Mine To Crave (Mine - Romantic Suspense)

  Maxwell grabbed the man, and he made sure that he dug his fingers into Saxon’s injured shoulder. “Jasmine was with the FBI Agent. You were supposed to take them both out. A simple enough order. It wasn’t time for Archer. Not. Yet.”

  “He followed them!” The lines near Saxon’s mouth tightened as pain rippled across his face.

  Maxwell dug his hand in a bit deeper.

  “W-we had the agent controlled. Jazz was almost in the van, then Archer flew up and started shooting. We didn’t have any choice—we had to get the hell out of there.”

  “One man, and you ran from him? I’m very, very disappointed in you.” When he got disappointed, people died.

  “Avery was already back in the van. He was going to leave me,” Saxon snarled at him. “I was bleeding all over the street. I didn’t have a choice.”

  Avery. Ah, yes, he was still a fairly new employee, and the man didn’t understand just how much Maxwell hated disappointments. He would. “Send Avery in to me.” He released Saxon. “Get your shoulder stitched up.”

  Saxon backed away, but he didn’t leave. “Drake isn’t about to give that woman up again. You should’ve seen the way he fought to get her.”

  Interesting. So Archer wouldn’t be surrendering Jasmine to the cops again. And if he had a twenty-four seven watch on her, well, that would make things a bit more complicated.

  Not impossible, of course, just complicated.

  “You both wore ski masks?” His order, but he wanted to make sure it had been followed.

  “Yes.” Blood dripped from Saxon’s soaked shirt and splattered onto the floor.

  “Then Jasmine has no idea you were the one who went after her.”

  A quick, negative shake of Saxon’s dark head was his reply.

  “Excellent.” Because if force hadn’t worked, then they’d try another method for getting to Jasmine. They wouldn’t worry about going through Archer’s guards—and the man had certainly upped his security force at his New Orleans casino—they’d just get Jasmine to come right to them.

  A lamb, to the slaughter.

  Chapter Nine

  She’d just had sex in an elevator.

  Jasmine lifted her head from Drake’s chest. He was slowly pulling out of her body, and that glide sent off little aftershocks in her core. Helplessly, she felt herself squeeze him tight, one more time.

  Her breath sighed out at the rush of pleasure.

  “I…didn’t mean what I said.”

  Her lashes lifted. He was straightening his clothes. She should probably do the same. Especially since her half-naked image was being tossed back to her courtesy of those mirrored walls.

  But…Drake beat her to the punch. He bent and the guy eased her jeans back on her. Carefully. Slowly. He even paused to check her bandage. Like those stitches would have slowed her down.

  Then he tucked her torn panties into his pocket.

  “Ah…what you said?” She had to clear her throat because her voice came out way too husky. Jasmine had no idea what he’d said before. She was pretty lost.

  Still kneeling before her, Drake glanced up. His eyes seemed to blaze at her. “I’m not done with you.”

  He should be. “Drake…”

  In one quick, fluid motion, he rose before her.

  She put her hand on his chest. “I am a liar. And I’m a thief.” The words had hurt, but the truth often did.

  His gaze narrowed. That green stare seemed to measure her as it moved slowly over her face, then down to the hand that pressed not just over his chest, but right over his heart. She could feel the strong, steady beat beneath her fingertips.

  “Maybe,” he allowed.

  There was no maybe there.

  “But you’re my thief,” and his voice had hardened. He kissed her then. That mind-numbing kiss of his and she pretty much sank into him. “Don’t forget it,” he muttered against her lips.

  As if she could.

  Then he pulled away. Put in his security code and had the elevator doors opening. He exited the elevator and offered her his hand. Taking it, Jasmine hesitated. “This is the first place the cops will look for me. You know that, right?” They might as well flash a neon sign.

  He didn’t appear concerned. Not even a little. “Then we’ll just have to make certain they don’t find you here.” He sounded so confident. “It’s not like you’ll be staying long.”

  Uh, she wouldn’t be?

  “Give me a bit to make arrangements. I can have you out of town in an hour. I’ll get us on a private flight and I can make you vanish.”

