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.”