by Lori Foster
“No, I did not,” Trace told him, so tense that his neck ached. “I’d already told Murray…” Shit, he didn’t want to tell them what he’d said to Murray in order to convince him.
Dare looked at him with disgust. “This ought to be good.”
“Well, it’s not.” In fact, it sucked. “Let’s just say I handled it.”
Dare continued to stare at him. “No waxing?”
“No.”
Chris asked, “Does Priss know how you handled it?”
“No.”
“Then maybe you ought to tell her before she murders Matt.”
Trace started on his way again, this time taking the lead. “She’s five-four and weighs less than one-twenty. Matt can handle himself.”
“Says the man with the black eye.”
Rather than throttle Chris, Trace lengthened his stride. Though he’d needed some space from Priss to put things in perspective, he probably shouldn’t have left her alone with the others. Had she grilled them? Had she exposed his undercover stint to Matt?
No, she wouldn’t do that.
And Trace realized that he did trust Priss, at least a little.
She wouldn’t give him away, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t dig for information. Hell, she’d had over an hour to work on them. In the meantime, he’d used the excuse of doing a rudimentary check on her background, and touching base with Jackson, to regain his bearings.
As he neared the back door of the house, Trace’s pulse quickened. Was Priss still fired up? Would he need to console her? Reason with her?
Even after she decked him, he still looked forward to her every reaction—and then he heard the loud music.
And the laughter.
Chris cleared his throat. “Huh. I guess Matt talked her off the ledge.”
Dare said quietly, “Shut up, Chris.”
Trace tuned them out as he stormed up to the glass door and opened it.
While Molly stood off to the side laughing, both dogs bounding around her, Priss snuggled up against Matt and got twirled right off her feet.
She put her head back and laughed aloud. Her hands clung to Matt’s shoulders.
Her pelvis flattened against his.
Long ropes of hair wrapped in silver foil stuck out around her head. She wore a cape and she had cotton wrapped in and around her toes.
For a woman set on murdering her father, she looked mighty happy.
Liger was the only one to notice Trace’s entrance. The big cat jumped down from the windowsill and started his way. Chris and Dare crowded in behind Trace.
And still Trace stood there in the open doorway, frozen with some anomalous, churning emotion.
Yeah, Matt was more than able to handle Priss. The son-of-a-bitch had just picked her up off her feet. Again.
And again, Priss held on to him.
Near his ear, Chris said, “Yeah, uh, this might be a good time to remind you that Matt is gay.”
“Somehow,” Trace told him, “that’s not mattering to me much right now.”
Dare said, “You never know when to quit, do you, Chris?”
As Matt twirled her around, Priss laughed without reserve, and Trace wanted her so damn bad that he couldn’t see straight.
Only when Liger hunkered down in front of him did Trace draw his gaze away from Priss. The cat’s ponderous backside twitched and shifted left and right as he prepared to leap up into Trace’s arms, whether Trace wanted to hold him or not.
But he did. He needed an ally right about now.
Trace opened his arms.
Chris and Dare backed up.
In one agile leap, the cat came up to Trace’s chest, and that finally grabbed Priss’s attention.
Huffing from her exertion, her face flushed and her expression happy, she looked toward the door—and went still.
Dare pushed past Trace and went to the wall unit to turn down the music.
Into the silence, Chris asked, “Everyone having fun?”
“God, Chris,” Dare said. “Trace is going to kill you if you don’t shut up.”
“Really?” Priss struck a pose of annoyance, one hip cocked out, her arms crossed, her chin elevated. “And here Molly and Chris assured Matt that you weren’t the type to cause bodily harm.”
“They must have been jesting.” Trace was well used to Chris’s warped sense of humor, so Chris wasn’t in any danger. But Matt… Trace zeroed in on him. In a tone more lethal for the quietness of it, he asked, “What are you doing?”
“Harmless dancing?” Matt replied in a nervous question, unsure of the right answer.
