaustion overtook him as he followed the path around the back of the house. His body needed rest, but he knew he wouldn’t sleep. After tonight, he might not sleep soundly for nights to come.

He could see the porch light burning on Madeleine’s bungalow. His own smaller quarters were dark. As he mounted the porch, a slender figure stepped out of the shadows. It was Jasmine.

“What are you doing here?” He spoke in a whisper.

The keys to the Jeep dangled from her hand. “We need to trade,” she said, keeping her voice low. “And I might not be safe going back into the house. Those troopers could still come looking for me. Mariah’s up. She said that if they showed up, she’d cover for me—and she wouldn’t tell my mother or Lila.”

Mariah could be trusted to protect the daughter of her beloved former employer. That much, at least, made sense. But it could also mean that Jasmine would be spending the night here, with him.

He unlocked the door and opened it, leaving the room dark. The porch light next door, shining through the blinds, lent a ghostly light. “Come on in,” he said. “I’ll be a gentleman and take the couch.”

“Nonsense!” She closed the door behind her. “We should at least flip a coin. Have you got a quarter?”

Sam had no coins in his pockets. But he forgot about that as she stood looking up at him with those striking eyes of hers. Her hair was wind-tousled, her cheek smudged with the black makeup she’d missed wiping off. Her tank top hung off one shoulder, exposing the strap of a skimpy flesh-hued bra. He could feel himself weakening. He fought the weakness with anger.

“Damn it, what got into your head, Jasmine?” It was all he could do not to seize her shoulders and shake her. “I told you those people were trouble. You could be in jail right now. Or worse, you could’ve been hurt, even killed. Why in hell’s name didn’t you listen to me?”

Her look was defiant. “I did listen. But maybe I wanted trouble. Maybe I wanted to punish myself—or to punish Charlie. I don’t know why I did it. I just did.” Unshed tears glimmered in her eyes. “And now I have a question for you. You didn’t have to come after me. You didn’t have to lie to keep me from being arrested. You could have left me to get what I deserved. Why would you risk so much for this spoiled little brat? Tell me the truth, Sam. Why did you do it?Why did you save me?”

Her voice broke on the last words. She was shaking, fighting tears.

What had driven him to save her? Sam could find no words to answer that question. All he could do was wrap her in his arms and pull her to him.

She came to him without resistance, the curves and hollows of her body fitting his. As she clung to him, trembling like a broken child, Sam could feel her need—the need to be close, to be comforted, to be loved. It echoed his own. Until now he hadn’t realized how alone he’d been, or how deeply he’d yearned to hold her in his arms again.

He buried his face in the soft cloud of her hair, inhaling the aromas of smoke, shampoo, and sweet, sensual woman. With a whimper, she raised her face for his kiss. Her full lips were swollen silk, soft and yielding, tasting of salty tears.

He had broken rules to save her. He was breaking more rules now. Down the road, there could be hell to pay. But right now nothing mattered except her need—and his.

Where their bodies pressed, he could feel her heat going through him like wildfire. His body thrust hot and hard against the fabric of his jeans. Her hips pressed against him, moving slightly, deepening the sensations. A moan escaped his lips.

Under the skimpy tank top she wore, her skin was like satin to the touch. As Sam’s fingers worked the catch of her bra and found her breasts, it occurred to him that he should say something noble like,We shouldn’t be doing this.Or,Stop me if you don’t want to go on.But they’d already passed that point, and the words went unspoken.

Their kisses grew hungry, then desperate. Her fingers tugged at his belt, loosening the buckle. He unclipped the pistol he was wearing and put it aside. Then swept her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom.

Their clothes and boots littered the floor as they made it to the bed, naked in each other’s arms and wild with need. On her back, she pulled him down to her and opened the way. He slipped inside her like a hand into a silken glove, their bodies fitting, melding into one.

He began to move, gliding on her wetness, then thrusting hard, and harder. His world became Jasmine . . . Jasmine in his arms, Jasmine cradling him inside her, moving with him, gasping as the dizzying sensations mounted, her fingers digging into his buttocks, pulling him deeper as they climaxed together.

I love you, Jasmine.The words were in his mind, but he knew better than to speak them out loud. That could ruin everything.