Mine to Crave (Mine 4)

“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? Maybe. 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.

“Thank you.”