Priss suddenly stepped in front of Matt, which left Matt bemused. “Don’t act snarky with him, Trace. I asked him to dance with me. We had some time to kill before this crud comes out of my hair. And you were nowhere to be found.”
Matt pulled her aside, earning a glare from Trace. He quickly held up his hands, palms out, to prove he wasn’t touching her. “Speaking of time, we can go wash your hair right now, if everyone will just excuse us.”
“I need a minute with Priss first.” Trace eyed her militant stance, and had to fight a smile. She had a backbone of steel. He liked that. “Alone.”
“Only a minute,” Matt admonished. “Any longer, and her hair could be ruined.”
Trace looked around the room at their audience.
“Yeah, right.” Chris opened the back door with a flourish. “Privacy beckons from beyond. Knock yourself out.”
Patience personified, Trace watched Priss as she tried to think of some reason to refuse. In the end, she stormed past him, the dogs hot on her heels. With a salute to the others, he carried out the cat and closed the door behind them.
The dogs continued on down the hill, all the way to the lake. Tai waded in and lapped at the water. Sargie sprawled out on the sun-warmed grass and watched her.
Arms folded, foil glinting in the sunshine, Priss stared after them. Silence reigned for half a minute, then she said, “Heck of a shiner you’ve got there.”
Again his mouth quirked with a grin. “It’ll probably look worse in a few more hours.” One thing about Priss, she would always amuse him. “You took me by surprise so it was a direct shot.”
Subdued, she hung her head. “Pure reaction to realizing I’d been drugged. Sorry.”
Pure reaction? Meaning she was trained enough to react by instinct? Every hour he learned something new about her. If she was trained, that would be a good thing. Not that she could possibly have enough instruction to deflect the likes of Murray. “I’m fine, Priss. Don’t worry about it.”
“I won’t.” She took a few steps away and peered off at the lake. “It’s beautiful here.”
“You should see it early in the morning.” Trace set Liger on a settee and moved up behind Priss. He wanted to touch her. Hell, he wanted to consume her. “The fog rises off the lake, the leaves rustle, fish jump and birds sing. You see the blinding sunrise across the surface of the lake. It’s really something.”
“Does anyone swim in there?”
“Everyone does.” Without thinking, he added, “I can bring you back sometime when we’re not so pressed for—” Trace caught himself before finishing that awesome thought. Pressed for time or not, the odds of him ever returning here with Priss were slim to none.
Gaze cynical, Priss looked at him over her shoulder. “Yeah, right. Maybe we’ll do that.” She turned to face him. “Sometime when we’re not at odds, when we’re not dealing with a madman who enjoys selling women, when you haven’t just drugged me earlier in the day?”
Trace rubbed the back of his neck. “All of the above.”
“You know, something just occurred to me.” She stared at his swelling eye before shaking her head. “We’ll be leaving here soon.”
“Yes.” The sooner the better. He didn’t dare risk getting to Murray late. And before that, he had to ensure Priss’s safety. Jackson could keep an eye on things, but damn it, he hated relegating responsibility. Not that anyone, least of
all Priss, expected him to take on that task. But he wanted to.
He insisted on it.
“Do you plan to drug me for the return trip, too? Because I have to tell you, no way in hell will I willingly ingest anything from you or your friends.”
He’d been wondering about that himself. “I hope I won’t have to.”
His answer made her both belligerent and wary. “So tell me, what are my alternatives?”
He reached out a hand, and after a brief hesitation, Priss took it. Her fingers felt small and soft, cool to the touch despite the warmth of the day.
They were not the hands of a killer. They were, however, the hands of a woman feeling desperate rage above all else.
Trace led her to the narrow seat where Liger rested in regal splendor. Squeezing in between cat and woman, Trace seated himself beside her, keeping his hold on her hand.
Matt opened the door. “We seriously need to finish the process with her hair.”
“Two more minutes,” Trace said.
Matt balked over the delay, but finally said, “Fine. Two minutes and no more.” He ducked back inside.
