Behind Closed Doors (Behind Closed Doors #1)(28)

I tend to think he’s right. “Do you suspect someone you know?”

“No one close to me, but my run on the tables the past few years doesn’t exactly please some of my competition. There are players who hate me just for existing, and players who might resent my success and their losses.”

“Greed and jealousy,” I say. “Doesn’t it suffocate you?”

“I tune out the negative, which is why I’m good at the tables. I live to play, but I’m also ready to shift gears. I made this year’s World Series finals in November, after that I’m retiring professionally.”

“But you just said you live to play.”

“I’ll play for charity.” He scrubs his jaw and curses under his breath. “And none of this is public, so I just trusted you with something no one knows.”

“I’m not going to betray your trust, but please. Don’t betray mine.” I don’t want him to be even that familiar.

His gaze finds mine. “Everything I’m telling you is the absolute truth, good, bad, and ugly. I’m not holding anything back.”

“And I’m not trying to add to your many reasons to worry, nor am I trying to hold this over your head, and I won’t accept your money. Well, like I said, if I give you the unit you can pay for that, since I have to pay my friend back for it.”

“If you’re working two jobs, why are you trying to do a third with the auction hunting thing?”

“My friend thought it might cut down on my waiting time to get to law school.”

He considers me for several beats. “If you’d let me help you, it’s the least I can do—”

“No.” I jerk my hand from the armrest and he covers it, holding it in place.

“Skye—”

“My trust is not for sale, Jason.”

“I wasn’t trying to buy your trust.”

“You offered me ten thousand dollars for the unit. What do you call that?”

“I didn’t care about trust then. I just wanted the unit.”

“You still do.” I swallow the knot that’s formed in my throat. “And when I didn’t give it to you, you inherited me for a weekend.”

“No.” He unbuckles his seat belt and goes down on one knee beside me. “Skye—”

“It is what it is. I knew that when I said yes. I’m just not sure how you made it feel better than it does right now, in this moment. I do need that room and you have to stop touching me.”

“If you mean that I will, but I hope like hell you don’t. I know you aren’t going to believe this, but there is no way I would have invited you on this trip if my interest didn’t go beyond that storage unit.”

“Interest? I’m a woman and you—”

“Are headed to Vegas, where there is always a woman to be found. There are so many ways I could have dealt with this situation that didn’t include you here with me.”

“But you would have worried about me causing trouble.”

“I could have let Daniel deal with it.”

“I barely know you, but I know you would never have left this to Daniel to handle.”

“You’re wrong. Think about it: if I believed you were involved with Stephanie, do you really think I’d invite you into my inner circle, to find something else to use against me?”

“You can’t truly trust me yet, any more than I can you.”

“I played my gut, just like I do at the tables. I think you did yours, too. Considering your legal field, I assume that’s a guide for you, as it is for me.”

“Yes,” I whisper. “I did and it is.”

“Then we’re in the same place, and we’re here together.”

“I guess we are.”

“I won’t offer you money again.”

“Thank you.”

He grins. “I don’t think a woman has ever thanked me for not spending money on her.”

I ghost a smile back. “At least I’ll leave a lasting impression.”

“If I let you go.”

I blanch. “What?”

“Coffee is here,” JJ announces from the doorway.

Jason kisses my hand and winks, then reclaims his seat, his warm, spicy scent lingering, while his words “if I let you go” stir unfamiliar emotions.

“Here you go,” JJ says, stopping in front of us and offering us our cups, which we accept.

“Thank you, JJ,” I say.

“My pleasure,” he replies, already walking back as he adds, “and I’m off to grab the pizza right now.”

Jason motions to my cup. “Try it.”

Eager to get away from whatever I’m feeling right now, I welcome the distraction, sipping the hot, sweet beverage. “That’s so good. What is it?”

“White chocolate with coconut and homemade whipped cream.”

“Five hundred calories of heaven I’ll need to work off later,” I say, “but so worth it.”

“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,” he promises. “Including the calories.”

“Only we aren’t in Vegas yet.”

“No, but”—he glances at his watch—“we should make it with an hour to spare before I need to be at the tables.”