Wanna Play (Ghost Unit, Book Three) (2 page)

“Shut up or go back,” she hissed at him as if she had a right to.

“You get back to the set and wait for the cops. Who do you think you are? Sheena, Queen of the Jungle? This is a job for professionals.”

“I’m using the small words, so focus. I said shut up or get out, stupid.”

She slid through the undergrowth without bending a leaf and if his eyes weren’t trained on her, he might have lost her. She was obviously a professional on some levels Blaster was becoming uncomfortable with.

“They’re gone. I creased one twenty yards up the mountain as they were moving over the ridge.” Blaster came up beside her as she surveyed the spot where the two men had been standing.

Hands on hips, Jas studied the ground as the blond gorilla steamed beside her. His accent made him a native son of the South but his training said he’d left home long ago. “You’re a bit of a Huck Finn, aren’t you? What brings you to our little reenactment of the Civil War?”

He was standing too close. She could feel the heat of his gaze sizzle down the bare skin of her back. His maleness was too damn invasive at the moment and she didn’t want its distraction.

Blaster didn’t bother looking at the ground. He already knew what was there. Cigarette butts and prints. Looking at Sheena was much more interesting. She was an elegant, dark angel and he couldn’t even remain mad at her. The close-up view siphoned his blood supply south at a dangerous rate again. Was it possible to incur brain damage from a persistent hard-on? Probably not or he’d have noticed the effects when he was thirteen, but it sure could put rational thought out of reach. At this age, that was a problem.

“Name is Blaster. Barry asked me to come by,” he introduced himself, ignoring the belligerent questions.

She glanced at him. She was exactly the same height though quite a few pounds lighter. She didn’t waste an ounce of what she had. She carried extra on her chest and filled out the back of her leathers in a way that could make a strong man weep. And he’d been correct about her face. Large eyes, high forehead, molded cheekbones, distinctive nose and full, glistening lips. Her chin was firm and a bit pointed, giving her face strength where it might have been softly rounded without it. She could drop a red-blooded male at twenty paces with a look.

He hadn’t found a view of her that didn’t stand every one of his hormones up in the ready position. There were women who tripped the animal switch, women who drew out the gentleman and women who brought the boy out to play. She blew his
animal-fuck meter
outta the water.

Jas’ eyebrows went up as her gaze slid over him. It was for show. She’d looked him over while arguing with Barry. “You always armed when you go visiting, Huck?”

Even the timbre of her voice strummed down his body. A husky female pitch that spoke of whisky-drenched murmurs on sweltering summer nights. She was speaking softly and if he didn’t listen to the words, he’d have been seduced by the tone alone. Shit, yet another thing about her that stroked his beast.

Behind them, the confusion on the movie set was not dying down. Obviously some people wanted to leave and others were trying to convince them to stay. General yelling and slamming things around seemed to be gaining momentum. Blaster couldn’t resist the slow grin at her sexy, sassy self.

“I’m a prepared sort,” he acknowledged just as softly. His voice rumbled low and intimate, thick with Southern charm. “You always armed when you’re on the set?” Blaster returned her question as his eyes traveled down her in obvious enjoyment of her costume or lack of it.

“Tie it in a knot, Huck.” She glanced down at his bulging crotch. Ignoring his question, she turned away from him to stride toward the set. “Sista’ envy looks bad on you, Huckleberry.”

“You’re mistaking lust for envy. I guess I was too subtle.” He followed her, captivated by the sway of that full bottom as she moved through the forest. Round and firm, she didn’t bounce, she flowed in a loose gait that mesmerized him. Delicious muscles flexed with each light step. The power in her thighs and ass brought to mind hours of rhythmic movement that left a man dry in the deepest sense of the word. He nearly groaned just watching her.

Jas knew she hadn’t mistaken one damn little thing. Huckleberry was pumping out invitations to sin with every breath he took. The lust was real but she wasn’t fooled. He was using the adrenaline high to enhance it as a shield and distract her from his real talents. Actually, sticking to that particular truth was a good choice. She felt the sexual current between them too and flirting siphoned off some of the stress.

Considering the Southern background his deep voice betrayed, she hadn’t expected respect from him. The lust was no surprise though.

Pausing for a moment, she didn’t turn as her hand came back to smack her own bottom. “If you’re going to keep staring at my ass, try shutting your mouth when you break the trees. You’ll look less stupid.”

He had been staring, but her move showed him she was as fully alert. All her senses were whirling if she could feel his eyes glued to her swaying ass. Could she sense what was going through his mind? Probably not, she’d have slapped him by now.

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathed, enjoying her more every minute. “But when I’m officially in charge of security, there’ll be a few rules. Number one being, your lickable ass moves away from the crazy people with guns.”

She stopped to turn. “Barry summoned Huckleberry Finn to handle security? Amazing. I guess it takes one to deal with them. Tell me, are these cousins or just school chums? Damn! Sorry. I forgot. White boys don’t get schooling south of the Mason Dixon, jus’ possum and coon hunting tips from Daddy.”

“No need to be sorry, angel face. I know your delicate nerves are upset over the shooting.” Blaster smiled condescendingly at her just to see what she’d do next. “And you’re mistaking a smooth Mississippi drawl for the local Carolina accent.”

Her body didn’t even ripple at his return barbs. “Aren’t you just the hopeful Huckleberry?” She smiled and turned away from him to proceed across the meadow. “Hang on to that sad little hope that I’ll do something stupid and give you an excuse to get your eager hands on me.” She laughed softly. “Course you’d lose a limb, Huck. Try not to think about it. You’ll live longer.”