“Oh, wow,” Priss teased. “He really is terrified of you, isn’t he?”
Trace smiled. “It was noble of you to try to shield him earlier.”
“Yeah, well.” She huffed out a breath and looked down at their clasped hands. “You were mean-mugging him, and I wasn’t sure what you might do.”
“And you figured whatever I did, you could stop me even if another man couldn’t?”
Her gaze snapped up to his. “Actually, I figured I was to blame, so why should Matt catch the brunt of your temper?”
Noble. Kind. More and more, Priss appealed to him, not just physically, though God knew that was enough to weaken his knees. But she was protective and bold. And sweet. Sometimes.
“Matt knows I wouldn’t hurt him.” Trace watched her expression. “Not without good reason.”
“I’m dying to hear what you consider a good reason, but first…” She tugged her hand free, settled back and crossed her legs. “What’s the plan? And it better be good, because I won’t be easy to fool again. If you want me out when we leave here, plan on clubbing me over the head, and don’t plan on me making it easy for you.”
Trace kept getting distracted with the glinting foil. He gestured at her head. “It’s difficult to think when you look like this.”
“Try wearing it. Now talk.”
Forever amusing. Her droll humor was nearly as sharp as Chris’s, and that was saying something. “I did a background check on you using your driver’s license.”
Her jaw loosened and her face went blank in surprise. Then she sat forward. “Oh, my God.” She smacked her own forehead. “How did I forget that you still had that?”
“Other things on your mind?” Trace shrugged, unrepentant. “Now I know that at least part of what you told me is true.”
Cautious, Priss watched him. “Which part?”
“You’re from Ohio.”
Her eyes darkened. “What else?”
“I verified your age.”
“And?”
He wasn’t ready to tell her everything he’d learned, not yet. “You do own an adult store. It earns enough to sustain you, but you’re never going to be financially comfortable.”
“My idea of comfort probably differs from yours.”
“Your employee, Gary Deaton, is in his early forties. He has a minor criminal record, and a big-time case for you.”
Her eyes went wider.
“You officially took over running the place about six months ago. Three months ago, it became yours.” Because her mother had died. Trace shook his head. He didn’t want to get into a big discussion on her mother, yet. “That’s all.”
Relief washed over her. “That’s all? Good grief, isn’t that enough?”
Not by a long shot. He softened his tone. “What did you think I’d find?”
“Too many things for us to go into now. Matt’s returning. And I really don’t want my hair ruined just because you chose a warped time for deep discussions.” More anxious than not, Priss stood. “One more thing, though.”
Trace stood, too. “Yes?”
Matt opened the door and tapped his foot.
“I don’t give a fig what Murray thinks about it. No one is seeing me naked, not for any reason.”
Trace touched her jaw, smoothed his thumb over her chin. “Not even me?”
On a sigh of pure exasperation, Matt shut the door again.
“Not if you have hot wax with you, no.” Priss met his gaze without flinching. “Otherwise…I might be willing.”
He tried to hide his surprise—and his pleasure. “Is that right?”
She shrugged. “Let’s just say I understand what motivates you, so I can maybe get beyond it.”
Not kissing her proved impossible. It was tricky, but Trace managed to bend close without losing his good eye on the edges of silver foil. He brushed his mouth over hers, felt her warm breath, the softness of her lips, and had to force himself to draw away.
“Don’t worry about any of that. I…” Damn. He shook his head. “I convinced Murray that you weren’t the type to allow it.”
“Not the type?”
“I believe I used the term country bumpkin. I said you’d revolt, and he agreed to leave you au natural. You can thank me now.”
Priss snorted. “It’s humiliating, knowing you discussed that with him, with Matt and probably with your buddies Chris and Dare, too.”
He cupped his hands around her neck. “I know, and I am sorry. But surely it’s better than the alternative of—”
She smashed a hand over his mouth. “I’d have hurried along my plans to kill Murray before letting anyone invade my privacy that way.”
“You are not killing anyone.” Regardless of solid motivations.
