“Awww, I was working up to it.” He leaned in for a kiss, but she dodged him. “What’s this about someone staying at your place? Won’t they interrupt what we’ve got planned?”
“Perdón?” Jasmine’s spine snapped into a straight line. “Of which plans do you speak? I’d answer carefully.”
Her shock was obviously the opportunity Carmine needed to go in for the kill. His chapped lips stamped down onto hers, big, grabby hands tugging her closer. Without being given time to suck in a breath, she had exactly zero oxygen in her lungs to sustain her as he mashed their mouths together. Feeling the beginnings of panic when no one came to her aid, Jasmine’s hand flew up and connected—smack—with his cheek. Once, twice. A third time.
Even after she slapped him, it took a few seconds for him to pull away. “What the fuck, Jasmine?” After a glance over his shoulder that found his group of buddies busting their guts laughing, Carmine’s hand closed around her right biceps. Tight. Tighter. “You’ve been asking for that all night, so I finally give it to you—”
Poor Carmine never saw it coming. To be fair, neither did Jasmine. One second, she was gearing up to knee Carmine in the family jewels and the next? He was on the dingy floor with an even bigger man straddling his neck, taking a punch to the face that gave even a pissed-off Jasmine sympathy pains. She couldn’t see her rescuer’s face, but through her haze of shock, she had one simple yet dominant thought.
Hello Shoulders.
They were broad and flexing and badass. Shoulders that made her think of Tarzan swinging through the jungle with a tiny blond woman clinging to his toga-covered body. Soap commercial shoulders that usually had frothy suds coasting down them in delicious rivulets while the man with a big white-toothed smile on his face lathered. God. Her rescuer could barely keep them inside his white long-sleeved T-shirt.
In Jasmine’s periphery, she could see a crowd was beginning to form around the brawl—a far bigger crowd than a fight usually warranted in the Third Shift. Some of them even had cell phones out, filming the action. What gives?
In an almost unconscious movement, Jasmine sidled around the fighting twosome to get a better look at her savior, but Carmine—finally realizing his ass was being kicked—rolled the newcomer over to lay a right cross of his own. Jasmine cringed at the thud of flesh on bone. Her date’s victory was short-lived, however, because Shoulders had the edge again within a split second, pinning Carmine down with a forearm to the throat, leaning down to get in his face.
“Took her three slaps to make you stop? Are you serious?” He pressed harder on Carmine’s jugular. “When a woman hits you, that’s a pretty accurate signal that she’s not into it.” A left hook crunched the cartilage in her date’s nose. “You know who else isn’t into it? Me. Can you tell?”
Carmine’s eyes were wide as saucers as he struggled to breath. Or speak. It was hard to tell since Shoulders commanded Jasmine’s attention. There was a familiarity about the newcomer…but she couldn’t know him. A woman remembered raw, commanding men like him. Men who spoke with conviction. They were a rare breed, and if she’d made his acquaintance, it would have stuck.
Out of the corner of her eye, Jasmine saw Carmine’s buddies set down their brews and hasten toward the fight, obviously intending to intervene. Jasmine stepped into their path, holding up a staying hand while tapping Shoulders with the other one. “Look, I really appreciate this, but you better take off before it’s five on one.”
Jasmine swore his wide, muscled back shivered beneath her touch. “What?” His tone was amused. “You wouldn’t be in my corner?”
God, that voice. Comforting and thrilling. Smooth and gritty. “You’re right, it would be five on two. I’ll take the bald one. He has a bum knee.”
His head turned just slightly, enough that she could see the rugged stubble on his chin, the strength of his profile. “I appreciate the offer, but you’re done fighting off men for the night.” As if pissed at the reminder of Carmine’s treatment, he cursed under his breath, regarding his opponent like a slime-covered slug. “When I let you speak, your first words better be an apology. We clear?”
Carmine’s eyes shot irate sparks, but after a beat, he nodded. Her rescuer removed his hold and stood, yanking Carmine to his feet by the shirt collar. “Sorry,” Carmine spat in her direction just as his friends reached them. Jasmine automatically tried to insert herself between Shoulders and the drunk locals, but he seemed to anticipate her move, grabbing her wrist and holding her away.