“Depending on which limb, the sacrifice could be worth it,” Blaster murmured as he followed her again. This time the reason was to keep his body between her and the forest as much as possible. It’d be a pure crime if someone put a mark on her that couldn’t be licked away. Course there were several ways to mark her that could be licked up and they had to flash across his brain now.

She glanced back and snorted. “The first thing to go would be that stub you think with, Huck.”

Blaster rubbed his hand through the buzz cut on top of his head and grinned at her second snort of derision. Her reaction to his obvious misunderstanding of what she’d remove tickled him a bit. She had a spark that was about to burn him bad. She knew what she was doing when she pulled the handgun and again tracking in dense undergrowth. Whoever she really was, it wasn’t a Hollywood princess.

They reached the center of chaos, Barry was yelling directions and people were packing equipment into rental trucks. He turned to Blaster. “You owe me,” the director started belligerently.

“Relax, Bare. I’m here for you. No need fer’ the favor callin’.” Blaster grinned in his slow way, enjoying this. “Now just for the record, clear up who I am to Sheena.”

“Sheena? Who the hell is Sheena? Oh you mean Jasmina. Sure. Jasmina Carson, this is Samuel Callaway, better know as Blaster. Blaster this is Jas.” Barry turned away to yell instructions into the activity.

“No, Bare. Why I am here. Now.” But Barry was striding off, shouting at someone about handling something gently. Distant sirens were whining up the mountain and Jas turned away, laughing softly.

Blaster kept pace beside her and she glanced at him. “Where you goin’, Huck?”

“To help you find a shirt.”

They reached the actors’ trailer, which was bustling with activity, being packed up and people getting into street clothes. It was simply a long trailer with a row of doors to narrow cubicles where people could change. Nothing fancy about it.

“No. Really?” She stopped at the door to her small space. The sirens were much closer.

“Hurry up. They’ll be here in a minute.” He opened the door by reaching around her back, his body brushing hers.

Jasmina glanced toward the dirt path where the police cars would soon appear. “You have a problem with my clothes? I seem to remember you enjoying the view. Run along and play with the boys.” Cop cars nosed through the narrow path and into the clearing, sirens still blaring.

Blaster frowned at her a second. “Don’t disappear. They’ll want to question you too. You know you’re stone sexy, woman. I assumed you’d want men to at least glance at your face when they talk to you.”

“I’ll hold my breath.” A husky chuckle accompanied the shrug as she stepped into her small dressing room, pulling the door shut behind her.

An hour later the meadow was cleared except for Barry, Blaster and the sheriff’s car. Blaster had had enough. The sheriff wasn’t dumb. Blaring sirens all the way up the mountain and his attitude about “flighty Hollywood folks and their imaginations…” told Blaster exactly where the guy stood. He was retiring in three months and didn’t have a reason in the world to let this little fracas mess that up.

“Boys was prolly huntin’. Didn’t mean a thing by it. Ya’ll jus’ finish up your little movie,” the rotund sheriff repeated for the hundredth time as Barry went over the events again, trying to impress the sheriff with the need to investigate.

Blaster was standing to the side, his arms crossed, watching them. It was actually the first time he’d heard the whole list of miss-events and near injuries. The film company was having a serious run of bad luck and it’d started when they’d moved up to the high country.

At first Blaster had been worried he’d be tripping over the local law, messing up evidence and such or just making a pain of themselves. Right now he knew for a fact that they’d not see the sheriff or his staff until the next incident, at which time he’d only appear after a long drive with sirens blaring to make sure the perpetrators had vacated the area before he arrived.

The only person Blaster was sure of was Barry. It was obvious Barry needed help of a special sort. “Special Help” was Blaster’s favorite kind and beautiful, dangerous women were his next favorite.

Barry was Blaster’s family or as near to it as foster kids get. The two boys had spent seven formative years in the same house. Since then they’d gone vastly different directions but that didn’t change the fact Barry Levine and Samuel—Blaster—Callaway were and would always be brothers.

Barry allowed no trace of Mississippi mud to remain in his manner or speech. The slender movie director appeared taller than six feet two. It was his clothes and manner. He looked as if he’d sprung up fully formed from the stardust floating around Hollywood. His sharp features reminded a person of a hawk if they were being kind. A crow, if they were being honest. Black hair, beak nose and thin lips, his features were not perfect, but on his face they came together in a rather appealing way.

He just looked smart. Barry appeared always in motion. The air around him was charged with energy as if his active brain needed more space to work.

Blaster was the other side of that coin. A flat six feet, ash blond hair cut in a buzz was striking in contrast to the ruddy tan of his skin. He appeared a man constantly outdoors. His baby-blue eyes were surrounded by laugh lines. He had a Robert Redford type of all-American look. The easy smile and unhurried air was in complete contrast to Barry. Blaster’s indolent stance was a well-practiced lie.

Blaster had left Mississippi on his eighteenth birthday with a judge’s gavel ringing in his ears. Youthful indiscretions, a kind phrase for what he’d been doing, would turn into jail time shortly. The choice was do the time in jail or in the Armed Forces. Blaster now knew he owed a debt to the judge for giving him that choice. Besides Barry, the judge was probably the only other person who’d seen something more than just the smart-mouthed ass in him back then.

Now the people who mattered in his life knew him as a highly decorated and respected demolition expert and Special Forces retiree. He had medals for doing things in places that didn’t exist during action that never happened. Most of his career was still highly classified so there was no point talking about it. He enjoyed appearing the relaxed Southern boy who smiled more than he should. It gave him the jump on people who assumed he didn’t see the details.