by Jasmin Quinn
Hugo and Olivia decided to get married on the Gypsy Girl. Anto got Katerina to become an ordained justice of the peace and Mari helped Olivia choose a sleeveless flowing white wedding dress that ended at Olivia’s ankles in uneven swatches. Shoes were optional at the wedding. So were guns. No one elected to wear either.
The boat was stocked with food, drink and suntan lotion because even if it was getting on in September, the west coast was experiencing unseasonably warm weather and they expected there’d be some suntanning after the wedding night. They had rings, the license and Katerina.
Hugo navigated the Gypsy Girl out of her berth and through the channel toward Vancouver Island. They were going to have an evening wedding just off the coast of southern Vancouver Island in the strait of Juan de Fuca where the sunset in the west was spectacular as it dropped behind the Olympic Mountains.
Hugo anchored off the coast of Victoria, BC and when they were all ready, he and Olivia stood on the aft bridge deck of the Gypsy Girl and exchanged vows in front of Anto and Marisol, promising to forever love and honour one another per Katerina’s words. It was one of the best days of all their lives.
After, the happy group of five toasted with champagne and ate the best cedar plank barbecued salmon Olivia had ever tasted (also the only cedar plank barbecued salmon Olivia had ever tasted). Several hours after the sun set, Marisol and Anto retired to mid-ship cabin and Katerina crawled under a cozy duvet on one of the soft leather benches on the bridge deck where she could look up into the sky and see the stars.
Oliva and Hugo spent their wedding night in the aft Master stateroom making love, sleeping, then making some more love. Hugo told Olivia he was retiring from the game. He wanted to spend every single day of his life fucking, eating and drinking beer. And starting a family. Two kids, maybe three. They’d have them and raise them on the boat. Olivia couldn’t wait to get started. They were both so fucking full of love for each other that they forgot about everyone and everything else.
And they all lived happily ever after.
Except that Gwen was still in Vegas racking up the debt and pissing off both the Creed brothers with her constant and unsolicited stream of advice and observations.
And Anto was still working for Jackman and conning Rusya, or was it the other way around?
And Marisol’s dad was still an ex-cop whose single goal in life was to take down Randall Scott.
And Randall Scott had never seen his granddaughter because Dean Copeland had hidden Kelsie and their baby girl somewhere that even Scott’s long reach couldn’t touch.
And Mack was working for Jackman, but not really, and no one had a clue what the fuck he was doing or why.
And Jackman was severely pissed off that Marisol’s driver with the very accurate shot had deprived him of a solid interrogation and torture session with the venerable Anthony Scott. He didn’t care that she saved his life. He was still having anger issues and since he didn’t have Anthony West on his mind anymore that left him a lot of time to think up ways of getting his revenge on the pretty little Russian chauffer.
THE END
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EXCERPT FROM SHATTERED
Running with the Devil Book 6
by Jasmin Quinn
(Anticipated release February 28, 2019)
Rusya stood just inside the shadowed doorway leading to the pool and watched as Esma dove into the water. She swam with purpose or maybe it was more than that. It seemed a single-minded determination, like she was exorcizing demons.
Such an intriguing woman. Each time they shared the same air, he lost his sense of who he was. She made him ache with longing, with need. She made him sorrowful, sentimental, brought out emotions he hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since Irina died. He couldn’t understand why this woman would evoke such sadness in him. He wasn’t very often sad, seldom thought about Irina anymore. It was such a brief marriage.
But the dark woman in the pool, each evening doing laps like she had a fever and the only pathway to a cure was to banish it through swimming. So small, so beautiful, so strong as her arms cut the water. Stroke after stroke. Lap after lap, until she was exhausted, until she could barely keep herself afloat. Then after, a shower to wash off the remnants of the pool water, then to the sauna.
It was never his style to play around, to be polite or coy in his approach to women. To meet her in the sauna seemed a little like playing a game, but he wanted her somewhere private and away from the knowing eyes of the household staff. Of his men. He supposed he could have invited her to his rooms, his bedroom. That was blatant though, clear intentions that would take away her choice. Not like this. An accidental meeting. It would help him assess her, help him know what she was about.
Women were eager to share his bed. It rarely happened though. It was never very interesting. He grinned at the thought. The sex was good. Sex was always good, but he wanted a woman that was more than just a willing fuck. He wanted to feel connected. He thought perhaps there were too many women who wanted to be with him for the wrong reasons. He wanted someone for the right reasons. Esma could be that woman, bold and often teasing in her words, but not intentionally seductive. It was who she was and that’s what made her so attractive.
