She didn’t deny the charge. Instead, Jasmine asked, “Why would you bring me to your house?”
“You mean…why would I trust you enough to let you inside? Princess, it’s not about trust. Because I don’t trust anyone.”
He caught the faint flicker of her eyelashes.
“You know I made a phone call on the way here.” She’d asked who he called, but he hadn’t told her. He’d been too pissed for much talking. Pissed at her, at Wayne, at himself. Why am I keeping her so close? “A friend of mine is waiting inside for you.”
He slid from the car. She didn’t move. He hurried around to her side of the vehicle. When he opened her door, the Porsche’s interior light came on, and as the illumination poured down onto Jasmine, he realized that she’d turned pale. The gold of her skin was a pallor that he didn’t like.
Drake reached for her.
She pulled back. “Is this…friend…a cop?”
“You sure have some cop issues.”
“Yeah, I do.”
She rose from the car. Swayed a bit. He grabbed her, and she just felt so slight in his arms. He’d noticed it before. A delicacy that he didn’t expect. Back at the Arrow, she’d seemed full of energy and life, but when he’d touched her, Drake had thought…I have to be careful.
“Is the friend a cop or not?”
Then her knees buckled.
He held her easily. Lifted her into his arms. “Dammit, you’re worse than you said! You need—”
“Don’t let…anyone take me away.”
He hurried up the steps. The front door opened as if on cue for him.
“That’s something I didn’t expect to see…” An amused voice drawled from the doorway.
Drake’s hold tightened around Jasmine. “He’s not a cop. He’s a doctor.”
“A doctor who had other plans for the night,” Carson Thorn muttered as he stepped out of the doorway. “I left one very hot blonde in the lurch, and you so owe me for that.”
Drake grunted. Carson could be an ass, but he was one useful commodity. Drake had discovered early on that it paid to have connections—legal, social, and medical. In Drake’s world, there were plenty of times when a doctor’s services were needed.
Jasmine isn’t the only one who doesn’t always trust the cops.
He had an agreement with Carson. Carson took care of Drake’s employees and any…unusual situations that might occur. And Carson kept a fat bank account.
“I’ve got your bedroom set up for her.” Carson waved his hand down the hallway. “Standard rate will apply, of course.”
Drake carried Jasmine down the hallway. He carefully arranged her on the bed, and when he pulled back, he saw her blinking groggily. Hell, had the woman passed out for a few moments? Just how much blood had she lost? His hand went to the hem of her shirt. Blood was thick on her side, soaking the material.
She tried to bat his hands away.
“Do I need to sedate her?” Carson asked. He already had a syringe in his hand.
Jasmine’s head turned at his voice. Her eyes widened. Sounding utterly horrified, she demanded, “Why is a GQ model coming at me with a needle?”
Carson flushed a dark red.
Drake laughed. “He’s the doctor, and he’s coming at you because he’s worried you won’t stay calm while he sews you up.”
“I’ll stay calm.” She shook her head. “Not my first time…to be stitched.”
His eyes narrowed at that. “You get sliced up a lot?”
Carson put down the syringe. He arranged his instruments, and then his gloved hands reached for Jasmine’s shirt. He cut the shirt away when it stuck to her.
Drake’s teeth clenched as he got a look at the damage. That was sure no little scrape. “He wanted to hurt you.”
“He didn’t like being out—outsmarted at the Arrow.” She hissed out a breath when Carson started probing her wound, but her eyes didn’t leave Drake’s face. “It was his payback.”
Carson was carefully cleaning the wound. “She’s gonna need about five, maybe six stitches. Not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I’ve seen a lot worse.”
“So have I,” Drake said. Back when he’d been in the military, he’d seen images so brutal and bloody that they still chased him into his nightmares. And after he’d left duty, well, his business dealings hadn’t exactly gotten any prettier.
His gaze slid over Jasmine’s wound, then up…almost helplessly. She still had on a bra, a black, lacy thing that pushed up her breasts. Fabulous breasts. She was hurt and weak and he shouldn’t be noticing them but he did and—
“At least this side will match the other,” Carson said, voice droll. “Guess someone likes to play with knives, huh?”
Drake’s attention immediately shifted to her left side. Sure-damn-enough, there was a faint white scar there.
“I’m not the one who plays.” Her voice was quiet. “I’m the one who has the bad luck to get hurt.”
His gaze came back to rest on her face.
Her eyes were waiting for him. So dark and deep.
“Turn more onto your left side,” Carson instructed her. “I need a good angle for the needle.”
She started to turn. Drake quickly leaned forward. His hands eased her over and, once she was positioned for Carson, he didn’t let her go. Her skin was so soft and warm.
He didn’t let her go.
“You sure that you don’t want something for the pain?” Carson asked her.
“I hate drugs.” Her stare still held Drake’s. “Never touch them. Alcohol is as far as I will go.”
“Uh, you want some booze to help—”
“Do it,” Jasmine said, cutting through Carson’s words. “Or else I might be passing out again soon. I hate the sight of blood. Especially when it’s my own.”
