Page 88 of Fighting for Scarlett

“I know. I see it,” he gritted out as he held his hands out, palms up, and continued slowly approaching the bed. “Scarlett, baby, it’s Tate,” he said gently, drawing her wild gaze in his direction.

Her hands clawed low on her stomach, and he could only imagine the horror of her current situation. Because not only had she been given a drug to induce an arousal so powerful it was painful for her, but there was a suicide vest strapped to her chest.

“It’s going to be okay,” he soothed.

“N-no, it’s n-not,” she stammered, then moaned and pressed her thighs together as her eyes scrunched closed and she began to rock back and forth.

“It is,” he countered as he carefully eased one knee onto the bed.

“He wants to blow us all up,” Scarlett said through clenched teeth. “You have to leave. Now. All of you.” Her eyes opened and latched onto his, pleading with him, but he had no intention of doing as she said.

If Scarlett was blown up in this room today, he was going out with her.

“Like hell, I'm leaving you here. Nothing is going to make me leave your side. Not ever again.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

January 19th

4:00 P.M.

“No,” the tortured word fell from her lips as a wave of arousal so strong it took every ounce of her willpower not to strip off her clothes, strip Tate’s pants off him, and sink down onto him, letting him soothe the burning ache tearing her apart.

Right now, Scarlett wasn’t even sure she cared who gave her an orgasm, anything as long as for one second she wasn’t consumed by need.

She’d take Ace, she’d take any of the guys on his team who she knew, although not well, she’d take one of the guys on Tate’s team who were strangers.

If they were still there, she feared she’d even take Raul’s men.

Anything as long as she calmed this beast inside her.

But this she didn't want.

Scarlett would endure the rest of her life plagued by this horrendous clawing arousal if it meant that nobody else died in this room today.

When Tate reached for her, she scrambled back, out of reach, a shaky hand held up between them. “You have to go,” she insisted.

“Not leaving you, sweetheart, so get that through your pretty head,” Tate said. There was that stubborn look in his eyes, but there were other things there, too. Things she didn't have the energy to figure out right now because all of her energy was being spent on not jumping either of the two men in the room.

Or taking matters into her own hands.

This time she wasn’t tied up, and the temptation to throw out the window the fact that she had an audience and just put her hands between her legs and relieve a little of the pressure was strong.

“You have to, Tate,” she begged. “He wants you all dead. Me and whoever came to rescue me. I … I'm stuck here … but you aren't. Leave, please. I don’t want you to die.”

“What the hell? You think I want you to die?” he demanded. “I'm not leaving, Scarlett. So don’t mention it again.”

“Bubba’s on his way,” Ace announced, reminding her that the other man hadn't left either. “Trust me, if anyone has a chance at disarming the bomb, it’s him.”

“If you can't you have to promise me you’ll leave in enough time,” Scarlett pleaded. The last thing she wanted was to take her dying breath knowing anyone had died because of her.

“Scarlett,” Tate warned.

Since arguing with Tate seemed pointless, she turned her attention to Ace. The man had a wife and kids, there was no way he was going to stay in this room and die along with her. “When you leave you have to take Tate with you.”

His brown eyes narrowed, and he looked offended. “No one is leaving you, and no one is dying here today,” Ace said like it was already a fact.

“But—”

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