Trace of Fever

by Lori Foster

  “Priss knows what I’m talking about.” And with that, Trace ignored Matt. “Sometimes I’ll need to be gone, and sometimes you’re going to be afraid for me.”

  “Oh, Trace.” She blinked fast, thankful that they were still mostly in a lake, and mostly wet from the dousing; it helped to hide the silly tears. “I’m going to do that whether we’re together or not.”

  He put his forehead to hers. “I like my house, Priss. The location is secure, so I’d prefer not to move.”

  She laughed around a lump of emotion. Trace’s home was within half an hour of Dare, on a similar scale but in a different style, and also backed up to a large lake. Priss had a feeling that the guys used the lake as a natural barrier to prying eyes.

  “Liger will need a few things,” she warned, thinking of his cat box. “And he can shed a lot in the summer.”

  Trace looked over at the big cat. Stretched out on his back, his legs flopped open, he rested next to Tai. Even with the dog dripping lake water, Liger looked content.

  When he realized that he had Trace’s attention, Liger lifted his head and said, “Merrrowwww….” in his sweet voice, making Trace laugh.

  “You two are a package deal, and Liger’s already my buddy. I’m every bit as pet friendly as Dare, so don’t worry about that.”

  “Good. Because I like your house, too, at least, from what I got to see of it.” They’d only been there a day. And most of that day had been in Trace’s bedroom on his massive bed. The next morning, he’d flown her to New York City, and from there, to Las Vegas. “I’ve loved all the places we’ve been and all the fun we’ve had, but I wouldn’t mind settling down a little, too.”

  Being in one place with Trace, having a routine with him—making a life with him—appealed to her in a big way.

  “What about your shop?” And before he let her answer, he said, “I’m not keen on you being away from me, Priss, and no, it has nothing to do with the type of shop it is.”

  “Fibber.” She still recalled Trace’s unease as she’d shown him through the shop with Gary dogging their heels. He’d tried to hide it under compliments on her management skills, but she knew that Trace hated the thought of her working there.

  “It has more to do with it being too far away, and not in the most secure location—”

  “Gary can buy me out. He wants to do that anyway.”

  Trace stalled in midsentence. “You’re okay with that?”

  “With not owning a porn shop?” She shrugged. She was more than okay with it. “It doesn’t hold any sentimental value, believe me. It was always a means to an end.”

  He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “It was your independence.”

  And a way for her to hide from Murray while plotting her revenge. Priss shook her head. “I still want independence, so I’ll be getting a job.” She was hoping to find some way to assist Trace in his work. Not by accompanying him, because she knew he wouldn’t have that. But maybe she could do some computer-type screening stuff, looking up facts and histories. Now that she’d had a small taste of helping others, she wanted more.

  She wanted to make a difference, the same way that Trace did. But she’d broach that topic later. “I’m not a person who does well with idle time.”

  “Seriously? I never would have guessed.”

  His teasing didn’t bother her, especially when she looked at her ring again. Smaller diamonds surrounded the impressive princess-cut stone, making it glint brightly in the sunlight. “It is so perfect.”

  “If it’s not, we can exchange it—”

  She snatched the ring up close to her chest. “Never.”

  Trace gave a slow, sexy grin. “So, Priscilla Patterson, since you approve of my job, my home, my friends and my ring, will you try another new experience—and marry me?”

  Joy bubbled up, but she didn’t want to shout just yet. “When you go off to—” she glanced at Matt “—work, will you at least tell me what’s going on?”

  “Yes. As much as I can.”

  “Will you be honest about the danger involved?”

  “I’ll be honest with you about everything.”

  “Okay.” She peeked at him, and winced in dread. “Did you want a big wedding?”

  Trace frowned at the continued line of questioning. “I want whatever you want.”

  That almost made her cry, too. “Another first,” she whispered, because before now, what she wanted hadn’t really mattered. She kept smoothing her hands over his chest, as always drawn by his physique. “You should enter a wet T-shirt contest. You’d win.”

  Chris snorted, but Matt agreed.

