I remember every hot, sweaty, southern night with Jace Lane, and the memories only make this waiting that much harder. He used to kiss me for hours, playing our mouths together in a slick, wet glide that I felt all the way to my sex and womb.
He used to lick at my mouth and suck at my tongue as if it were the only thing in the world he craved before venturing lower to make love to every inch of my breast and my aching nipples.
I remember every kiss, caress, and lick he ever gave me. I still dream of him at night. I still think about the way he felt inside me, the way he would go slow or get so wild that the headboard would pound against the wall with his every frenzied thrust, so hard and raw.
It’s all still there in my memory, playing over and over again in a loop that makes me miss the sex, the pleasure…him.
And I hate it! I hate missing him so much that I’m still weak enough to cry some nights and wonder what it was about me that wasn’t enough.
“Tracy?”
I startle and spin away to swipe at the moisture gathering in my eyes, wishing for the hundredth time that I’d never come back here. And then thanking God that I did.
The thing about locking myself away and only focusing on what I need to do to send my father to prison is that I haven’t lived in three years. I eat and sleep and sometimes I laugh at silly stuff, like kittens doing cute things or the way my mom looks in the morning before brushing her hair.
But that’s it, and I think I may have ruined myself here, stored it all for him just to get to this moment. Goddammit! I hate this shit so much. Where’s the hard-nosed FBI profiler who told her boss to go jack a horse?
He’s doing it again; he’s ruining me and changing me and I don’t like it.
“What, Lane? What the hell is it that you really want from me here, huh? Technically speaking, you shouldn’t even be here, and these little ‘chance encounters’ we keep having should be awkward as hell.”
That makes him smile, a tilt of his lips that looks sad and resigned at the same moment.
“And yet it isn’t. Ever ask yourself why that is, Tracy?”
“Sure, lots, and I think I must have hit my head really hard or something to even be talking to you at all.”
He comes closer, doing that sidling thing that hot guys do because they know it’s hot and enthralling and has the power to captivate me despite my resistance.
“Show me where and I’ll kiss it better,” he drawls.
I have to crane my neck to look back up at him, and when I do, he uses the moment to lean down and seal our lips in a soft, slow kiss that makes my toes gouge grooves in the tile.
Kissing him back is as natural as breathing, and I give him the same slow caress, telling myself the whole time that I’m just using him, that he doesn’t matter and I don’t care about anything but the sex.
“God, you still taste so good, Trace.” He groans, going back in, but this time with a hand in my hair so he can control the pressure and angle of the kiss.
The contact is combustible—everything I remember it to be and I have the insane urge to climb his body and start grinding away at him to alleviate the need settling in a hot pool between my thighs.
I want to devour him, conquer him the way he conquered me so that this time, when I leave, he’ll remember me the way I’ve remembered him and suffer, knowing that I will never be his again.
The moaning sound I make when he hoists me up with his hands cradling my ass and settles me on the kitchen island is breathy and needy but I don’t care, not when he pushes me down, his lips still on mine, and starts attacking the zipper running down the side of my dress.
I’m in my panties and bra seconds later with Jace rising above me, his eyes taking it all in as if he’s never seen me like this before.
“You still prefer cotton?”
“Yes.”
That makes him smile and I gasp when he moves down and just dives right in, settling his mouth over my pantie-clad sex. The fabric should dull the sensations; it really should. Instead, I feel it all when he starts licking me, wetting the cotton and driving me insane.
“Jace.”
“Hmm? What, babe? Tell me what you want,” he growls, slipping a finger into the crotch and pulling my panties away with a sigh.
“Please.”
I don’t want to beg, but I can’t stop myself even as my hips start grinding up, searching for contact with his wicked tongue.
“This?”
His tongue flicks over me quickly and retreats, and we both groan low in our throats at the contact.
“More.”
“This?”
He licks again, going lower, deeper, making me writhe with the desperate need brewing inside.
“No! Please. More,” I sob, spearing my hands through his hair to press him exactly where I want him.
The feeling is explosive at the first rough swipe over my clit, and I clench against the urge to come quickly, wanting something more than a quick—
Sex. Just sex, Tracy. No slow and gentle. No buildup.
That snaps me out of the lust-filled fog and I start riding his face with a desperation that overtakes everything and anything I could want.
“Babe, slow down.”
“No. I want—”
“Slow and easy, Trace. Just—”
“Sex. It’s just sex!” I scream as his tongue hits my clit just the right way and I climax with a force that has me arching up and off the table with a yell.
The orgasm hits hard, quick, and I love every second of the feeling. I savor it the way a connoisseur savors wine, feeling it all and just taking the last twitches in with a heartfelt sigh that makes me want to cry.
I come to with Jace standing between my legs, a frown marring his face.
“Just sex, huh?” he snarls, making me suddenly aware that my legs are still spread and my panties are ruined where he ripped them at the crotch.
Scrambling up when he won’t let go of me is hard, but I manage it and even get ahold of my dress before looking up to meet his eyes.
“What else can it really be, Jace? I’m getting married in two months.”
His blank expression tells me everything I need to know. As does the way he drops his hands, wipes his mouth, and steps away as if I just burned him.