♦ ♦ ♦
Esma was so deep in thought as she stepped inside the sauna, she didn’t immediately realize she wasn’t alone. She let out a small shriek when she saw him, Rusya Savisin, sitting on the upper bench, a towel around his waist, otherwise naked, scrutinizing her. He didn’t react to her surprise. Didn’t react when the flush crept over her. “I’m sorry… I… uh… ” Fuck, Esma, find the right words. “I didn’t realize you were in here. I’ll go.”
She twisted towards the door, but he stopped her by saying, “Why would you leave?”
She turned back to him, keenly aware of how little she had on, if a towel even counted. “I don’t want to intrude.” She sounded breathless. She was breathless. Her heart was racing and there was a small tremble in her legs and hands.
“You’re not. I enjoy your company. Sit.” He waved a hand and she had no option but to comply.
She took the lower seat as far from him as she could get. It wasn’t just the sauna heating her up. It was him, the keen awareness that he was naked. His body, without a suit and tie, so hard, so toned, unexpectedly tanned. His hair a little tousled from the steam and maybe a workout in the gym, the shadow of whiskers on his face, tattoos on his arms and chest, a long deep scar running up the right side of his waist. She had never had such a visceral response to a man and she’d seen enough of them naked to know it was more than just his hard body. She put her hands on her lap, clasped them together and looked straight ahead. She groped around in her head for words, the right words, but there was nothing but blankness and the overwhelming urge for a drink.
She heard him chuckle. “Esma, come sit beside me. I don’t want to talk to the back of your head.”
She pulled her lower lip between her teeth as she stood and turned, keeping her eyes from his as she took a step up and sat on the upper bench. Now she was the same level as he but maintained the four feet of space between them. She was suddenly shy, trying not to betray herself to him.
“Closer, Esma.” This time there was no chuckle. His voice was cool, commanding. He was the boss.
She looked over at him, into his eyes and tried to smile. She didn’t want him to see how rattled she was, but she thought perhaps that ship had already sailed. “Okay.” She slid over a foot… stopped... then another foot. That should be enough?
“Better.”
The silence lingered between them, the heat stroking her distress.
“Esma, are you afraid of me?”
There was no point in denying this. She was terrified of him. “Yes,” she said in a hushed voice, her eyes to her hand.
“What would make you less afraid?”
Esma was coming to understand that this was who Rusya was. Most men would
ask why. He didn’t. He already knew why, didn’t need his ego bolstered by the struggle for words from a woman. He went to the right question.
She gazed straight ahead. It hurt to look at him, her longing was so intense. “I don’t know if that’s possible.” Then she thought the words were a bit insulting, so she turned her head towards him, keeping her eyes respectively lowered and added. “It’s nothing you’ve said or done. It’s just… “
“If I were to invite you to my bed, would you come?”
Esma wanted to grin at his word choice, with anyone else she would have had a cheeky response. But not with Rusya Savisin, not on this topic. She knew better. “Yes.” Softly, tentatively.
“Because you would want to or because you’re afraid of me?”
She wanted to say both, but instead she said, “I don’t know. How can you ever know that with a woman, Mr. Savisin? You’re powerful, dangerous and incredibly… attractive. How could you trust any woman’s motives?”
Rusya gave her a half-smile as he thought over her answer. “If I promise I won’t hurt you…”
Esma sucked in a breath. Fuck. “How can you promise that?”
“I have no reason to hurt you, do I?”
She thought she waited a fraction too long to answer. “No.”
He reached over and took her hand, pulled it towards him. “Stand up.”
Esma let him guide her to where he wanted her, in front of him. He didn’t relinquish her hand as he gazed up at her, his eyes darkening. Still seated and yet so powerful in his intensity. “If you’re afraid of me, then it’s hard for me to be anything but your employer, because I’ll never know your true motives.”
“You’re assuming that there will be any other type of relationship.”
He smiled as he looked down, not really looking, just moving his eyes from hers as he mulled over her words. “I don’t make assumptions.”
Esma shook. This was not part of the plan. Rusya was not supposed to be attracted to her. He was not supposed to seduce her. He was too forceful, too tempting, too everything.
He shifted his hands to her elbows and pulled her to him until their knees bumped. She thought he was going to seat her in his lap. “Esma, you’re beautiful.” As he said this, he drew his hands down her arms to her hands, then guided them to his shoulders.
She was trembling now. This was going to change everything and she was just barely hanging on by a thread as it was. She could want from afar, but if he did this, she wouldn’t come back from it. “I shouldn’t.”
He looked at her, a small frown, and then, “Shouldn’t disobey me?”