  Priss ignored him. “If you’re sure it doesn’t matter to you, I’m not keen on the idea of anything too fancy.”

  Trace pulled her off the rock ledge and into his arms. “Small works fine for me. Just family and friends?”

  “All right.” She looked over at Matt. “I’ll invite him. Everyone else will have to come from your side.”

  “Me?” Matt choked. “I mean, I’d be honored, but—”

  Trace’s crooked smile put Matt at ease.

  “Well, I’m flattered.” Matt put a hand to his heart. “Thank you, Priscilla.”

  She grinned at him. “I’ll need you there to do my hair anyway.”

  Chris pushed up from his seated position. As if he were the Pied Piper, the dogs and cat followed suit. “I think I’ll go tell Dare to figure on something nice for dinner. That is, if you two want to celebrate with friends?”

  Friends. Thanks to Trace, she had them now. “Will you invite Trace’s sister so I can meet her?”

  “She’d skin me if I didn’t,” Chris told her.

  “And Jackson?” Priss asked.

  “Why not?” Trace gave her a teasing smooch, and then said in a lower voice meant just for Priss, “I might as well see the two of them together so I can gauge the situation myself.”

  He was so wonderful that Priss felt giddy. “When I took self-defense training, when I spent so many nights thinking of how I’d confront Murray, what I’d accomplish, never—not once—did I figure on meeting someone like you.”

  “Someone you love.”

  “Yes.”

  He waited until Chris and Matt had gotten far enough way. “Do you really think you can redirect all that awesome energy now that Murray is gone?”

  “To love you? To be this happy?” She leaned into him for a kiss. “Absolutely.”

  Eyes blazing, Trace lifted her up and headed deeper into the water. His jeans dragged and his shirt stuck to his body.

  Confused, Priss asked, “What are you doing?”

  He moved under the dock, behind the ladder. Voice deeper now, he said, “Making love in the water.”

  She gasped. “In daylight?”

  “They like to tease, and God knows they can be annoying—especially Matt—but I promise you that no one will be watching.” He pressed her up against the ladder. “And now that you’ve agreed to marry me, I need you.”

  Priss looked at the wooden boards over her head, allowing only thin strips of sunshine through. The air was warm, the water cold. She felt Trace’s jean-covered legs against hers, his hands slipping into the back of her bathing suit bottoms.

  And she saw the love in his eyes.

  “Okay, then.” After a lifetime of anticipating Murray’s death, she feared she’d lose herself to the need for vengeance. Instead, she’d gained so much more. “Another first for me, and thanks to you, they just keep getting better and better.”

  “For the rest of our lives.”

  Now, with Trace, that idea held promise and contentment. Her mother had never found peace, but Priss had. She only wished everyone could find the same happiness.

  EPILOGUE

  JACKSON STOOD QUIETLY as Alani came into the house. Unlike the other women, she didn’t wear a swimsuit. Shame. He’d love to see her in one. Everyone had duly celebrated Trace’s engagement, and Alani seemed taken with Priss—but then, who wouldn’t be? Priss was
funny, smart, cute and—luckily for Trace—stacked.

  Unaware of Jackson, Alani stopped to look out the patio doors. She looked…wistful. Like maybe she wanted to take part, but couldn’t.

  In so many ways, despite being kidnapped by flesh peddlers, or maybe because of that, she was still an innocent. At just-barely twenty-three, she acted much older.

  Like a virgin spinster.

  Every night, in his dreams, they burned up the sheets.

  Here, in reality, she avoided him. She avoided involvement.

  But he’d get her over that. Somehow.

  Suddenly Priss came in, wet hair sleek down her back, rivulets of water trailing between her breasts. She spotted Jackson right off and, after smiling at Alani, asked them both, “Why aren’t you guys coming down to swim?”

  Alani jerked around to stare at Jackson with big eyes.

  His crooked smile told her that he had her in his sights. “I was just about to ask Alani that.”

  Priss laughed. “You’re still dressed.”