“You’re still getting married? After what we just did?”
“Sure, I, uh, it was just sex. Well, technically, it was just you going—”
“I just made love to you!”
Not love. Sex.
“Well…this is awkward. I guess I should skip dinner then,” I mutter, hopping off the counter to scramble back into my dress and the heels I kicked off earlier.
Jace doesn’t say a word for several minutes before his expression clears and he smiles broadly.
“Ma would be insulted if you didn’t come, Tracy. And so would I.”
He turns and walks away, leaving me blushing crimson at the veiled innuendo and the look of pure lust he just shot me.
He’d be insulted if I didn’t come? Well, hell, who the heck am I to insult the man when he cares so much about…my arrival.
Chapter Six
Jace
The thing about hunting is that it takes skill and a lot of patience. Once you find a good trail and follow the signs, it usually behooves a good hunter to settle in a good spot with an excellent view and just wait till his prey comes to him.
I’ve used this strategy for years now when hunting criminals, and while I hate to employ the same methods on my lady, well, the challenge was thrown out this afternoon and I’m more than willing to accept it.
I just hope she’s okay with being hunted and wooed from the safety of my bedroom and that she doesn’t think too poorly of me when I fall on her like a beast and fuck the hell out of her.
And when I panic, I get mental about fixing things. To me the path is clear. I need to show Trace what we’ve been missing out on all these years, and I also want her to understand that nothing I have done or will ever d
o to her body is just sex.
Every touch and kiss is me worshipping her, showing her the need, the stark desperation I have for her. I want her to know what I’m saying without words.
So here I am, standing in the hall, decked out in a suit I fucking hate because I want her off-balance enough that when I lay my whammy on her, she’ll be too shocked to think or move or argue with me.
This is me, a desperate man willing to lay down some enemy fire to get what I want. What I want is to have Trace in my life. That’s it. Just her here with me.
Ma can wait on babies and Wyatt can stop humming the wedding march every time he walks past me.
“Jace, dear, come here for a minute please, darling.”
I turn to see Ma standing in the entryway to the living room, wringing her hands like freaking dishrags.
“Ma? What’s wrong?”
“Oh, Jace. Melissa Dobson just called and she was frantic. Roman hasn’t checked in with her and she’s convinced her father or one of his people…what’s going on here, Jason? Why is Roman staying away from home and why the hell is my boy not…what was Melissa talking about?”
She’s crying and thank God Pop isn’t around or I wouldn’t be walking very comfortably at all for being a part of her distress.
Pop loves Ma and Ma loves Pop, and while they love their kids, all bets are off if something harms either of them. Even with us.
“Ma, stop crying, alright? Everything is just fine, Ma, I swear. Roman is just working a tough case and Melissa’s overreacting.”
I hope and pray as I say these words, because if the tough-as-nails Mel Dobson is going nuts about this, then chances are Roman could be in some trouble.
“But she said her father—”
“Roman and Chief Dobson haven’t been seeing eye to eye lately since Roman started dating his daughter, Ma. You know how that shit goes. I’ll tell you what, I’ll go and check things out and make sure your little golden boy is still okay. Yeah?”
She starts sniffling and nods with a sigh before hugging me closer and kissing my cheek.
“Whatever you boys are wrapped up in is dangerous. I can feel it, and as your mother, I forbid you to do things that are dangerous, Jason Lane.” She sniffles, kissing me one more time for good measure before swiping her lipstick from my cheek and pulling away.
“Go and get your brother, Jace, and tell him I want him and Melissa at my dinner table in an hour or I’ll come fetch them myself.”
“Sure, Ma, sure.”
Great.
I wait till I’m in the car and peeling out before whipping my phone free and hitting Jared’s speed dial.
“Yo.”
“Where the fuck is Roman and why is Melissa Dobson calling the house going hysterical about our boy?”
“Christ, that stupid asshole! I told him to stop poking around and trying to dig too fast, but does he ever listen to me? Hell no. All you fools do around here is ignore me and do whatever it is you want to. Now I have to—”
“Jared, brother, calm down and tell me what’s going on,” I bark, hitting the gas as soon as I clear the driveway.
“He called me this afternoon and said something about going in with some of the idiots in his unit. Miah isn’t staying with the department, so he’s basically out already and Dobson isn’t looking too eager to get rid of Roman after what his kid said about that uncle of hers. Anyway, Roman was talking about getting in with the extremists faster than Dobson was willing to introduce him.”
“Christ.”
That means that Roman is either at this very moment headed towards the enemy or he’s already in some serious trouble. The thing about this op is that it’s been a cluster fuck from day one. With a mole in the SEAL unit and what’s shaping up to be some very big players high up in the government, chances are they knew we were coming for them from day one.
I’d bet good money they know that Roman is a plant—hell, we all agreed just days ago that they know and we decided to leave him there to provide a distraction while we work behind the scenes on this thing.
The only reason we left Roman in to begin with was because Dobson looked scared shitless by Melissa’s threats to tell his brother about his illegal activities.
