Jasmine (Kings of Guardian Book 6) Page 2

  The short walk to the dressing room resembled a rush hour traffic accident or a logjam. Roadies, event staff, tour crew members and what appeared to be an excessive amount of fans made it impossible to walk down the corridors. Jazz started detailing faces as a distraction to keep her mind off the blood-soaked shirt around her arm. Women of all shapes and sizes lined the hallway. Jasmine glanced at scores of beautiful women while they all ogled the still shirtless singer. Why? Jasmine glanced at the t-shirt on her arm. Oh. She was using his clean shirt as a bandage. She held back a completely inappropriate bubble of laughter. Well, at least she’d done her part to enhance the fan experience. If she wasn’t bleeding, this portion of the show might have been entertaining. Every last one of the female groupies positioned themselves to present a seductive display to the band members scattered down the hallway. Once the crowd registered Nelson’s presence, the corridor shrank with an immediate press of people.

  Nelson put his arm around her shoulder, shielding her injured arm from the jostling crowd, protecting her with his body. When the heat of his arm surrounded her, she realized she was cold. The obvious after-effects of the fight and adrenaline. She shrugged off his arm and pulled away from his side. She wasn’t a shrinking violet who needed a male to play caveman. She had enough overprotective testosterone in her life, thank you very much.

  The crowd surged, and Jasmine winced when someone hit her arm. Chad reached for her and tugged her against him again. Oh, this right here? This is not happening. Who in the hell was he to protect her when she’d been sent to save his ass? She couldn’t allow this Neanderthal thing the man had going on to continue. If her brothers or co-workers had tried it, she’d have taken out a few knees or broken some fingers. Jasmine pulled away again and stepped back into personnel security mode, her new course of action decided: One, get the client to his dressing room. Two, get the hell out of this place. Three, suck it up and go to the hospital for some stitches, and four, clock out. Oh, and five, find her damn luggage. The job was done, and so was she. What a day.

  Her shaking from the cold worsened, and she felt thirsty and dizzy. Had she lost more blood than she’d realized? It didn’t matter. She needed to get the hell out of Dodge. She took a quick inventory of the sea of cowboy hats lining the hallway. Another ill-timed bubble of mirth forced its way up. She gave a small smile. Get the hell out of Dodge wasn’t just a figurative statement tonight. With this many cowboys, she could rebuild Dodge City. She gave a small snort and shook her head. Damn, she needed to focus.

  Nelson filled his lungs and yelled, “Kirk, clear this damn place! Get a doctor to my dressing room now!” A few members of the Dome’s security team, band members, and road crew scurried at his demand and worked to part a way for them through the crowd.

  The dressing room he led her into was surprisingly small. A loveseat and a recliner sat a comfortable distance from each other opposite a minuscule area that could be used for makeup and hair. A single comb, deodorant, toothpaste and covered toothbrush lay on the vanity by the tiny sink. A large clothing rack held two shirts and a pair of jeans. Jasmine gave a mental tick in the man’s favor. Chad Nelson didn’t appear to be a prima donna, unless this wasn’t his dressing room. So far that was the one and only mark in the ‘good’ column she’d admit to giving the singer. Well, that and the protector thing, but that really didn’t count because it pissed her off. One good mark. Eight or nine bad marks, starting with ‘doesn’t listen to directions’ and ending with ‘legendary womanizer.’ She’d learned her lesson the hard way when it came to wandering eyes and cheating men. Unfortunately for her, the hard way seemed to be the normal method of tutelage if you were a King.

  Chad motioned for her to sit down on the couch. He grabbed a clean hand towel from the bathroom and returned quickly, dropping on his knees in front of her. He lifted her injured arm. Jasmine started to pull the blood-soaked shirt off the wound.

  “No, don’t take that off. If the blood has started to coagulate, we don’t want to disturb it and get it bleeding again. I am just going to wrap this over the top to soak up the blood.” Jasmine held out her arm as he carefully snugged it over his t-shirt.

