Page 12 of Royal Flush

This was a nightmare and something I couldn’t allow to happen. Without thinking, I slapped my hand against his, shocked when two things happened. One was the direct, clear, and incredible electricity that shot through him straight into my arm and every other muscle. Now my core was close to increasing to a million degrees. Second was the ugly fact his cellphone flew from his hand, smashing hard on the floor.

Braxton slowly lifted his head, amused yet his eyes darkened. From anger or desire? I couldn’t quite tell.

“Oops,” I said, which was absolutely ridiculous. I felt a heated flush crawling up my neck and cheeks and loathed my body for it. That’s because my reaction had only a smidgeon to do with my improper, impetuous behavior in likely breaking his phone, and more to do with the raging hunger I felt for a stranger.

Whew.

It was getting hot in the room.

Seconds later, his office door flew open and Travis burst in with three burly-looking hunks of men in security uniforms.

“Mr. Royal. Are you okay?” the guy barked.

Braxton crouched down, picking up his phone. When I noticed the cracked screen, I cringed.

“I’m just fine, Travis. I believe Ms. Smith and I will be able to come to an understanding. I don’t believe she wants an assault charge added to her list of crimes.”

“Assault? You are kidding me, right?”

Braxton returned his attention to me, the damn smirk returning. “I’m not in the habit of kidding about crimes occurring within my resort.”

“Okay, boss. I’ll still be close by if you need me,” Travis told him.

“Yes, please do.”

Damn the man. Damn my decision to come here.

When we were alone again, Braxton shook his head. “You don’t deal with authority very well. You have no choice either way but to do so, Ms. Smith. Name. Now.”

God, the man had me between a rock and a hard place. Just staring into his big baby greens made me want to melt. But that wasn’t going to happen. Still, the nagging inner voice reminded me my choices of getting out of this debacle were slim and nil.

“Jasmine.” My voice no longer had the same icy chill attached.

“Good. I believe you’re beginning to understand. Last name.”

While I didn’t have a particularly unusual surname, the likelihood he’d know who my father was virtually impossible, I still hesitated.

“Jasmine. I’m losing patience.”

“Calm your farm,” I threw back at him, although there were plenty other not so nice bits of Australian slang I wanted to say.

He took a deep breath, his anger increasing.

“It means relax. Sinclair. Jasmine Sinclair.”

He seemed surprised or impressed, I wasn’t certain which, nor did I care. But honestly, I didn’t see any real sign of recognition. “Now that you should realize I am serious about having you arrested, I need your decision. Punishment my way or a possible lengthy jail term?”

I sensed the clock wasn’t just ticking. It was getting ready to be smashed just like I’d done with his phone. While I was exasperated, it would seem I had no choice.

Even if I wanted nothing more than to toss out the words ‘diplomatic immunity.’ Sadly, I wasn’t entirely certain how or if that applied to the Caribbean. I guess I’d just taken the status for granted all these years. Part of the reason was that this was the first time I’d been caught in my toxic yet fun criminal activity.

However, as usual with my brash personality, my haughty attitude remained. “What do you have in mind?” This should be good.

He seemed far too pleased with himself, not just smug any longer but as if he was lord and master.

I kept my arms folded, even lifting a single eyebrow, which was a little trick of mine to try to look badass. I could tell he wasn’t buying it.

Braxton inched closer once again, taunting me by tapping his long index finger across his lips. I should say his succulent, rosy lips. No man had that color lips without having makeup on and did he have a personal collagen advisor on standby at the resort?

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