her.
It was in part due to the adrenaline dump. Back in the day he’d been a regular street brawler and, to be honest, he’d loved it. But his mom hadn’t, and so he’d gotten his shit together, went legit and made it to the SBC.
That was all up in the air again, though, and odds were, he’d have to quit after the next fight.
But not yet.
And not to be Sahara’s underling.
“I’m cold.”
“Is that a hint for me to warm you up?”
“Could you?” Without waiting for an invite, she stepped in to him, her cheek against his chest.
Feeling her shivers, he held her closer, his free hand wrapped in her hair. “How come you never wear it down?”
“Because I’m the boss.”
She said it like it made perfect sense. “Bosses can’t have long hair?”
“Bosses have to look controlled.”
Trying to figure her out, he asked, “And the clothes you wear?”
“They’re my expensive, professional, classic I’m-in-charge-and-I-know-it clothes. Perfect for a shark.”
She sounded sleepy, and that automatically led him to thinking about her going to bed. At her big mansion. Alone. “Tired?” he asked.
“A little, but I need food before I rest.” Keeping her chin on his chest, she turned her face up to his. “Do you feel like eating?”
A loaded question, especially with the way she looked at him. Did she mean to put carnal images in his head? Whether she did or not, he got a distinct visual of her on her back, her long legs over his shoulders while he stroked her with his tongue.
“Brand?”
Damn it, now she sounded breathy but he couldn’t tell if it was exhaustion or interest.
Bottom line, if she wanted company, he’d be company. “Sure. Where do you want to go?”
“My place.”
Her place? Oh hell no. Trying to be reasonable, he said, “I was under the impression that the kidnappers know where you live.”
“Clearly, but once I’m locked inside they can’t bother me.”
“They’ve already bothered you.”
“Yes, but there’s nowhere more secure than my home.” She walked her fingers up his chest. “And you can ensure I get inside safely, right?”
Be alone with her in that mausoleum? With her braless, her hair down and the caveman testosterone still pumping hard through his bloodstream? Bad idea. “Sahara—”
“Look, isn’t that Miles now?” Once she spotted him, she straightened with relief. “Thank goodness because, much as I hate to admit to a weakness, I’m ready to crash.” As if he didn’t already know it, she heaved a heavy sigh and said, “It’s been a trying day.”
What an understatement.
And what a woman. Sahara would always be a handful...but then, Brand had very big hands.
* * *
HE WAS INCREDIBLY PISSED—and also impressed—to the point where he couldn’t reconcile the two emotions. He sat in the back of the van with his downed men, ready to finish them off the second they came to.
Carrying them out hadn’t been easy, not up those stairs. Sahara...carrying her had been a pleasure. She was a shapely thing, slender and toned but still soft in all the right places. And she smelled good. It had taken great resolve on his part not to turn his face against her hip and...
“They’re coming around finally,” Olsen said.
Ross gave him a dark look and he went silent again. Olsen had a problem keeping his mouth shut. No one was supposed to talk to her but him. He, at least, hadn’t underestimated her.
Much.
But Olsen, with his ideas on the weaker sex, couldn’t stop his blathering. It’s a wonder Sahara hadn’t flayed him alive.
Ross had no doubt that if she’d decided to, she’d have found a way.
When the man closest to his outstretched legs groaned, Ross gave him a nudge. “Think carefully before you say anything. One fucking lie and I’ll throw you out to the street where you can die without being a pain in my ass.”
Not taking the threat to heart, he groaned again.
Ross sat forward. “Tell me she didn’t do this to you.”
The groan mixed with a laugh. “No. A man...he came in to get her.”
Ross relaxed, but only a little. Of course, Sahara hadn’t done all that damage. The lady might have brass cojones and plenty of ingenuity, but she didn’t have the bulk and muscle needed to demolish grown men. “And what the fuck were you doing? Jacking off?”
“Talking to Terrance.”
Uh-huh. “So you two geniuses were so lost in conversation, you didn’t hear this guy come in?”
Terrance struggled onto his side. “Didn’t hear a sound, Ross. Then suddenly he was there.” Gingerly, a hand to his nose, he sat up. “I think it’s broken.”
“You think?” Ross eyed the grotesque swollen flesh that used to be Terrance’s nose. “Your nostrils damn near touch your ear. Yeah, Sherlock, it’s broken.”
Olsen shook his head. “Figured it was a man. I didn’t think that skinny lady could do all that damage, but Ross wasn’t so sure.”
Ross slowly turned his head to glare at Olsen. “You haven’t yet figured out that she somehow signaled the guy who came for her?”
Olsen looked struck. “Signaled him?”
“How the hell else do you think he found her?”
Andy, too, managed to sit upright. “I didn’t recognize him as one of her bodyguards, but the bastard sure knew how to fight.”
“There wasn’t any fight,” Ross snapped. “He wiped the floor with the two of you.”
“I got taken by surprise with a kick to the face,” Terrance defended. “I don’t remember much after that.”
“And you?” Ross asked Andy. “Your face is so fucked, I barely recognize you.”
With only one eye open, Andy complained, “I don’t remember shit either.” He moved his tongue in his mouth, then spat out a tooth.
Ross gave a disgusted laugh. “So this guy just materialized out of nowhere and started destroying you both?”