Carson went to work. Jasmine sucked in a sharp breath and her hand flew out.
Her fingers, still marked by her blood, locked around Drake’s. She held him tightly. Tighter than anyone had ever held him before. As if he were her lifeline.
When he wasn’t. He was more like her destruction.
“How’d she get sliced?” Carson asked as he leaned over.
Drake shook his head. “You know the drill. You don’t get to ask questions.” Mostly because the guy was better off not knowing the answers.
A tear slid down Jasmine’s cheek. But she didn’t make a sound, and her expression never altered. She just kept staring up at Drake. Kept holding his hand. “I love your eyes,” she whispered.
He blinked at that. Uh, was the lady getting delirious?
“I’ve never seen quite that shade of green before. Your eyes…they tell me that you can’t be as bad as the stories say.”
Drake knew there were plenty of stories circulating about him.
His right hand kept holding hers. His left rose and wiped away the tear tracks on her cheek. Then he leaned in close to her. “You’re wrong. I’m even worse than they say.”
If she knew the full truth about him…but then, only Noah and Trace were aware of all he’d done. The deaths. The lies.
They knew because their pasts were as twisted as his own.
“Why did the picture matter?” The question slipped from him.
A furrow appeared between her brows.
“Two more,” Carson said, voice sounding strangely chipper.
She flinched. Held Drake even tighter.
“You were going to steal my files, but you saw the picture in my desk, and you changed your mind.”
Her lips trembled. “So you did have a camera up there.” He heard the faint click of her swallow. “Were you going to record us having sex?”
Carson coughed. “Wow. I don’t think I need to hear—”
“No,” Drake ignored him. “When we have sex, that’s for us. You and me, and no one else. Not ever.”
“When?” She licked her lips. “Sounds like someone still has plans.”
“I do.”
She wasn’t crying anymore
. Not those silent tears that had made his chest ache. She was staring at him with a sharp gleam in her eye.
“Done,” Carson said, sounding exceedingly relieved. “Now I can get the hell out of here, but I do think I need to give some doctorly advice…no rough sex for a bit, okay? Hold off on that chandelier swinging a while because I just patched the girl up.”
Drake looked over and saw that Carson had put a bandage over Jasmine’s wound. The tightness in his chest eased. No more pain for her.
Ever.
He shook his head. His thoughts were screwed up tonight. Probably because he’d been up for nearly twenty-four hours straight. He should crash but…
He had some business to take care of first.
He was also still holding Jasmine’s hand. She seemed to realize that fact at the same instant he did because she tried to pull away from him.
He let her go. She was in his house. In his bed. The woman wasn’t going far. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”
Her lips lifted in the faintest of smiles. “Since it looked like this place was surrounded by miles of desert and I just got stitches in my side, I was just planning to stay right here for a bit. Not because you just ordered me to, but because I don’t feel like falling on my face right now.”
Carson laughed. “She’s got some fire, doesn’t she? That’s what I’ve heard about redheads. Once they—”
Drake grabbed his arm and hauled the doc out of the room.
When they were near the front door of his estate, Drake glared at Carson. “This never happened.”
“It never does,” Carson agreed as he rolled back his shoulders. “But that money sure looks nice when it appears in my bank account.”
“It’s already on the way.”
Carson turned to leave. Then he hesitated. “Is she…safe?”
He sure hadn’t expected that question.
“I mean…” Carson cleared his throat. “She’s not one of your employees—”
“How do you know that?”
Carson gave a rough bark of laughter as he glanced back over his shoulder. “Because even though the woman was bleeding all over your bed, you still stared at her as if you could eat her alive. And you don’t exactly get all touchy and hold hands with my usual patients.”
“She’s not your concern anymore.”
“But she’s yours.”
Carson was annoying him.
“I’m just saying be careful, okay? She might not be up to your usual games. Hell, I’m not up to them, and I’m the guy who has to patch up all the players.”
Then Carson was gone. Drake locked the door behind him.
You don’t know her, Carson.
And neither did Drake, but he needed to learn more about her. In general, he had a rule about secrets. He didn’t want to hear them. He didn’t want to share his own past, and he didn’t want to dig into the hell that could be someone else’s sordid history.
But he wanted to know more about Jasmine.
He pulled out his phone. Called the man that he knew could give him the information he wanted.
The phone rang once, twice, then a groggy Trace Weston picked up. “Are you dying?” Trace wanted to know. “Because, seriously, it’s—”
“You and Noah have woken me plenty of nights. And it’s too freaking early for you to be sleeping any way. It’s barely—”
“Four a.m.,” Trace growled.
Drake’s lips twisted.
“You don’t sound like you’re dying,” Trace pointed out. “So I’m about to hang up—”
“I need background intel.”
And Trace was the best in the business at gathering intel. Investigation was Trace’s business. Weston Securities was the most respected security firm in the U.S., thanks to Trace.
Drake, Trace and Noah had formed a private company of their own after they’d left the military. They knew how to get in and out of every hotspot on earth, and they’d used their special talents to their advantage. They’d retrieved wealthy businessmen and women who’d found themselves in some very serious and deadly situations…for a hefty fee.
