Page 6 of Velvet and Valor (Platinum Security: Shadows of LA #4)

AXEL

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

I mean, I think that’s what she just said. All the galloping horsepower under my hood makes it hard to hear much of anything. Losing half its mass in that wreck sped the limo up a hell of a lot.

At least the driver stopped shooting at me. Gives me a chance to rescue the damsel in distress. Only problem is, the damsel is looking at me like I’m crazy, an idiot, or both.

Using my knees to control the wheel, I extend my arm out toward her.

“Just climb into the window,” I shout. “I’ve got you.”

The driver of the limo—her captor? —suddenly decides he doesn’t like seeing his quarry get away. He reaches out and grabs her ankle.

The dark-haired damsel isn’t having any of that. She jams her elbow backward right into his temple. The man flops back into his seat holding his head, the car swerving wildly as he lets her go.

Being grabbed gives the damsel a bolt of courage. She reaches out and clasps my hand. My legs work overtime, pumping the clutch, the gas, and working the wheel while I match speed with the limo.

“Just stick your leg in the window!” I shout. “Come on, we don’t have all—”

She shoves her foot through the window. I get a glimpse of a shapely leg right before her Louis Vuitton high-heeled shoe comes down…right on my crotch.

“Jesus Christ!” I seethe through clenched teeth. “Hurry up!”

We hit a patch of rough pavement. The limo veers to its left, peeling away. The damsel screams as the limo is pulled literally out from under her. My arm trembles as I struggle to hold most of her body weight while she dangles from my window.

At last, she thrusts her other foot in the car. I swerve to avoid the limo, which is rushing up on our side.

“Hurry!” I shout.

Maybe I shouldn't have rushed her, because she wallops me in the jaw with a briefcase. Why the hell did she bring that? Is her hair dryer really that freaking important?

I shake off the pain and struggle to get control of the car. The woman loses her balance and falls right on top of me, basically straddling my lap.

My face is briefly enveloped by a heavenly softness as her chest squishes into me.

I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I fight to escape the sublime embrace of her bosom so I can see to steer the fucking car.

The buckle of her purse strap scratches a line on my collarbone but the tradeoff is worth it.

Believe me, I almost thought death would be a fair price to stay right where I was. Until that moment, she was just a VIP I needed to extract. A mission.

Now I realize this is a woman in my lap…and a damn fine one at that. All of this flashes through my mind in a nanosecond as I plant my chin on her shoulder and see a gun pointed my way.

The old guy in the backseat looks like I just woke him up from a nap and he’s pissed. A spot on his temple will likely swell into a nasty lump later. I can’t move my arms enough to steer away with this chick in my lap. So, I’ve got one option.

“Ramming speed,” I growl, slamming it into top gear and mashing the pedal to the floor. The Charger surges up and slams hard into the rear bumper of the limo.

The man sprawls hard across the seat. Without a rear window to contain him, he almost slides out onto the trunk.

In fact, the whole limo is looking rough. Without the roof, the undercarriage has to deal with additional strain. It probably won’t last much longer.

“I need you to move!” I snap, struggling to get the car under control without full use of my arms.

“I’m trying!” She squirms around on my lap, which has predictable results. “Oh my god, you’re disgusting!”

“It’s an autonomic nervous response!” I sputter. “Just get in the other seat already!”

She makes it over the center console and shifter and into the passenger seat. I don’t have to tell her to buckle up, which is good, because trouble looms ahead.

The construction has bunched up traffic for miles. Now, it’s downright stopped dead. There’s nowhere to go, because even the shoulder has been packed with motorists trying an easy cheat and only making things worse.

“What are you doing?” The lady’s voice is edged with worry. “Stop!”

“If I stop, they shoot,” I say, shaking my head. “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”

“Oh, well, that just makes everything better,” she mutters.

“Hey, I’m a firm believer in—”

I grab the handbrake and throw the wheel to the side, hard. The lead sled skids into a hard handbrake turn, leaving twin streaks of black on the pavement and filling the air with the rich aroma of melted rubber.

The wheels billow white smoke as the car points in the opposite direction. We take off like a bolt of lightning, going the wrong way down the highway.

“Manifestation,” I say, finishing my earlier statement.

“I’m dead,” she says, laughing. “I’ve been rescued by a maniac. I’d have been better off staying with the bad guy from Phantasm.”

“Ha!” I say, jubilant. “Isn’t that the movie with the flying spheres of death? I love that!”

“I’d prefer a little more Driving Miss Daisy and a little less Fast and the Furious right now, Mr….whoever the Hell you are.”

“I can’t turn myself into a septuagenarian African American man,” I say incredulously as we zip past the confused people in the limo. We gave them the slip.

Now we just have to live long enough for it to matter. I zip onto the shoulder, avoiding a collision by less than a foot. The angry blares of horns grow shrill then fade into the distance while we make for the exit.

Of course, we’re facing the wrong way, so I have to do another handbrake turn…OK, maybe I don’t necessarily HAVE to but it is faster this way…

Am I showing off? Probably. Can’t believe this woman has me acting like a sixteen-year-old with a crush.

There’s something about her, though. Not just the amazing body I can’t forget the feel of.

She’s kept her shit together in a situation where a lot of men would have lost it, and did it with that sexy, sarcastic sense of humor.