  The man was so close when he leaned in, his body forced her legs open. Oh crap. She could smell his cologne. It was spicy and rich, and his musk entangled in the aroma. Heavenly. His bare chest and shoulders were directly at eye level. And good God, what an eyeful they were. No wonder he was on every magazine cover in the free world. He could be immortalized in stone and forever be looked upon as the perfect male form.

  No, no, no, no… more bad marks than good. You are not interested. Jazz closed her eyes as his long fingers tucked the end of the towel close to her wrist. The technique secured the edge to prevent it from unwrapping. When his fingers ghosted over her wrist, she shivered because it was cold in the room—no other reason.

  He lifted her left hand and lightly pinched the nail bed of each finger of the injured arm. “You have good capillary refill. Can you feel me touch you?”

  Only with every nerve ending in my body. He was so close there were only inches between their faces. Jasmine looked up into his eyes and hitched a breath. The intensity of those riveting blue eyes turned her entire body into a molten mess. Closing her eyes, she inhaled and purposefully exhaled in one, long, deep breath, clearing her senses. “Yes, I can feel you.”

  He continued his ministrations. “Clench your hand into a fist gently around my fingers.”

  Slowly, her fingers clenched and released.

  “That’s good. Doesn’t look like the idiot damaged too much.” He lifted her chin, and his sea-blue eyes seemed to look through her again.

  His scent and touch played havoc with her normal, rational sensibilities. Desperate to find space to breathe, she pulled away. Her mouth felt lined with cotton batting. She squirmed backward again, leaning deeper into the loveseat cushion to create a wider space between them. She croaked, “May I have a drink of water, please?”

  His hand dropped from her chin as his eyes searched hers before he spoke. “Yeah, it is rather hot in here, isn’t it?”

  He lifted his hand and tucked a strand of her hair back behind her ear before he rocked effortlessly back on his heels and stood, giving her a perfect view of the sizable bulge behind the button-up fly of his 501s. Oh, holy hanging hammocks, her mind fritzed like a static-filled screen. She immediately lost focus on whatever the hell it was they were talking about. Jasmine blinked twice to reboot her brain and then closed her eyes tightly. God, she’d lost too much blood, that was the only explanation for her delayed responses. She’d worked and lived around good-looking men her entire life. Nobody had affected her like this. It had to be blood loss. Shock. She was in shock. There was no other explanation. Thankfully, he added distance when he walked across the room to the small refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of generic labeled water.

  Handing her one after he opened it, he asked, “So do I keep calling you darlin’, or are you going to tell me your name?”

  His voice curled around her in a slow southern drawl that she was sure every woman in the stadium would love to hear one-on-one. Jazz pulled a tight smile as she took the water. Distance was the way out of this very confusing situation. When he’d asked her name, he’d handed her an advantage that she’d use. Jazz leaned back, and for the first time tonight, she relaxed before she plastered on a subtle smirk. “Whoever hired my company should be able to find out for you. They’re paying us, after all. Ask them.”

  An eyebrow rose before he asked, “So you’re a security specialist?”

  Jasmine batted her eyes and shook her head. “Oh no. You see, I won a local radio contest. I was the fifth caller, and I got a backstage pass.” She put the bottle down and muttered, “They grow them smart down here, don’t they?”

  “Okay, fair enough, I earned that one. But seriously, what’s with the secrecy? I mean, I just want to know who to thank.”

  Jasmine saw the devilish light in his eyes and upped t
he ante. The distraction from the ache of her arm was more than welcome. Her natural southern accent lilted as she bantered, “Why, you would thank me! So there you have it, I am me, and you are you, and there is absolutely no need for any other introductions.”

  “Well, as I believe you might happen to know my name, I don’t think we’re even.” He laughed as he placed the water to his lips and took a drink.

  Jazz waited until he started drinking and quipped, “See, that’s what the problem is. I don’t like to be even. I prefer to be on top.”

  The country star choked, spewing out the gulp of water. Chad wiped his mouth and stared her from across the room. His deep voice sounded like liquid sex as he raised an eyebrow and drawled, “Really, I had you pegged as someone who would want her man to be the one in control.”