  So tempting. But… “I can’t leave Victor.” As it was, she’d have to find out which hospital he was in. As soon as it was safe, she’d contact him again and find out what needed to happen next.

  Drake’s jaw locked as they entered his apartment—that was what she thought of that place as, anyway. It sure had all the comforts of home. And had she really just left from that exact spot hours ago? So strange. It had seemed like much more time passed. “I didn’t think I’d be coming back here.”

  “You sacrificed yourself for me.”

  She glanced back at him. His shoulders were propped against the door, and his arms were crossed over his chest. Jasmine couldn’t read the expression on his face, no matter how hard she tried.

  And to think, she was usually pretty good at reading people. She pressed her lips together a moment, then said, “Maxwell killed the bounty hunter, we both know that. I was just trying to…to make less trouble for you.”

  “Maybe I want trouble.”

  Her eyes widened at that.

  “No more lies, Jasmine.”

  Ah…

  “I’ve been playing nice with you.”

  He had? Wow. What was he like when he played rough?

  “I warned you about lying, and you are already due some punishments.”

  Kissing hardly counted as punishments.

  “But I’ve got questions for you, and I want the honest truth.” He advanced toward her, a lion stalking his prey. “Do you understand?”

  Jasmine shook her head. “I’m sorry, but there are some things I just can’t tell you.” More than her life was at stake.

  Her answer didn’t even slow him down. “Why weren’t you in cuffs?”

  “Um, what?”

  “At the crash site, you weren’t in handcuffs, but when Victor loaded you into the SUV, he had both of your hands cuffed.”

  She glanced down at her wrists. “He took them off.”

  Drake reached for her hands. That was when she realized that she had scratches and cuts on her palms.

  Drake must’ve noticed the damage, too, because he swore and pulled her toward the bathroom.

  “It’s all right,” Jasmine tried to tell him when he began to wash the wounds. “I just…some of the bullets hit the windshield, and I put up my hands so that my face wouldn’t get cut by the glass.”

  He stilled then and the air in the bathroom seemed to grow very, very tense. Drake’s head turned, and his eyes met hers. “The bullets could have torn right through you.”

  “They didn’t,” she whispered back. “I’m all right. I’m here, with you.”

  “What if I hadn’t appeared on that street?” The words were hard, but the fingers moving against her skin—cleaning her once more so carefully and bandaging her wounds—they were gentle.

  “I’d be dead.”

  “No.”

  Drake was incredibly powerful, but even he couldn’t stop death.

  “I-I think my hands are okay. The scratches were light.” She’d had so much worse. Good thing she had such a high pain tolerance.

  He eased away from her. His broad shoulders seemed to fill the doorway. “I keep forgetting how fragile you are.”

  Jasmine laughed at that. “Actually, no, you don’t.”

  His brows shot up.

  “Even when we were in the elevator, and I was so wild I wanted to scratch my way down your back, you held me still…you moved me, made sure t
hat I didn’t pull any stitches.” His hands had been so secure on her. Controlling her movements. Giving her so much pleasure. “You don’t forget anything.” She was certain of that.

  His lips twisted in a humorless smile. “Princess, that wasn’t about your stitches. I’m a selfish bastard, and I just wanted to screw you deep and hard.”

  “Liar,” she barely breathed the charge but Jasmine knew it was the truth.

  For a moment, he looked lost, then he blinked, and that image was gone.

  “You play so tough, but I can see through you. You didn’t hurt me in the elevator. You didn’t hurt me any time that we’ve been together. Because at heart, you aren’t a killer. You aren’t the bad guy.” That was what made him different from Maxwell.

  “What am I?”

  “A protector.” That was why he’d fought so hard for her on the street. Why, when the SUV exploded behind them, he’d tried to shield both her and Victor.

  Drake wasn’t a deadly threat. He was a hero, the man just didn’t realize it.

  She did.

  Drake’s expression tightened. “Tell that to the dead I’ve left in my wake.”

  Her gaze didn’t drop. “You won’t scare me. No matter what you say or what you do, because I know the real you.”