Hell, a lot of guys I served with in war zones couldn’t have handled the last five minutes with as much grace as—

“You fucking moron!” she screams as the muscle car fishtails wildly at the apex of the handbrake turn. “I’m going to lobotomize you with a shovel!”

“It’s all good,” I say, pulling off on the exit ramp. “It’s all—”

The left rear tire slips off the pavement and I leave some of my paint on the guardrail. The car swerves wildly side to side until I regain control.

“It’s all good,” I say, but my voice kind of breaks and I cough to cover it up.

She peers back up at the highway, fear swimming in her eyes. Only when we get off onto the service road does she relax, slightly.

“Who the hell are you?” she asks.

“You’re welcome for the rescue,” I say. “No need to thank me.”

Her eyes narrow to dark slits and her nostrils flare like a bull about to charge. Somehow, she’s still hot, though. “You call that a rescue?”

“Question,” I say, downshifting to first gear because traffic is thicker than a Chicago deep dish. “Are you still being held captive?”

“Um, no,” she says.

“Question two,” I say, “are you alive?”

“I hope so, because if this is the afterlife I definitely didn’t go to the good place.”

Ouch! This kitten has claws. It’s okay. You can scratch me anytime…

I’m glad I don’t say that out loud. Not with this woman.

She has presence, style, that special unknown quality that tells me my usual pick-up lines would be wasted on her.

I’m simultaneously pulled toward her, and repelled.

Any woman strong enough to keep her cool through a car chase like this, would be a challenge even for me.

Her intelligence, perseverance, spells nothing but trouble for a guy that sticks purely to the physical.

My silent battle rages for what feels like hours but is only a couple of seconds in reality. I force myself to objectify her again, focusing on her shapely legs. No feels whatsoever.

Yeah, right.

“Well, then I think this constitutes the dictionary definition of a rescue,” I say as diplomatically as I can manage. “A successful one at that.”

“I was almost decapitated, then nearly dropped out of a car going a hundred miles an hour,” she says icily.

“Semantics,” I say with a shrug. “And it was closer to one twenty.”

“That’s even worse.” She gives me a look. “You realize that’s even worse, right? Now, let me out of this damn car.”

“Yeah, you got me there,” I say. “My name is Axel. I work for a company called Platinum Security. Ever hear of ‘em?”

“Platinum? My friend Easton married the CEO and founder,” she replies. “Jackson something.”

“Right. Well, your friend Easton is who you have to thank for the rescue.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” she replies.

I struggle to concentrate on my reply, because now that I’ve got time to get a good look at her, she takes my breath away. Full, pouty lips, eyes that just exude chutzpah, and curves that won’t stop.

Her dark hair hangs in thick curls, partly obscuring the left side of her cheek. She casually sweeps it away, and my heart beats faster.

“I said, I’m afraid I don’t follow,” she repeats, a bit pointedly.

“Sorry.” I shake my head to clear it. “Your driver called the studio office, asking where you were at, and when no one could locate you, they grew concerned. Someone called Easton to see if she’d given you a ride home again.

Easton of course had not, so she used her friend finder app to ping your location, and found you were on the move. ”

“Thank god she didn’t assume I’d taken a taxi instead,” she mutters, turning a bit pale.

“She almost did, but you know Easton. She does like to double-check that all the I’s are dotted.”

“Yeah, that’s true, but how did you figure out I was in trouble?”

“When airport security rendered assistance, they found video footage of the woman you collided with at arrivals. A few minutes after you were forced into the limo, they identified known triad members picking her up. When they ran her ID, they realized she falsified her passport. It was all too coincidental and definitely spelled trouble.” Axel chuckles softly.

“You were obviously under duress getting into the limo, so Jax’s friend on the force called up Platinum Security because it was going to take hours before they could spare a unit to look for you. ”

“And you used that friend finder app to what, track me down on the highway?”

I grin and dig my phone out of my pocket to show her.

“As a matter of fact, I did! It’s actually really neat. I can see why so many people are worried about Big Brother but you did have to opt into the service willingly–”

She holds up a hand.

“I understand how the app works. I’m glad I let Easton convince me into putting it on my phone and joining her network.”

My gaze drops to the briefcase she is still clinging to.

“What’s in there?” I ask.

“My laptop, flash drives. Everything I’ve worked for over the last decade in production.” She stares at the suitcase like it’s made of gold.

I pull over onto a gravel road and put the car in park.

“You were just in a high-speed chase, after being kidnapped, and your foremost thought was to save your work?”

“I wouldn’t say kidnapped really. I got the sense that they picked up the wrong person.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, the vampire guy talked to me like we were working together, at least until he realized I had no idea what was going on. That’s when you showed up. I don’t want to know what would have happened to me if you didn’t.”

“Nothing good sweetness, nothing good.”

She sighs. “Classic case of mistaken identity. By the time I knew something wasn't right, it was too late. I guess my mind was on other matters.” She covers her face with her hands. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Eh, everybody can have a bad day now and again. I’ve done plenty of bone headed things myself.”

“You? Really? I never would have guessed.”

I stop and give her a look. She’s grinning, her eyes filled with mirth.

I laugh, and after a moment, she does, too.

She looks away for a moment, and I can’t help but think that she looks even more beautiful than she did while in danger and afraid.