It also pays to always have a man on the mole we have gathering intel on Dobson’s end of the operation, so Roman decided that sticking close to Melissa would be a good idea. That way she can’t betray us without us knowing what she’s up to.
Well, it seems little Mel Dobson is no narc, and if that’s true and she’s going crazy about Roman disappearing, then I guess we better take this shit seriously and start looking into it.
At the very least I need to discover whether or not my brother needs me right now. We stick together. Always.
“Where was he last?”
“At work. He called me from his car just before he wanted to head out. Wait, let me just…his cell phone isn’t moving, Jace. I’ve tracked it to the south end of the county on that little dirt road down by that creek we used to play in…Goddammit. You moving?”
“On my way there now. Hang tight and call the others. I’ll call when I get there.”
I break every speeding record in the county and get to the little dirt track in under three minutes, praying the entire way as I fishtail my way onto the road and put my foot down.
Nothing. Goddammit.
“You got anything?” Jared barks into the phone when I call him back.
“Nothing.”
“Wait, you should be right on top of him.”
The car skids to a stop and I hop out, almost falling to my knees when all I find is his phone, covered in blood and cracked to hell and back. This is a crime scene, I know it the minute I see that phone just lying there as if placed there to taunt us.
“I got his phone. And what looks to be blood, Jared.”
“Jesus. Miah! Roman is MIA. Jace recovered his phone and what looks like blood down on Farmer’s Road. Get your ass in here, Miah. No man, I fucking have no clue. Melissa called. Yes, Miah—Jace, get the hell out—”
His warning comes too late and I hear the blast of a rifle seconds before a bullet tears through my shoulder and sends me sprawling to the dirt. I hear Jared yelling and cursing into the phone that I’m still gripping, but I ignore it and drop into a roll, coming up behind my car just as the next round blasts through the air and hits the left rear door.
“High-powered rifle coming from the east. Armor-piercing bullets. Whoever this is…”
I duck and dive into the driver’s seat, thankful as hell when I see that I haven’t turned the car off and the ignition is still running. The tires squeal and fight for traction when I hit the gas and peel out of there, keeping low as more fire comes my way.
Whoever this is, the guy knows exactly what he’s doing, and the fact that I’m only injured and not lying on that dirt with a bullet in my head is a miracle.
“Jace! Jace, man, are you okay?”
I hear the yelling and Miah’s curses as I hit tar and keep flooring it back the way I came, hoping it was just one idiot with a rifle and not a platoon of trigger-happy hillbillies on my tail.
My shoulder hurts like a mother and I’m bleeding all over my leather seats by the time I deem it safe to sit up straight and assess the damage.
“Jace!”
“Easy there, bro, I’m just fine. Took one to the shoulder, through and through, so stop your bawling,” I say, hissing when an inspection of my arm shows a shitload of blood that I hope does not signal a clipped artery.
“Where are you?”
“A mile out and counting, dude. Open the gates and make sure everyone is locked down. Oh God. Trace.”
“Wyatt went for her already, so calm down. Just get your ass home and get that phone to me. I need to check it over.”
I make it home minutes later and smile at my luck as I pass out. Guess it was an artery after all.
***
Trace
The only thing worse than being mad at
a guy is being mad at him and feeling like crying because the meathead went and got himself shot and had to have an artery repaired, thanks to whatever animal decided to take him out tonight.
Part of me understands that Jace is just fine and he’s lucky. Whoever did this was either a really bad shot, or they left him alive on purpose.
My gut is screaming that he should be dead. From what I saw of the car after Jace roared to a stop seconds after Wyatt and I got to the Lane home, I know that this sniper was only sending a warning.
The ammo was armor piercing and tore clear through the car and out the other side, and if the guy were smart, which I know he is, he would have shot through the rear left panel and nailed Jace where he was hiding. I know since the blood tells me that’s where he took cover after rolling clear.
Whoever did this was not out for blood, though from the looks of these Lane boys as they pace the hospital corridor, they’re going to regret ever going after any of the Lane boys.
Miah’s been grinding his teeth for hours and Wyatt keeps cracking his knuckles as if looking for someone or something to hit. The only one not acting like a caged animal is Jared, and yet as he sits there calmly and just stares at the wall, I feel more danger emanating him than from the other two.
“Trace, you should let Wyatt take you home to Ma. You haven’t eaten and you’re covered in blood, sweetheart,” Miah says after flopping down beside me with a groan.
Jace collapsed out of the car and straight into my arms. Seeing him that way…I can’t think of that now or I’m terrified that I’ll do something stupid like cry and ruin my mascara.
“I’m staying and that’s final, Jeremiah. Now do something useful and take your brother to go get us some coffee, huh? I need a little pick me up after your brother tried to squash me.”
Miah blinks and then starts chuckling with a shake of his head before rising and laying a fat kiss on my cheek.
“I’ll get your coffee and one of those donut things from the machine. You’re eating,” he barks when I go to argue and I zip my lips with a nod.
It takes two whole minutes for Jared to rattle off a vending machine order and then Miah and Wyatt leave us alone to sit in the waiting area for news.
JACE (Lane Brothers Book 3) Page 5