  “I can undress fast enough.” He looked at Alani. “What about you?”

  Her lips parted. “No, I…didn’t bring a suit.”

  “Pity. Maybe we could move up to the cove and skinny-dip in private?”

  Pointing a finger at him, Priss said, “Behave, you reprobate!” And then to Alani, “Beware of that one.”

  Still watching him, Alani nodded.

  Priss put her hands on her hips and considered the situation. “Molly might have a spare swimsuit. I’d offer to let you borrow one from me, but this is the only one I have.”

  “It looks great on you, too,” Jackson told her.

  “Ha. Trace doesn’t like it.”

  “Because you look naked,” Jackson told her.

  Priss went three shades of red. Her eyes narrowed. “Ever mention that again, and I’ll throw you in the lake and drown you.”

  He pretended to button his lips, but he couldn’t stop grinning at her.

  Not being a dummy, Priss looked at them both, shook her head, and said, “Well, I’m heading back down. I’ll tell the others that you’ll be joining us soon.” With a careless wave, she ducked back out the door.

  Jackson moved closer to Alani. She backed up.

  So he stopped. “What’s wrong?”

  “Why did Priss blush?” Her brows came down. “What’s going on between you two?”

  “Nothing.” He didn’t appreciate her subtle accusation. “You think I’d disrespect your brother’s claim?”

  “His claim?”

  “Now, don’t go getting all riled. You know what I mean.” Jackson tried to dig himself out of a quickly yawning hole. “He and Priss are together. I get that. I wouldn’t do anything inappropriate with her. Not that she’d be willing anyway—”

  “So you did try?”

  “No!”

  “Then why did she turn scarlet?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s still embarrassed because I saw her—there was this situation…”

  Alani crossed her arms.

  To hell with it. Jackson moved closer and if she didn’t like it, too bad. But this time she didn’t retreat. She just stared at him with something akin to challenge. “Look, Priss still gets red-faced because I had to steal her out of the shower and hoist her out a narrow window.”

  Alani’s mouth fell open.

  “She was buck-ass, and you can believe me, it was awkward for both of us.” He thought about it, and couldn’t help but grin. “Probably more so for her, but it wasn’t what I was expecting, either.”

  Alani continued to stare at him in surprise. “Unbelievable.”

  “Tell me about it.” Trace still looked riled every time he spoke to Jackson. “It’s probably going to take your brother a little while to get over it. I mean, I saw things that he probably hasn’t even seen yet. I mean, with Priss. You know, because they haven’t known each other that long. I’m sure eventually…”

  Her loosened jaw snapped shut. “God, you are so crude!”

  How the hell did she figure that? “I was trying to be honest with you!”

  Pushing him out of her way, Alani said, “Well, from now on, don’t bother.”

  Damn it. Jackson watched her slim backside as she disappeared out the door. Frustration galvanized him into action.

  In only a few long strides he followed her out. Alani hadn’t gone far yet, and he reached her easily. “Hold up.”

  She froze in her tracks, then slowly turned to face him.

  Trace, always aware of every damn thing that happened concerning his sister, looked up from the dock. Far as Jackson was concerned, Trace’s overbearing protectiveness wasn’t helping Alani one iota.

  “What is it?”

  Damn, she was beautiful. A light breeze teased through her fair hair; her golden-brown eyes glittered in the sunshine, shaded only by long, curling eye lashes. She didn’t have the same lush shape as Molly and Priss, but her willowy, delicate curves pushed all the right buttons with him.

  “I’m heading out.”

  Her gaze searched his and, a little breathless, she asked, “Leaving?”

  “Yeah.” He stepped closer. Any second now Trace would intrude. “Thing is, Alani, I can’t be around you without wanting you. Bad. Really bad.”

  “Oh.”

  “If that’s crude, well, then, screw it, I’m crude. I know we’d have a great time in bed, but since you aren’t ready for that yet, well…I promised Trace I wouldn’t pressure you.”

  Her neck went stiff. “Dear God. You discussed this with my brother?”

