She still smelled like vanilla.
He still wanted a taste.
“I didn’t miss your dang den. It took me five minutes to get out of that house.” She sounded disgruntled enough that he wanted to smile. Again.
Then he remembered that she’d been intent on wrecking his baby. “You don’t touch the wires, got it? You don’t damage the Porsche.”
Jasmine rolled her eyes at him. “I’ve been hot wiring rides since I was fifteen. Your precious little baby wasn’t in any danger from me.” Her eyes narrowed and she appeared insulted. “I’m a professional.”
“Are you now?” Ah, so there was secret number one. “A…professional.”
Her cheeks flushed a dark red but her eyes—they seemed to darken even more with…pain? “I’m not a whore.” She pulled away from him and started heading back toward the house.
He stared after her a moment, aware that he felt…shame. “I didn’t think you were a whore. I’m…sorry.” His words hadn’t come out right. He’d meant to taunt her, not accuse her of—shit.
She glanced back at him, frowning. The light hit her hair. Rolled over her skin. Made the woman seem to glow. “Did you almost choke as you just said those words? Because it sounded like that apology got stuck in your throat.”
It had, a little bit.
She sighed. “You like trouble, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t.”
Jasmine gave a slow shake of her head. “Then you need to just take me out of this place. Let me get away from you, and then we can both never look back.”
He took his time closing the distance between them. Mostly because he was enjoying the view of her in the sunlight. “You made a mistake, you know.”
“Seems like I’ve made a few of those,” she groused.
Dammit, she kept making him want to smile. What in the hell was up with that? “You interest me.”
Surprise rippled across her face. “You make me sound like some kind of weird science project. You know, when it comes to talking with ladies, you rather suck at it. How, how do you have so many chicks throwing themselves at you?”
That should be obvious. “I’m rich.”
“And sexy.” She glared at him. Like he was the one who’d committed a crime. “Bad boy appeal.”
Uh, okay.
She pointed at him. “You need to keep your hands off me.”
He wanted his hands all over her. “Why is that?”
“Because I don’t want to get involved with you. It would be a mistake, for us both.”
He took her hand. Yes, he was touching her. He liked doing it, and she didn’t pull away. Because she liked his touch?
They didn’t speak again until they were near his house. Drake nodded to a guard who was watching them. “Did he even see you slip out?” Drake asked her, curious because the man had his narrowed gaze on Jasmine.
“No, I think he was taking a potty break.”
Laughter broke from Drake.
“I had to pick my moment,” she confessed.
He tugged her into the house. Shut the door. Instead of heading to the den, he took Jasmine into his study.
Once they were there, Jasmine glanced down at her hand. “You can let go now. You’ve got me.”
Slowly, he dropped his hold on her. “Do you…hurt?”
He should’ve asked her that before.
Again, surprise flashed across her face. What? Had no one ever asked the woman how she felt?
“Just a little ache,” Jasmine said as she walked around the study, poking and gazing at different things. “Nothing to worry about. I’ve had plenty worse.”
Drake didn’t like hearing that news. “How many times have you been stitched up?” He eased into the chair behind his desk. His hands flattened on the wooden surface.
“Maybe three times. Everyone has accidents.”
Bullshit. “That was no accident last night.”
She put down the hourglass that she’d been examining “You’re right. That was my mistake. I should’ve moved faster.” Her breath expelled on a sigh. “So there are accidents and there are…non-accidents.”
Locking his jaw, he motioned to the leather chair in front of his desk.
She didn’t sit.
The woman just liked to be difficult.
“Who are you working for?” Drake asked her.
“Myself?” Yes, she made it sound like a question, but then she nodded, as if she’d reached an important decision. “From here on out,” Jasmine said softly, “I am.”
She was making his head ache. “Who sent you to the Arrow?”
“I came on my own. I figured I had a better shot at getting to you there. Your house here…” She waved her hand. “It was too isolated.”
“No, you knew I kept my files there and you wanted access to them.”
Her fingers tapped against a bronze statue. The woman was touching everything. But me. “If you know all the answers, why ask the questions?”
Because he didn’t have the answers for the big questions. “Tell me who sent you.”
“So we can both make his hit list? I don’t think so.”
She looked too confident and in control. The woman should have the sense to fear him. She didn’t. “Why aren’t you afraid of what I’ll do to you?”
“Bones can be broken, flesh can be cut. Been there, done that.”
He shot to his feet.
“I survived those non-accidents,” she continued, her voice quiet, calm. “So I figure I’ll survive whatever you do to me, too.”
His hands had clenched at his sides. “Who hurt you?”
“Lists are long…and boring. The past is over. Let’s just stick to the here and now.” She turned her back. Gazed up at a painting of wild horses on the wall. “This is hideous, by the way. Why would you ever pick this out to hang it up in your study?”
“I didn’t. It came with the house.” She was trying to distract him. Nice.
He was ready to distract her, too. So he threw out the question that he knew would get a response. “Who interested you the most in that photo?”
He saw her shoulders tighten. “What photo?”
Drake sighed. “Each time you lie to me, I’ll expect something from you. An apology, of sorts.”
She turned to face him. “I don’t understand.”
Drake closed in on her. Pinned her between him and that freakishly ugly painting. “You just lied. Make it up to me.”