  He laughed. “You’ve been with me for a few days. How can you possibly know anything but what’s on the surface?”

  Jasmine swallowed. “You’ve known me for less than forty-eight hours, and you shot a man for me today.”

  They stared at each other. “What would you say,” Drake asked her, softly, “if I told you that I would have killed for you? If I hadn’t been able to get that jerk to free you…if he’d tossed you in that van…”

  She gave a sharp, negative shake of her head. “I don’t want you to kill for me. I don’t want anyone to do that.” She edged closer to him. “I want to get the hell I’ve brought out of your life, and I just want you—I want you to be happy.”

  He gazed down at her. “This war isn’t on you. Maxwell and I were set to battle long before you came into the Arrow.”

  Because of Anna Jean. The mysterious Anna Jean. A lover Drake had confessed to killing.

  Goosebumps rose onto her arms.

  She knew how Maxwell thought. He was old school, an eye-for-an-eye type.

  There is no escape.

  A low, pealing ring filled the air then. The same peal that had sounded right before the cops arrived on their last terrible visit. Drake turned at the sound, heading back into the main living area. Jasmine followed, grabbing for his arm. “Drake, no, it’s probably the cops!” And without Victor close-by, she did not want to deal with them again.

  “Cops wouldn’t have gotten past my security—only a very select few could get to me now.”

  Great. Wonderful. Not. He was almost at the door. Jasmine jumped in front of him. “Drake, I get that you seem confident about whoever might be on the other side—”

  “I am confident, because I told them to get their asses down here.”

  Wait, what?

  He slipped around her. Took an instant to glance through the peephole—at least he checked that much—then Drake was opening the door.

  “You made better time than I thought,” he said as he offered his hand to the first man in the doorway.

  Jasmine inched back. Her guts were twisting into knots and she was so hoping that she was wrong about the identity of the men in Drake’s doorway.

  She took another step back and realized she didn’t have on her shoes. They were still in Drake’s private elevator. She lifted a hand to her lips. They felt swollen—from Drake’s mouth. She touched her hair—oh, hell, yes, it no doubt looked as wild as it felt to her touch.

  “Well, well…” A deep voice said, and Jasmine dropped her hand as she realized that the three men were now inside the apartment—and all gazing at her. “You must be Jasmine Bennett.” The man speaking was tall, with midnight black hair and startlingly bright blue eyes. He wore a suit cut perfectly to his broad shoulders, and the guy seemed to ooze both money…and danger.

  Trace Weston. She recognized him instantly.

  And if Trace was there…

  Her gaze slid past Trace and Drake, and her stare locked on the third man. A man who wore jeans and a jacket, but still came off with a heavy air of power and affluence. His eyes were green, a shade that seemed less…cold…than Drake’s. His face was magazine perfect, his cheeks high, his nose slanting. He was about an inch shorter than Drake, but he was built along powerful, deadly lines.

  She stared into his eyes, and realized she’d seen those eyes before.

  “Jasmine?” Drake stepped forward, cutting off her direct line of sight with the man she knew to be Noah York.

  This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.

  “Are you okay?” Drake reached for her he hands. “You’re shaking.”

  Noah shouldn’t be standing there. Not Noah.

  “What happened to her hands?” Noah asked as he inched closer. His voice flowed over her. No accent. No hint of Texas.

  Because he hadn’t been to Texas. Not in so very long.

  “Some assholes shot at her SUV, and the windshield shattered around her.” Drake said this so matter-of-factly. “Jasmine, shit, I knew I should’ve used more care—”

  “Uh, used care when, exactly?” Trace asked, his eyes gleaming as his stare raked from Jasmine’s mouth to her hair, then back down to Drake—and Drake’s gentle hold on Jasmine’s hands.

  “I think I should sit down,” Jasmine managed. She had to figure something out, fast.

  Drake pulled out a chair and got her settled. Then he stayed there, right beside her, frowning worriedly down at her.

  He was worried? This was bad.

