Mine to Hold (Mine 3)

“Franco and Paul both work in the concierge department here at the hotel. They’ve got plenty of connections in this town, and they used those connections to help me out.”

Only they weren’t helping Noah. They were helping her. “How did they know my size?”

The clothes they were unpacking—unreal.

“I knew your size. Don’t forget…” And his voice dropped even more. “I did have the chance to get up close and personal with you in Chicago.”

Up close and personal? She’d been punching him! But he’d been holding her tight. “I thought you were—you were some mugger. I was scared—”

“So you attacked.” He nodded. “But when you did, I was able to get a pretty good feel for your body.”

She suspected the guy was an expert when it came to getting a “feel” for a woman’s body.

“The shoes will be here soon,” Noah murmured. “Don’t worry. I didn’t forget them.”

Franco and Paul nodded toward her, then they slipped out the door.

“The only thing I didn’t get picked up…” Noah’s voice was stronger now that they were alone. “I didn’t want them getting your underwear.”

Her cheeks had to be flaming.

“I’ll take care of that today,” he added.

“No!” That response was a horrified squeak from her. “I can take care of that myself!” There was no way she wanted him buying her bras. Her panties. Anything sexual.

She paced away from him and stared at the now full closet. “I can’t pay for this.” She also couldn’t pay for the underwear that she needed. Shame burned through her. She’d tried to stay at those other jobs. Tried to save money, but each time she’d been forced to move and start again, her bank account had depleted more and more.

Until nothing was left.

“Consider it an advance on your salary.” He didn’t even sound a little concerned.

Probably because he had money to burn. She didn’t. She also had pride. Her hands tightened around the robe’s belt as she glanced at him. “You have to deduct every penny from my paycheck.”

He rolled one shoulder in a careless shrug. “It’s really a business expenditure, you know.”

Bull.

Another knock sounded at the door.

Noah advance toward the door as he told her, “Where I go, you will go. You needed clothing that would—”

“Let me fit in your circle?” Claire finished and her pride sure felt like it took a hit then.

He paused at the door. “You already fit me, Claire.” He opened the door. Franco and Paul were already back—and loaded down with shoe boxes this time.

While they unloaded the shoes, Noah returned to Claire’s side. “The police have nothing,” he said, voice softer once again. “They think it was just a random break-in at the Hamlet.”

“I-I’m sure it was.” She needed to believe that.

“Claire…How can I help you, when you’re so determined to keep your past locked away?”

She forced herself to meet his gaze. “You already know what happened to me. I saw that manila file on your desk. That file told you what college I went to, so I’m sure whatever investigator you hired also told you all about what happened when I was sixteen.”

He didn’t speak again until Franco and Paul were headed toward the door.

“Thank you,” Claire told them as she stepped forward. “Thank you so much—”

Paul, a red-haired man with dark green eyes, waved away her thanks. “Ma’am, when the boss tells us to jump, we do. And considering some of the crazy things we’ve had to do for him…” Paul laughed. “Taking care of his new assistant was a pleasure.”

“Yes,” Franco agreed, smiling. Franco appeared to be in his early twenties, and his skin was a deep coffee cream. “Nothing like the time he had us get rid of that dead body.”

“What?”

Franco laughed. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” He gave her a little wave. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing you very soon.”

Then he and Paul were gone.

Claire faced Noah. “I should go use those new clothes and get dressed.” She gave a firm nod of her head and turned away to—

“Running, Claire?”

“Walking,” she said without looking back at him. “Walking very slowly.”

She’d taken about four steps when he said, “Trace Weston.”

The name had her pausing.

Trace Weston was a billionaire, a man with a dangerous reputation—and the man who’d saved her sanity once upon a time.

Claire’s sister had worked for Trace. Sara had been his assistant for several years before she’d been brutally murdered in Chicago.

Claire cleared her throat. “If you had Trace Weston investigate me, then I’m sure you discovered all of my dirty little secrets. Weston Securities is the best firm in the U.S.”

“You don’t have dirty secrets.”

Yes, she did. Everyone did. Hers were bloody and dirty and dark.

“You know, so I don’t have to tell you.” She needed to get dressed. The clothing almost seemed to be armor that she had to don in order to deal with him.

“There’s plenty for you to tell me. One day, you will.”

He sounded so certain. So confident.

Claire found herself whirling toward him. For years, she’d been the good one. The quiet one. The one who never tried to step a foot out of line.

But I still lose everyone who gets close to me. “Only if you tell me your secrets, Noah. Because I know you have them. You and Trace…your military past. You both pretend to be such good, upstanding members of society, but there’s more to you both, right? Secrets that some people would kill to know.”

His lips twisted. “Touché.”

Her breath heaved out. “I’m going to get dressed. Wait outside the suite.”

He blinked.

What? Had no one ever given the guy an order before? Money can’t buy everything, Noah York.

“I’ll go,” he said with a nod, “because we need to get ready for our flight.”

“Flight?” she echoed.

“York Towers is a world-wide operation, you know that. I rarely stay in one city too long.”

She pulled at the sleeves of her robe, making sure her wrists were covered. “Where are we going?”

“This time, it’s just a short trip to D.C.”

Claire could feel all of the blood leaving her face. D.C.

“Claire?”