"You know me better than that."
"No. I don't."
That stung. She knew this man in her soul and he called her a stranger.
Or was that ego again? Defensiveness? How ironic that the biggest, bravest of men could have the most tender hearts. Not that she would dare risk mentioning that to him.
She had hurt him, which meant he cared after all. But instead of rejoicing, she could not get past an ache in her heart and the need to cry all over again. "My name is Yasmine Halibiz. I am a twenty-three-year-old nurse who—''
"This isn't necessary—"
"—who was spoiled by her mother growing up because her mother somehow seemed to think that she could make it up to her other two children for leaving if she paid all the more attention to this daughter. And this daughter spent all her life being as bratty as possible to test her mother's love because she was certain that if her mother could leave her children once, she might do it again."
"Yasmine—"
"I am spoiled." She let her pride slide a bit and a lifetime of defenses along with it. "And insecure." An even tougher thing to admit. "I do not...trust...easily. But I am also very determined and decisive. And while I may lie to protect myself, I would never, never, knowingly harm another person for my own benefit."
"Enough, okay?" The flashlight cast dark shadows up the tight set of his square jaw. "I told you already that I believe you really want out of the country."
Yasmine hitched up onto her knees to face him. "I also want you. And I wanted you enough to risk my freedom. That a selfish person would do so should tell you something." She fisted her hands on her thighs to keep from touching him. "I have fallen in love with you."
"Stop." He cut the air with his hand. "You're twenty-three years old. It may have been a helluva long time since I saw twenty-three, but I remember it well. People think they're in love all the time and it's fickle bullshit."
"Your first wife taught you this?"
"I taught myself."
"During your first marriage."
The storm wailed the only answer.
Drew stretched his long legs out in front of him, hooked one booted foot over his other ankle. "I'm a grandfather."
Where had that conversational leap come from? And what did he hope to gain? "How wonderful. Congratulations. A little boy or little girl?"
His head turned along the cement wall toward her. "You don't get it, do you? I'm a goddamned grandfather and you're twenty-three years old. There's just too much time between us."
This worn-out argument again that did not mean a damned thing to her? She stifled the urge to stomp her foot over him being an idiot. Instead she bit back what she really wanted to say to this man who'd just thrown her love in her face. "A baby boy or girl?"
"Shit, Yasmine, are you listening to me?"
"Yes, I am listening." And trying to figure out what was really going on in his thick head before she lost the chance forever. "A grandson or granddaughter? There. Does that let you know I heard? You are a grandparent. Now answer my question, please."
"A granddaughter," he barked right back.
"Named?"
"Damnation—"
"Not a pretty name."
He sighed heavy, belabored, before conceding, "Isabella."
"Oh, that is lovely." And he was talking. Even more lovely. "Isabella's mother? What is her name?''
"My daughter's name is Emily."
She pushed further to what she really wanted to know and did not want to know all at once. "And her mother's name?"