“That’s not for you to decide.”
It was, but she hadn’t accepted it yet. Trace caught her wrist, kissed her palm and lowered her hand. “Dare and I agree that you can leave here fully conscious. Just know that until everything is resolved—”
“Everything, meaning what?”
He ignored her interruption. “—you’ll be watched. Forget privacy, Priss, because you won’t have any. Until I’m satisfied that you won’t throw a wrench into my plans, you’re going to have a tail 24/7.”
For reasons Trace couldn’t understand, she smiled at him. “Fine by me.” She patted his chest. “Just don’t plan on being satisfied anytime soon.”
She stepped around him to pick up her cat, opened the door, and said into the room, “Hairdresser, I’m ready. Let’s get this over with.”
TWO HOURS FELT LIKE TEN as Trace paced the kitchen, waiting for Priss’s unveiling. Chris and Dare were with him, but Molly had gone along with Priss and Matt.
He glanced at his watch again. “Can’t you hurry Matt along?”
Busy at the computer, Chris made a face. “For the umpteenth time, no. He’s creating art, or so he says. Leave him to it.”
“I’m going to be late.”
“You’ve got plenty of time,” Dare told Trace as he finished making sandwiches. “Even if you hit traffic, which you shouldn’t, you’ll get back with a couple of hours to spare.”
“I’ll have to get Priss settled before I take off.”
“Jackson’s on hold. He’ll be ready when you are.”
From the doorway, Priss asked, “Who’s Jackson?”
All three men looked up.
As if in slow motion, Dare set aside the knife he’d been using to cut chicken salad sandwiches into quarters.
Chris pushed back from the computer and let loose with a low whistle.
Trace stared. Damn, he’d known she was a looker, no disguise could hide that. But he hadn’t realized…
Matt beamed. “Stunning, am I right?”
“Well, say something, guys.” Molly slid in around the two of them and came forward, grinning. She carried a bag of pr
oducts that Priss would use to re-create her current look. “Doesn’t she look fantastic?”
“Yeah, she does.” Dare pulled Molly in close, kissed her and whispered something in her ear. She looked at Trace and laughed.
Chris saluted his friend. “Great work.” And then to Priss, “You can copy it?”
“I’m not an idiot. It’s a little makeup and some hair product. Easy-peesy.”
Trace barely followed the conversation. Priss’s long hair had been trimmed and shaped so that now it somehow fluffed around her face, looking like she’d just come from a little bedroom activity. The subtle red coloring showed more, and looked sexier.
Green eyes that had always been direct now looked sultry and suggestive, even while she awaited his verdict on the results. Her lashes looked longer, her lips more lush—and none of it was obvious.
She looked good enough to tempt a saint, and it dawned on Trace that Murray, who was nowhere near sainthood, would think so, too.
Furious at the situation, at the overriding conflict of what he had to do versus what he wanted to do, Trace drew a tight breath. “Yeah. Fantastic.”
Propping her hands on her hips, her attitude unaltered by her beauty, Priss glared. “So why do you sound so disgusted, then?”
Dare pulled Molly closer to his side. “You look very nice, Priss. It’s just that Trace isn’t a man who likes to share, but he’s currently not in a position to deny others.”
Trace continued to stare at her, and he saw her dawning understanding. She gave a peek back at Matt, aware of him as a trusted friend but not a part of the inner circle. Hell, Priss didn’t know what that inner circle protected, and still she went along.
“Got it. Well, it’s not Trace’s problem. Maybe he should recall that.” She turned to look at the wall clock. “Shouldn’t we be hitting the road?”
The woman looked like living, breathing sex, but she talked like a businesswoman. Trace hated it. All of it.
Dare indicated the array of food. “I fixed lunch. You have to be getting hungry.”
Matt went straight for the grub, but Priss declined. “No, thanks.”
Trace scowled. “Enough already. You need to eat.” Hell, she hadn’t had anything, not even a drink of water, since her breakfast sandwich early that morning.