After a while of earning as much cash as they could, Trace had decided to expand the business—he’d hired new teams. Developed Weston Securities. Noah had turned his attention to growing a hotel empire, and Drake…
Life’s a gamble. His philosophy, and the reason he’d opened his first casino with his share of the security profits.
“Drake…who do you want me to investigate? What dumb bastard has pissed you off now?”
Drake’s gaze slid toward the dark hallway. He didn’t hear a sound coming from the bedroom. Was Jasmine awake?
“It’s not like that,” he heard himself say. “I just need…I need background on a woman with the name of Jasmine Bennett. She’s from Texas, about twenty-eight years old. Red hair, brown eyes. Her eyes have a little gold in them and—”
It sounded like Trace was choking. “Her eyes have what in them?”
Asshole. Drake growled, “She’s five foot six,” without those sexy shoes to bump her up. “And the woman probably weighs about one thirty-five. She’s got a knife scar above her left hip,” and now one above her right. “I want to know everything you can find on her.”
“This business or is this personal?”
“It’s both,” he said as he turned to type in his security code on the control panel.
Silence, then… “Where is Ms. Bennett right now?”
“My bed.”
“Ah…then you probably should’ve gone for the background check first.”
He had to unclench his jaw. “Just get me the intel.”
“I’ll work it personally,” Trace promised him. “But man, just…be careful okay. Last time—”
“I know exactly what happened last time, and I’m not ever going to make that mistake again.”
“I just don’t want you hurt.” Trace’s voice was lower now.
Drake laughed. “Don’t worry about that. She doesn’t matter enough to hurt me. None of them do.”
The floor creaked, and he looked up—and right into Jasmine’s dark eyes. She stood in the hallway, her hand pressed to the wall.
“Get me that information as soon as you can.” Drake ended the call and marched toward Jasmine. “You should still be in bed.”
She gave a little shrug. “I…um, I figured since I was all stitched up, I should probably get out of your way now.”
Bullshit. She was trying to run again. “I told you to stay in my bed.”
Her brows rose. “Your bed? That was your room?” She shook her head. “I didn’t see any pictures or—”
“Because I don’t put fucking pictures all over my room. I sleep there. I screw there. And I move on.”
She backed up a step.
“You don’t leave until you tell me everything I need to know.” Actually, she didn’t leave until Trace gave him the intel he wanted. Drake didn’t trust her not to lie. He didn’t trust her at all.
His gaze slid over her. She’d put her bloody shirt back on. That wasn’t going to do. And there were dark shadows under her eyes.
“Come on…” He took her arm.
She didn’t move. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because you wanted to take something from me.” He stared into her eyes. They did have fucking flecks of gold. He’d just been stating a fact when he told Trace that detail. Asshole. Drake had wanted to be thorough. How was that wrong? “No one takes from me.”
“Are you going to hand me over to the cops?”
No, he wasn’t handing her over to anyone. He shook his head as she began to walk down the hallway with him.
When they were back in his room, she hesitated near the bed.
“Take off the shirt,” Drake told her flatly. The woman couldn’t sleep in a blood-soaked shirt.
He caught the fast sound of her indrawn breath. “But…that GQ doctor said—”
“I’m not fucking you tonight, Jasmine.” Tomorrow night? Ma
ybe. He went to this closet. Came back out with one of his shirts. “Put this on.”
Her fingers reached for the offered shirt. Brushed against his. An electric current seemed to shoot right through his hand.
He’d felt attraction before. Plenty of times. After all, the world was full of beautiful women, and he could certainly appreciate beauty. But this was different.
He looked at her, and he ached.
He touched her, and he craved.
“Turn around,” Jasmine told him.
He didn’t. He did raise his brows. “I’ve seen you without a shirt before.”
Her lips thinned. “Turn. Around.”
Pity. He turned. Heard the soft rustle of clothing behind him.
“Okay.” Her voice was hesitant.
He looked back. She had on his shirt, and it swallowed her. It also made her look delicate, vulnerable. Sexy. “You still have on the pants.”
Her eyes widened as she glanced down at herself.
“You can’t sleep in them. Finish stripping, then get in bed.” He motioned to said bed.
“You expect me to sleep with you?”
He folded his arms over his chest. This shouldn’t be so hard to explain. The woman obviously had issues following orders. “I expect you to get in bed before you collapse.”
She bit her lower lip.
Shit. Shit, shit. He wanted a bite.
“I don’t understand you,” Jasmine murmured. “If you want answers…”
“I don’t want a fainting woman on my floor, and princess, I’m dead on my feet, too. We’re crashing. Everything else can just wait until the sun comes up.”
Her gaze slid to the king-sized bed. “I’m just supposed to trust that I can sleep here, safely?”
“No.”
Her dark stare snapped right back to him.
“You shouldn’t trust me, because I sure don’t trust you.” But he’d give her tonight—or what was left of the night. Because he could still see the image of a needle sliding into her delicate flesh. “Rest.” The order came out hard and gruff as he headed for the door.