Too Late Mr. Noble: You Can't Afford Me
Chapter 7
Lance hit the floor, clutching his face, howling. Blood sprayed across the pristine carpet of the hallway.
The music from the club was muffled here, but the screams of the few people in the corridor were sharp.
Hunt didn't stop. He stepped over Elle, grabbed Lance by the lapels of his expensive jacket, and hauled him up. He slammed a fist into Lance's ribs, then another into his jaw.
"You touched her," Hunt snarled. Crack. "You drugged her." Crack.
"Hunt!"
The shout came from Carlyn. She had just burst through the doors, phone in hand. Her face was pale.
"I called 911!" she screamed. "They're putting the club on lockdown!"
Hunt dropped Lance. The man crumpled into a heap, sobbing.
Hunt turned to Elle. She was slumped against the wall, her eyes rolling back in her head. She was clawing at the neck of her dress, her skin flushed a deep, unnatural red.
"Hot," she moaned. "So hot."
Hunt scooped her up. She was limp, burning up.
He kicked the elevator button. The doors slid open. He carried her inside, pressing the button for the penthouse suite-Noble Media kept a permanent room here.
"I'm suing you!" Lance gargled from the floor, spitting blood. "I'll take everything!"
The doors closed, shutting out his voice.
Inside the elevator, Elle writhed in Hunt's arms. "You...?" she whispered, her voice a raw thread of sound. Her hand came up, tracing his jawline with a strange, searching familiarity. "You came back?"
Hunt stiffened.
Who the hell was she calling for?
Jealousy, sharp and irrational, pierced through his panic. Even now, drugged and helpless, she was calling for someone else.
"It's Hunt," he said roughly. "Look at me."
She blinked, her eyes unfocused. "No... the light... it's warm..."
The elevator dinged. Hunt carried her down the hall and kicked the suite door open. He went straight to the bathroom.
He turned the shower on cold.
He stepped in, shoes and all, still holding her. The icy water hit them like a shock wave.
Elle screamed. She thrashed, trying to escape the cold.
"Shh," Hunt held her tighter, pressing her face into his wet shirt. "You need to cool down. The drug... it's overheating your system."
The water soaked his suit, ruining the Italian wool. He didn't care.
Elle stopped fighting. She shivered, clinging to him. She stood on her tiptoes, pressing her body against his. Her lips found his neck.
"Please," she sobbed. "Make it stop. Help me."
Her hands were everywhere, pulling at his wet clothes, desperate.
Hunt groaned. He was a man. A man who had been obsessed with this woman for three years. Her body against his was electric.
He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back an inch. "Elle. Who am I?"
She looked at him, water streaming down her face, mascara running in dark rivers.
"Hunt," she whispered. "You're Hunt."
He broke.
He kissed her. It was fierce, possessive, claiming. He backed her against the shower tiles.
BANG.
The suite door exploded inward.
"POLICE! HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!"
Boots thundered on the floor.
Hunt spun around, shielding Elle's body with his own.
Three police officers stood in the bathroom doorway, service weapons drawn and pointed directly at his chest.
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