  Because now all three of the men were crowding around her. Her gaze kept wanting to slide to Noah. He looked different in person. More approachable. Not that she would’ve ever approached him.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen.

  She yanked her gaze off Noah, only to find herself caught by Drake’s hard stare. He’d realized that she was staring at Noah. Staring too long at him.

  “It happens,” Trace suddenly said. “Women look at him and get a little crazy. I knew we should’ve broken his nose a few more times, Drake.”

  Drake grunted. “Yeah, seems like a good idea right now.”

  She felt heat race to her cheeks. “Wh-why are you here?” Jasmine turned her focus to Trace when she asked that question. Because of all the three men, he would be the one most likely to wreck her plans.

  Trace was Weston Securities, and if he wanted to uncover secrets about her past…

  Understanding hit and her focus shifted to Drake. “You had him investigate me.” She said it like the accusation it was.

  Trace coughed into his hand. “You did try to rob him, correct?”

  Her flush was just getting worse. So Trace and Noah thought that she was a thief—I am—and they also knew she’d just had sex with Drake. The floor could just open up and swallow her at any time—that would be awesome.

  “There’s a lot going on that you two don’t know about,” Drake said to his buddies. “The past still isn’t dead.”

  Jasmine focused on breathing, nice and easily. Unfortunately, her breaths came out sounding all ragged and desperate.

  “Anna Jean’s lover is trying to destroy me,” Drake said. “Seeing as how you were both involved in what when down a few months ago, I figured you deserved to know what was happening.”

  “Her lover?” Noah’s brows climbed. “I thought that was you.”

  “Not this time.” Drake was still staring at Jasmine. “I think you might know him. It’s a jackass named Maxwell Case.”

  Noah whistled.

  “He wants Jasmine,” Drake said. “And I need you both to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  “I’m guessing his men were the ones shooting up her SUV?” Trace threw out.

  Drake nodded.


  Jasmine straightened in her chair.

  “You guys can’t go after Maxwell.” That comment had all their eyes turning back to her. “You can’t,” she said, wondering if perhaps the men were a bit crazy. Or a lot crazy. “You all need to get out of town and let-let the FBI handle things.”

  “You mean your buddy Victor Monroe?” Drake’s voice was flat. “Because you told him what was happening, didn’t you?”

  Victor knew plenty. “He’s with the FBI. I figured he was my safest bet.”

  “Didn’t look safe to me,” Drake said, hands tight at his sides. “When he was trapped in that SUV and you were being hauled into that van.”

  She shot up from the chair. “We were ambushed!” That hadn’t been Victor’s fault.

  “And he should have done a better job of keeping you safe, ambush or no ambush!”

  “Uh, excuse me…” Noah murmured.

  “Victor is a great FBI agent,” Jasmine defended fiercely. “He’s one of the most decent men I know and he’s—”

  “Another lover?”

  She had not seen that one coming. Jasmine’s jaw dropped.

  “No handcuffs,” Drake pointed out. “And I don’t think he calls most of his suspects ‘baby’ but I could be wrong.”

  This wasn’t a conversation that she wanted to have in front of Trace and Noah, and those two were avidly watching.

  Why am I trying to pretend? She was sure that Trace had already briefed Noah on all the information he’d discovered about her.

  Daughter of a prostitute.

  Did Trace know that? Yes, yes, of course he does…

  Teenage runaway.

  Hacker.

  She drew herself up to her full height. But her toes curled in the carpet. “Just to be clear, I haven’t slept with Victor or with Maxwell.” She pointed at Trace. “And I don’t care what your intel says. Intel can be wrong. It’s wrong this time.” Her glare swept back to Drake. “You’re my lover. The only one I’ve had in a very long time, and you know what? That shit should be private! I shouldn’t be having to explain and justify myself to you and your buddies!” Chest heaving, she turned on her heel. “Now I’m tired. I was shot at, nearly abducted, and then, well, you know what went down in that elevator. I’m going to bed, and I don’t want anyone so much as knocking on that door for the next two hours.” Jasmine didn’t glance back over her shoulder as she gave that order.