When I'm with You (Because You Are Mine 2)

“What’s this crap?”

Irritation bubbled up in her. “It’s a watch,” she said fiercely. “It’ll cover the cost of the cab ride. About a hundred times over,” she added under her breath. It’d been one of the least valuable things she’d had in her jewelry box, given to her by her least favorite aunt who was renowned for regifting.

The cab driver first gave her then the shabby hotel a skeptical glance and handed back the watch. “No thanks. I’ll take the twelve bucks, plus tip.”

“That’s a Cartier, you idiot!”

“Right. Prince Charles himself has probably got one, but I ain’t him. I want my money.”

“But you don’t understand! You could take that to any pawnbroker and—”

“What’s going on here?” a deep voice interrupted. She swallowed convulsively when she recognized the steel-gray hair and the large, hulking form coalesce from the shadows. Shit. Baden Johnson had clearly once been a very strong man, but he was going to seed in middle age. That didn’t mean he didn’t carry the vestiges of massive, brute power, however.

“You her friend?” the cabdriver called through the opened window single-mindedly. “Your girlie owes me twelve bucks plus tip.”

Elise backed away several steps as Baden approached. “What’s this?” Baden asked, reaching for the watch.

She snatched her hand back, but too late. The platinum watch flashed between Baden’s thick fingers. He held it up, examining it in the dim light. His gaze narrowed on her speculatively. She glanced up and down the dark street, but not another soul was in sight.

“It’s . . . it’s nothing, just a cheap knockoff. I’ll just . . . I’ll run back inside and get the cash,” she prevaricated, longing for the relative safety of her locked room.

“Don’t worry about it,” Baden said, reaching into his pocket. He started to count off some crumpled, greasy-looking bills. “I’ll get your fare. I’m interested in seeing more of these cheap knockoffs.”

“No, please—”

“Hey now,” he said, his teeth gleaming in the dim light, reminding her of dirty fangs. She’d discovered Baden was fond of what they called in the States chew. “I know you’re good for it. You’ll find a way to pay me back, right? I can think of a dozen or two things right off the top of my head,” he said, his downward gaze over her body feeling like he’d smeared greasy slime on her skin.

Her thoughts started to come a mile a minute.

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Baden,” she said. When he looked away, she turned and ran.

She couldn’t think of what else to do. At least Baden was in the middle of finding the bills for payment. It would give her a few seconds to try to race to her room and lock herself in—better than waiting until he was unoccupied, the cabdriver had gone, and they were alone on the dark, deserted street together.

“Hey . . . hold up you little—”

But Elise didn’t pause. She reached the door to the stairwell, lunging to open it. Before she ducked into the musty interior, she glanced over her shoulder and yelped in alarm.

Big Baden was stalking rapidly toward her, just twenty feet away. He looked furious, not to mention determined.

She hurled herself up the stairs, cursing the fact that she hadn’t yet removed her strappy high-heeled sandals. Through the pounding of her heart in her eardrums, she heard the metal door slam shut and the sound of Baden’s heavy boots hitting the first stairs.

“Slow down, French girl. I’m thinking you’re keeping some secrets from your neighbors. That’s not too friendly, is it? Time you learned how to be a little nicer, seeing as you’re a stranger in this country,” he crooned, his quiet voice sending a shiver through her as it echoed in the empty, dark stairwell. Why had she ever exchanged a single word with him? She should have just avoided him, like any sane woman, instead of trying to charm away the threat of him. She heard his banging boots several steps behind her when she hit the landing and her heart jumped into her throat.

He was going to catch her.

Dear God. Was this it? All those years she’d partied indiscriminately with fools and drunks and remained unscathed. Was she to be raped or beaten now, when she was finally trying to take control of her life? No. The thought was unbearable. She reacted instinctively when Baden caught her arm, wrenching it behind her. She spun around like a whirlwind and whacked him hard at the side of his head with her fist.

“Brûle en enfer. Let go of me, you greasy bastard!”

Her unexpected move and fierceness temporarily set them both off balance. After a brief struggle, however, Baden steadied himself.

“You little slut,” he hissed between ragged breaths. When she saw his face, terror tore through her like a tidal wave. She’d obviously hurt him, and he was as furious as a kicked junkyard dog.

“No—,” she protested when he grabbed her hair, but her voice was cut off when he jerked back her head, stretching her neck, making it so that she couldn’t see the threat of him. Her breath caught in her lungs as she instinctively braced for pain.

A jolt went through her, but it wasn’t from Baden’s fist. She staggered and tripped on the stairs, abruptly free of the restraint of Baden’s hold. She glanced around in confusion at the guttural oomph of someone taking a fist deep in the gut. It was followed by the sickening sound of bone against bone. Baden sunk to his knees.

“You fucking—”

“Lucien,” she muttered, interrupting Baden’s curse, shocked and disoriented by his unmistakable tall shadow looming over both her and Baden.