Page 28 of Bulletproof Love

He nods slowly. “You don’t have to do this, you know? I can go in there alone.” His eyes meet mine, sincere and pleading. If he thinks I’d bail on the group, then he doesn’t know me like I think he does. Once I put my mind to something, I follow through, nevermind if it tests my boundaries or even scares the hell out of me. I’ve chosen to be a part of this team—to help them bring these assholes down and find Jasper’s sister, and that’s what I’ll do.

“No, I want to do this.” Hearing my own voice say those words strengthens my resolve. “Plus, you’ll need me in there,” I add in a teasing tone.

He leans closer, the deep rumble of his voice sending a shiver down my body straight to my core. “Oh really? Want to bet on that?”

“That I’ll end up saving your ass? I like my odds.” I cross my arms and lift my chin, the picture of confidence. Am I bluffing? Yes. But he doesn’t need to know that.

He plays with a strand of hair that hangs loose at my shoulder before brushing it back. My breath hitches, but I force myself to stay still, to not let him know how much his touch affects me. “And what should we wager?”

I think for a moment. What would I want from Jasper Shea if I could have anything? Then it comes to me. “Winner gets to ask one question, the loser has to answer honestly. No bullshit.”

This could bite me in the ass, but maybe it’ll help me get closure about Blake’s birthday. Knowing he can’t feed me some excuse or lie about why he turned me down. Why he hasn’t said a word about that night. I’d finally find out if he really doesn’t remember us hooking up, or if it’s more than that.

He blinks, his deep blue eyes zeroing in on my lips, before meeting my gaze. “You sure about that, Trouble?”

“That’s the only thing I want.”

“Okay then.” He holds his hand out. “Shake on it?”

I take his hand, the rough calluses of his palm and warmth of his skin sending a rush through me that I desperately try to hide behind a confident smile. The reality of what we’re walking into leaves my mind as his fingers envelop my hand, gently squeezing. A silent gesture that saysI’m right here with you, we’ve got this.

A younger looking man dressed in a warm winter coat with reflective stripes down the arms taps on the outside of the window, and I pull my hand from his grasp. “You have your weapons strapped in?” he whispers.

I pat my upper thigh, feeling the outline of Damon’s gun. “Yes.”

I roll down the window using the manual knob, and the man peeks his head in. “Good evening. I presume you’re here for the gala?”

“Yes, my wife and I were invited personally,” Jasper says.

“May I see your identification?” Jasper’s features arrange themselves into a mask of entitled annoyance, and I have to admit he’s surprisingly good at channeling trust fund brat. We planned for this though, and I’m so glad that we did. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s a mandatory precaution set by Mr. Fairfax.”

After some grumbling, Jasper produces the false ID that Leon got for him from his jacket pocket. “What are they hiding in there? The Hope Diamond?” Jasper jokes, a slippery edge to his voice.

“I apologize again, Mr. Whitaker.” He hands Jasper the ID back. “And I’m assuming this is…Mrs. Whitaker?” The way he asks has me wondering if we’re not the only ones pretending to be husband and wife tonight.

Jasper rests a palm on my thigh, scorching the skin beneath the silky fabric of my dress. “Of course. My lovely wife, Mischa.”

I can barely concentrate on their exchange with his hand so high up on my thigh.

“Give me one moment, please.” The man pulls a device out of his pocket and scrolls, likely checking the guest list.

I whisper to Jasper. “You can move your hand now.”

He gives a gentle squeeze, spreading his long fingers out so they cover the majority of my thigh. “I don’t know,wife. I think we should play it safe until he comes back.”

“You know I have a blade between my tits, right? Don’t make me pull it out.” Whispering ruins my chance of sounding as menacing as I intended, but I can’t risk raising my voice with that guy in earshot.

Jasper lets out a low laugh. “Don’t tease me like that.”

“There’s something wrong with you,” I say through gritted teeth, and shove his hand off me. In the seconds it takes for the guy to direct us to valet parking, I picture all the ways I’d love to make Jasper unravel.

Paddle his bare ass.

Paint him in hot wax until he learns to ask nicely before his hands wander.

Edge him until he’s crying like a baby, begging to come.

I smile, and it must look evil. He’ll never know the thoughts behind it, or the way heat pools low in my belly.

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