  Jasmine suppressed a shiver induced by his natural timbre and forced a chuckle. “Isn’t that rather overdone these days? I seem to recall I just kicked some serious ass without any help from…” Jasmine lifted her uninjured arm and made quotes in the air with her fingers, “…a man. Why on earth would I need a man to lord over me?”

  He leaned back in his chair, his stare disturbingly direct. “Such a spitfire. I bet you’re in control of everything, every minute of every day. Don’t you ever want to be able to let go, even for a few moments?”

  “No.” The response was emphatic and honest. “No, I don’t.” Jazz held his gaze. Losing control meant getting hurt. Been there, done that and had the unused wedding invitations and the bridal planning book to prove it. This cowboy had stepped over a line that she allowed no one to cross. Even though the sexual tension between them was palpable, she wouldn’t back down. She’d be damned if she’d let this man play games with her head. She had five brothers to do that job. Jazz knew only too well the cost of losing control, and she wouldn’t pay it, not again. They both swung their attention to the door as a tall blond man walked into the room and stopped. He stared at his boots while he held a phone to his ear.

  The guy wasn’t as tall as Chad but was cut from the same cloth. Heavy muscles, bright eyes and that ‘good old boy’ feel. His nose had been broken a time or two, and he wasn’t as genuinely handsome as the singer, but he was good looking in a more rugged, less perfect way.

  He stood with his hand on his hip as he surveyed the dressing room briefly before he stared blankly at the wall on the far side of the room. “Well, how long will it take?” He looked down at the floor and then at Chad. “Thirty minutes?” The pause was pregnant. “Yeah, keep me posted.”

  He spoke to Chad as if Jasmine wasn’t in the room. “The doctor is dealing with a cardiac arrest in the mezzanine.” He turned towards the door. “We cleared the backstage area; you’re good to leave the dressing room to do whatever you want.”

  “Great.” She muttered under her breath as Chad stood and pulled a t-shirt from a hanger of his very limited wardrobe. The man must think she was one of Chad’s conquests, because he seemed disinclined to give her the time of day. Obviously, the man had seen this scenario too many times. Jasmine stood and walked out the dressing room door, leaving the sexy singer in the small room. She got her bearings and headed toward the rear exit before she glanced in Chad’s direction. “Thank you for the triage. I believe you’ve stopped the bleeding. I’ll be fine.”

  Chad caught up with her. He fell into step, pulling his shirt on as they walked down the hallway. “I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

  She stopped in the hallway and looked up into those brilliant, probing blue eyes. “Mr. Singer Dude, you need to listen to me. I’m leaving, you’re not. You need to stay with your band’s normal security team. You’re not welcome to come with me, but thank you for your hospitality.”

  He fell into step with her as she walked down the hall. “You’re covered in blood.”

  Tired of the day that just would not end, she stopped again and pegged him with a stare. The pain in her arm was obnoxious and throbbing. She was tired, dressed in blood-soaked clothes, had no idea what hotel she was checked into, and as far as she knew, didn’t have a toothbrush to use before she fell into a heap at said mystery hotel. Enough was enough. “Contrary to your assumption in the dressing room, I don’t need you or anyone else’s protection or company. I’m a big girl. I take care of myself. I’ve been doing it very well without your help for many years, and I’ll continue to do so when you get on that big bus and drive away. Go play your games somewhere else.”

  She’d reached the limits of her tolerance—granted, never very high—and her voice lost all emotion. “I hope you enjoy your life. Good night and goodbye, Mr. Nelson.” Jasmine turned on her heel and walked away.

  ~~

  Chad leaned against the wall and watched that peculiar woman walk away. He’d never met anyone who was simultaneously so damn willful and yet selfless. Hell, the woman wouldn’t even tell him her name. That alone earned his curiosity. He thought it was some ploy at first, but it appeared she honestly didn’t want to give him her name. And that was… odd. He was used to the adoration and the games the groupies played. This one? Well, she had his interest, alright. Leaning against the wall, he breathed deeply, mentally reviewing the events of the evening. He’d noticed her several times in the wings. Nondescript, or at least she tried damn hard to be, although it was rather like putting a thimble over a searchlight. Didn’t stop the damn thing from shining brightly. She’d never looked at him and had purposefully moved away from him when he stood next to her while he waited to go back on stage after his break. He didn’t have time during his performance to wonder who or what she was. He figured she had something to do with the Dome. But security, who’d have believed it?

