by Skye Jordan
“Need more.” Trace drew his cock from between her lips, and leaned down to pulled her to her feet a with rough, “Need all of you.”
He reached behind her and hit the water controls, then lifted her into his arms. He grabbed his wallet on the way out, struggling to carry her to the bed while she was infusing him with wild, passionate, hungry kisses.
He braced one knee and one hand on the bed, lowering her to the fluffy white comforter, then dug a condom out of his wallet. “You look like an angel.”
She pushed herself upright, thighs wide and wrapped around his, and took the condom from his hand. She ripped the package and rolled on the condom, her touch making Trace flinch and his hands fist. Then she looked up at him, her gaze both hot and . . . a little uncertain. “I may look like an angel, but I want you to love me like the devil.”
Fire licked through his veins. His cock jumped, as if coming to attention. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap, holding her gaze while he positioned the head of his cock against her slick softness. Then he lowered her slowly, reveling in every soft inch of penetration. Of passion. Of possession.
The emotions that passed through her eyes seemed to grab on to his heart and sink in. Lust, awe, pleasure . . . Her expression showed more emotions than he could read. But the one that tied knots in his chest was the one spreading over her beautiful face once he filled her completely—a look of bliss, of fulfillment. Of something Trace could only label as . . . acceptance? As if she, too, felt the overwhelming power between them and was acquiescing to his need to take ownership of her—for as long as that lasted.
His chest filled with a sudden and unexpected mix of emotions that both terrified and excited him. But he couldn’t think about those now. Not when his cock was buried in her wet heat. Not when her body belonged to him. Only him.
Trace pressed his forehead to hers, wrapped his arms low on her hips, and started to move with an overwhelming need to infuse her with pleasure. More pleasure than she’d ever known. More pleasure than she’d ever even believed possible. In some small corner of his mind, he was equating pleasure with longevity. As if he could provide enough sexual satisfaction to make up for all the other differences between them. As if giving her the best sex of her life would allow her to overlook the fact that he was an ex-con. As if physical pleasure alone could make her stay.
Trace shoved those irrational thoughts aside and purposely held her gaze as he moved slowly and thrust deep. Her every little gasp, every little chirp of surprised pleasure, thrilled him beyond reason. He let his hands roam, caressing her skin. Let his mouth travel, kissing her lips, her cheek, her neck. He whispered her name but little more. They didn’t seem to need words to communicate this bond growing between them. He saw it in her eyes, tasted it in her kiss, felt it in her body. They were in sync. They were speaking on a deeper level than anything he’d ever known. And what he heard, body and soul, reached inside his chest and pulled hard.
As her pleasure rose, she tightened her arms around his neck and rocked her hips into his thrusts. The feel of her body undulating beneath his hands combined with the slam of pleasure with each thrust, was insanity inducing.
Soon his entire world, his entire existence became Avery and the sensual rock of her body, the feel of her pussy stroking and squeezing his cock, her quick breaths and moans of pleasure.
She leaned back, one arm still around his neck, and pressed the other to his thigh for leverage to lift her hips into his with more force. Her brow furrowed in that borderline-climax, pleasure-pain expression that ticked up the heat in Trace’s blood. He was already slick with sweat, but he pumped his hips harder, ridiculously pleased when her mouth dropped open and a sound of ecstasy floated from her chest.
“Yes, yes, yes . . .” she murmured.
“Do I feel good, Avery?”
Her eyes opened and fixed on his face, and she managed, “So good.” But her eyes said, Way more than good, and her head dropped back on an, “Oh God . . .”
Her climax loomed, urging Trace to push things into high gear. He pumped harder, deeper, faster, losing himself in their perfect rhythm and the rise of his own pleasure.
And when Avery’s head dropped back, her mouth open on a cry of release, her pussy tightening and gushing warmth over his cock, Trace let go, too, driving home for an orgasm that twisted every muscle and blew every brain cell. He pressed his face to her neck and breathed her in, surrounded himself in her skin and her scent to cement the moment in his memory as sensations rippled through his body, again and again.
