Mine to Crave (Mine 4)

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—”