That clinched it. She had no options. She let her palms rest on his shoulders, dug her fingers into the hard ridges of his muscles, which flexed under her touch.
“Close your eyes.” His hands, so large they almost bridged at the back as they dropped to her waist. The air was heated from the sauna, but more than that. There was an electric current flowing between the two of them, connecting her to him.
“Okay.” She didn’t though. It was such a risk to do it. A giving up of control. He waited, his face full of expectation. “Okay.” Whispered this time as she lowered her eyelids.
She stood there, in front of him, still seated, his hands holding her. No movement, no sound except their breaths, his deepening, hers shallow from fear and desire. Then his touch as he slid his palms down to her hips, then under her towel and up the sides of her body, slowly, gently, skin against her skin, rougher than she would have expected. He moved past her breasts to the knot at the center of the towel.
“Rusya.” To her ears she sounded vulnerable and lost. How could this happen? She didn’t want his money, his power; she needed his trust and his love. And she could have neither of those no matter how much she wanted them. He loosened the towel and she felt the soft whisper of breeze as it draped to her feet. She was naked, her eyes closed. In front of Rusya Savisin. A man she was betraying. A man who would ultimately kill her.
His hands against her bare skin, soft as he stroked her breasts.
“Please, this is…”
He interrupted her. “No words right now, Esma.” His accent rolled over her name like the trace of a raincloud. A promise.
She pressed her lips together as he continued to fondle her breasts, squeezing the small mounds, tracing her nipples, gentle pinches forcing her desire. Then he moved his hands lower, one steadying on her waist, the other sliding between her legs. “Open.”
She did, her body seeking what her brain was fighting. His fingers slid through the folds of her vagina, gathering her dampness, bringing it to her clit, circling it. She was shaking with fear, with longing. With dread. And he was bringing her up, where she wanted to be, but also didn’t. She was wet with her want of him and he knew it, his breaths deeper, his other hand tightening on her waist as his fingers dipped towards her aching opening, not entering, but teasing. Borrowing more of her desire and bringing it to her clit, easy even strokes, quickening to match her breaths. Her hips moved in concert with his fingers, her hands dug into his shoulders. “Rusya,” she whispered as her orgasm tore through her, a few blissful seconds of forgetting as she shuddered. The emptiness of everything. No cravings, no fear. As she came down, she wanted him to pull her to him, pull her into his arms and hold her. She needed that moment more than anything.
“Don’t open your eyes,” he said softly.
He shifted over on the bench and guided her down beside him. She felt his abandonment as he rose, the whisper of his bare feet on the cedar and then the soft closing of the door behind him. She waited half a minute, then raised her eyelids. She was alone. Naked, her towel on the bench below. She pulled a heavy shuddering breath into her lungs as she rubbed her hands across her face.
She would have cried if she could remember how. Her death was so close and it all seemed so unfair.
♦ ♦ ♦
Anticipated release February 28, 2019
Copyright © 2018 by Jasmin Quinn. All Rights Reserved.
COURTING TROUBLE PLAYLIST
Follow Jasmin on YouTube and listen to her Courting Trouble Playlist as you read the book!
Neighbourhood Girl – Stephan Kartenberg
Love Me Two Times – The Doors
Casablanca – Bertie Higgins
The Way You Look Tonight – Frank Sinatra
Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You – Frankie Valli and The 4 Seasons
Roadhouse Blues – The Doors
Sexy Little Thing – Chickenfoot
As Time Goes By – Dooley Wilson
Friends in Low Places – Garth Brooks
Virginia – Bill Amesbury
What the Hell I got – Michel Pagliaro
You go to My Head – Billie Holiday
ABOUT JASMIN
Jasmin Quinn is a writer in her heart and soul and loves reading and writing highly erotic romance novels with strong male and female characters. She writes intense and sexy romance with a hint of suspense, a splash of intrigue and a whole lot of Alpha male.
Jasmin tries not to take herself too seriously, but some things matter to her – like good manners, compassion for humans and animals alike, and Canadian maple syrup on vanilla ice cream. She generally disregards other people’s opinions of her unless they’re complimentary, in which case she fully embraces them.
When Jasmin isn't writing, she's a beta reader and editor for Jem Monday Publishing. She also likes to fuss with her website, lunch with her friends, indulge in retail therapy, and play the occasional computer game. She stays in shape by exercising her rights to her opinion.
Jasmin lives in beautiful British Columbia, Canada with her husband.
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Table of Contents
TITLE PAGE
ABOUT RUNNING WITH THE DEVIL BOOK SERIES
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60