She shoved him back. He was in the way. The last thing she wanted was for Drake Archer to think that she was involved with this bozo. She’d planned too hard for this moment. There was no way some drunk playboy was going to wreck her night.
“Not interested,” Jasmine gritted out. Talk about not taking a hint. The guy just couldn’t get it to save his life. This was the third time. The third time that she’d told him to back off. But he wasn’t backing anywhere.
He was crowding even closer to her. The guy seemed to have bathed in cologne, too—the cloying scent was about to choke her.
“I’ve got other plans for the night,” she told him, keeping her voice firm. Plans that involved her getting invited for a personal meet and greet with Drake Archer. Failure wasn’t an option for her. She had to get up there. Access to that private lounge of his was her end-goal for the night.
A desperate woman would do some very, very desperate things.
“No, love, you don’t have other plans.” His hand locked around her wrist. “You’re coming with me.”
That was the moment when Jasmine realized that the guy wasn’t quite as drunk as he’d appeared to be. Swallowing, Jasmine glanced down at her wrist. His fingers had closed around her in a too tight grip. An unbreakable one.
Oh, hell. Had her past just caught up with her?
“Now you don’t want to start a scene here, do you?” he murmured. “Because that could just get embarrassing for you.”
She’d thought her heartbeat was racing before. The frantic beat now shook her whole chest.
“We’re gonna walk out of here,” he said, his mouth right against her ear. “We’ll head to the parking garage, and then you’re gonna play things nice and easy.”
She was? Since when?
But he kept talking. The guy told her, “You’re gonna get in my car, and I’ll be taking you back home.”
Since he was being all chatty, Jasmine could hear the Texas drawl in his words.
That drawl had her muscles locking. Home was the last place she wanted to be, and she sure as heck wasn’t going to play the good girl and just march along with the man.
“You have me confused with someone else,” Jasmine said. She tugged on her wrist. No give at all. “Before this goes too far, you need to let me go. Then you need to walk out of this club. Just—go.”
He grinned. He was a fairly handsome guy, but he creeped her out. “No,” he told her, “I know exactly who you are—and you’re worth way too much money for me to walk away.”
She’d tried to warn the guy. He should have listened to her. Did the fool really think she cared about making a scene? Like embarrassment was an issue for her.
The way Jasmine figured it, she had two options right then. She could scream her head off, but with the music pounding, it was highly doubtful that anyone would hear her—or try to intervene.
So that left option two. Throw the jerk off-guard. He was stronger than her physically—hence the unbreakable grip—but…all attacks didn’t have to involve physical strength. There were lots of other areas in which she excelled.
She’d always been told that she was one hell of a kisser.
Instead of trying to pull away from him, she turned toward him and Jasmine put her mouth right on his. She felt the ripple of surprise that went through him. Obviously, the guy had expected her to fight for her freedom.
He should have read her file more. She was all about doing the unexpected. She leaned into him, arching slightly and, sure enough, she felt his grip on her wrist start to ease.
Your mistake, buddy.
***
The redhead was kissing the jerk.
What kind of game was she playing? Drake had been about to turn away from the glass when he saw her rise onto her toes and push her mouth against the man’s.
Drake’s hands clenched at his sides. He didn’t know the woman. Didn’t care who she kissed. No, he shouldn’t care.
But I want her.
And if Drake wanted her…
I’ll take her.
He pulled out his phone. “Get the redhead at the bar,” he barked the order. “And—”
She yanked away from the dark-haired stranger’s embrace. Turned on her heel and ran.
Drake’s brows shot up.
The crowd swallowed her almost instantly and Drake saw the fury harden the other man’s face as he surged after her.
“Stop the redhead and the ass**le who is following her.” She’d been the only redhead at the bar, and Drake knew his security team would already have her image in front of them.
He couldn’t see her in that crowd. Not even a glimpse of her hair.
But he did notice that the STAFF door to the right of the bar was swinging closed. That door led to the stock room—and to a flight of back stairs that his employees used. He knew exactly where those stairs would take the redhead.
The night had just gotten a little more interesting.
He turned on his heel and decided to give chase.
It wasn’t like he had to even work hard at the chase. Just a few feet outside of his lounge, a private elevator waited for him. That elevator was the only way to access his lounge. Drake pushed a button on the wall, and his elevator immediately opened. When he stepped inside, the mirrored walls tossed his reflection right back at him.
A flick of his hand and a quick press of his fingers had the elevator heading straight down to the parking garage.
At this rate, he just might beat her before she had a chance to escape.
In seconds, the elevator doors were opening again. He took his time strolling down the hallway, and when he reached the end of that small space, he typed in his security code on the keypad. The door opened and Drake found himself in the cavernous parking garage.
It was close to three a.m., and the folks in his club and casino weren’t about to pull it in for the night. Vegas didn’t sleep, and he knew this town was going strong.
He stilled for a moment and heard the fast and frantic pounding of footsteps as someone rushed down the stairs to the right. Leaning back against the stone wall of the garage, Drake crossed his arms over his chest and he waited.
Five…
Four…
Three…
Two…
She flew down the stairs. Her hair swirled around her face as she ran out of that stairwell and—
The dark-haired man was right behind her. He grabbed her arm and yanked her back.