  She reminded him of a colt he once owned. All legs and spirit. With those boots on she could nearly look straight into his eyes. He decided he liked the heels on those boots and smiled to himself. She was more striking than pretty. Take your breath away striking. The expression in those big green eyes told him she’d seen a lot of life. She didn’t wear any makeup, and the dark circles under her eyes became more pronounced as the evening had worn on. Or maybe he’d just noticed her more as the evening progressed. Not a designer clothes person, either. She wore inexpensive black jeans that fit loose and a simple white shirt. She’d buttoned it up to the top button when he noticed her earlier in the evening. She must have popped open a couple when she wrestled the brick shithouse of a man to the floor. And damned if he didn’t enjoy the cleavage the fight had exposed.

  With her black hair pulled back and pinned up in an unflattering bun, he’d normally pass her by without a second look. But he had looked, and he’d liked what he’d seen. The woman was all natural. She had looked up at him as he wrapped his t-shirt around her wound… those eyes. He could only describe them as deep mossy green, and they held emotion that spoke straight to his soul. Exactly what that emotion was eluded him, but there was a vulnerable softness behind that frosty exterior, and it called to him.

  Chad drew a deep breath. God, he should have been more of a gentleman. His mom would tan his ever-loving hide if she’d known what an ass he’d been to his mystery woman when she was hurting. But hell, what type of man could have resisted propositioning her? Well, a better man than him, that was for sure.

  He’d sensed she wanted him. He’d felt it during the split second she’d molded into him when he pressed his body against hers in the hall. Even if that tiny surrender only lasted a second, he’d felt it. Damned if that moment hadn’t stoked his desire. He wanted her. Imagined his kick-ass-and-take-names mystery woman soft and compliant under him, surrendering herself. Well, that thought sent a jolt straight to his dick. He could still smell her. Cinnamon, with some other light fragrance he couldn’t place. She was a live wire with a quick wit. Radio show winner. Huh, the girl had spunk. And she wants nothing to do with you.

  He would’ve pushed himself off the wall and walked to his dressing room as soon as she’d left, but his body was in no condition to move. For no apparent reason, tha
t woman did it for him. Chad chuckled to himself. Maybe he should say did it to him. It had been a long time since he’d wanted to be involved with a woman for more than a one-night event or a scene that lasted a couple of hours… a long time. Damn. He shifted his rock-hard cock in his jeans and pulled away from the plaster that was holding him up.

  Well, if the mountain won’t come to Mohammad… Ole’ Mo was fixing on doing some hiking. He laughed at his joke and busted out in an old John Denver song. A little sunshine on his shoulders would definitely make him happy. Life for his mystery woman was about to get interesting. Kirk, his road manager, needed to get his chief of security on the phone. He wanted a name.

  Chapter Two

  Jasmine listened for footsteps. Thank goodness the hall remained eerily quiet. Tired and sore, she didn’t want to deal with anyone, especially the self-absorbed performer. She pulled her cell from her pocket, called in and did the walk of shame toward the secure rear entrance of the Dome. She asked for a transport to meet her there. God only knew where the others on her detail had ended up. She should have gone with them, but nooo, she ended up with that crooning cowboy. Lord, she was going to get a rash of shit from the others if they found out.

  Jetlagged and hurting, she waited in the shadows of the building until a Guardian vehicle pulled up. The distinctive blacked-out SUV with multiple antennas, bulletproof glass and tires, and undercarriage that could withstand a bomb blast was hard to miss. Subtle differences about this particular vehicle raised her hackles. Jasmine watched as the driver of the black Suburban exited. Yeah, her day did completely suck. She swore under her breath when her brother Jared and his security team emerged from the vehicle.