  “No!” He cut a hand through the air and his voice lowered. “When…if…I get you out of your panties, believe me, it’ll be a private thing between us. No way in hell would I discuss that with anyone else.”

  Her face went as red as Priss’s had.

  “Trace and I talked about you maybe decorating my house, that’s all.”

  “Oh.” Face still hot, she said, “I—”

  “Yeah, forget it. That’s off. Like I said, I’d just hanker for you, and you aren’t exactly reciprocating. So that’s that.”

  She blinked fast.

  “But if you ever change your mind, all you have to do is let me know.” He reached out and touched her cheek. Her skin was soft and warm and he wanted to feel her all over.

  All over him. Naked. Hungry. Wet…

  Damn, he had it bad. “I can promise you, if you do come to me, you won’t regret it.”

  She swallowed, licked her lips and damned if her eyes didn’t heat. She wanted him, too. He had to believe that. But Trace was starting up the hill, and the others were looking on, and the last thing he wanted was to make Alani uncomfortable.

  “Tell everyone I said goodbye. You make up any excuse you want.” And with that, he left Alani standing there, watching after him as he walked away.

  God willing, she’d contact him soon.

  He wasn’t sure he could stand it if she didn’t.

  ISBN: 978-1-4592-0530-7

  TRACE OF FEVER

  Copyright © 2011 by Lori Foster

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Table des matières

  Also available from LORI FOSTER and HQN Books

  CHAPTER ONE ARMS CROSSED AND HIS shoulder propped against the wall outside the elaborate, corner high-rise office, Trace Rivers considered his options. Having an inside source would shorten his job. As a pseudobodyguard, he hadn’t been given the opportunity to uncover shit yet, and he was getting antsy. But if he could turn someone who was privy to the info he needed, then he’d get somewhere. Murray Coburn was dirty. Trace knew it. Hell, a lot of people knew it. But they couldn’t or wouldn’t touch the bastard without rock-solid evidence. The legal system had failed. Trace would find the evidence eventually, though, and then he’d mete out his own form of justice. Until then he had to contend with the odd assortment of disreputable punks and bullies working for Murray. He also had to contend with Helene Schumer, better known as Hell—a name that suited her well. She never missed an opportunity to grope him, to boss him, to make his job more trying than necessary. But as Murray’s current p

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO PRISS STRODE INTO THE private elevator as if she had every right, as if her heart weren’t bumping hard against her ribs, as if her nerves weren’t sorely jumbled. Keeping her cool had taken real effort, but good God, of all the scenarios she’d planned for, expected and discounted, being intimately groped by a man like him, a man so unlike the other men in the organization, had never factored in. In the elevator, he held silent, but she saw him twice look at her blouse. She could feel his gaze, damn it, deep inside herself. And she knew what he was looking at. Without the binding, her boobs were far too noticeable. The damned buttons gaped and the material strained. “Enjoying yourself?” she asked with a heavy dose of sarcasm. If anything, her jibe only made him intensify his study. He stood there, negligence personified, his hands clasped behind his back, his stance casual and relaxed. “I can see the outline of your nipples.” She nearly strangled on her fury. “Go to hell!” “W

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE AWARE OF PRISCILLA seething beside him, Trace put the car in gear and headed for the exit ramp. “What does your car look like and where did you park?” “Umm…” He sensed her tensing beside him, probably waiting for sunlight to hit the car before she launched herself at him. Such a foolish, but brave, consideration. He shook his head. “I never hit a woman.” He glanced at Priss. “First.” Confusion softened her hostile edge. “What?” “I don’t suggest you try me, Priscilla. I’m seriously pissed enough right now to give you that paddling you so very much deserve.” Understanding that he’d just been letting off steam, her shoulders slumped. She even scoffed. “Paddling? Don’t be an ass.” She dropped her purse onto the floor in front of her seat and put her head back. Almost as an afterthought, she said, “I’d never allow that.” She honestly thought she could stop him if he was inclined toward a little discipline? What a joke. But she was correct to relax. He had no intention of abusi