When the orgasm released him, Trace’s muscles gave, and he rolled to the bed with Avery. He kept most of his weight on his forearms so he didn’t crush her while they caught their breath. But Trace’s mind wouldn’t start working properly again anytime soon. And he didn’t give a goddamn, because he planned on lying in this bed all night with her—no escape plan in sight.
And, God, he was still awed at this explosive chemistry. This was just so . . . “Fucking amazing.”
Her quick breaths bathed the skin of his chest, stuttering when she laughed softly. “So it’s not just me. This isn’t just wildly mind-blowing for me because I’m so inexperienced?”
Trace laughed and lifted his head from her shoulder to look down into her face. She was flushed and glowing, and the smile in her eyes made them sparkle in the moonlight. “No, baby. This is just that fucking amazing because of you and me, together.”
She stretched out and relaxed into the bed beneath her, and the smile she gifted Trace was like a lantern in the darkness, offering him all the light he’d ever need.
She reached up and stroked his face, and that familiar softness warmed her eyes again. “I like the sound of that, you and me, together.”
Trace’s heart turned warm and gooey, and emotions rushed to the surface. Emotions and the fears that tagged along with them. For now, he pushed them away and reveled in the way this woman turned him inside out.
FOURTEEN
Avery floated to consciousness with light pressing against her eyelids. She was warm and comfortable and happy. Trace’s muscular legs were still tangled with hers, his front side curved around her backside, his strong arm pinned across her waist, holding her against him.
She forced her eyes open and looked for the clock she’d positioned on the windowsill since she couldn’t afford nightstands yet.
“It’s only six.” Trace’s voice startled her. She twisted to look over her shoulder and found him propped up by his elbow, hair tousled, eyes bright, a grin tilting his mouth.
“Hey. You look like you’ve been up awhile.” She relaxed into the pillow again and frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Watching you sleep.” His grin grew. “You talk in your sleep—you know that, right?”
“I do not.”
He laughed. “Yeah, you do.”
She turned a little more and rubbed his erection tucked against her ass. “I’m not sure I like that. What did I say?”
His hand slid back and forth over her stomach, and his hips rocked restlessly against hers, creating a familiar heat between her legs. “I don’t know. I was a little distracted.”
She wrapped her arm up and around his neck, pulling him down for a good-morning kiss. Their tongues lazily stroked, and Trace sucked at her lips, then growled a moan and pressed his face to her neck. “Warning: if you don’t get up now, you won’t be getting up for a while.”
She pushed her hips back and into his erection and murmured against his temple, “I’m good with that.”
His mouth opened against her neck with a groan of pleasure and relief. “Baby, you are such a dream.”
The hand at her stomach slid up her body, between her breasts, and cupped her chin as he took the kiss deeper.
A heavy knock at the front door downstairs jerked both of them out of the bliss. They stared at each other for a second, as if each was wondering whether they’d really heard that.
“What?”
/> The knock came again, louder, followed by the deep, serious voice of someone calling Avery’s name. Alarm snaked down her spine, and Avery sat up, looking around the floor for clothes. “Shit.”
“Who in the hell is that?” Trace swung his feet off the bed and pulled on his jeans.
“I don’t know,” she said, frustrated as she followed Trace’s lead. “But I’m sick of one fire after another around here. I’d like one full night of relaxation for a damn change.”
He yanked his shirt over his head and grinned at her. “Then you’d better stop hanging around me, sugar. I have no intention of letting you relax.”
“Your brand of relaxation I’ll take any night of the week.” She ran her hands through her hair and dragged on the jeans and the T-shirt she’d had on last night before she headed downstairs in bare feet.
“I’m coming, for God’s—” She hit the bottom of the stairs and looked toward the door. Through the glass all she saw was blue. A mass of navy-blue uniforms. Cops. Four of them, standing on her porch.
Trace almost stumbled over her and caught her around the waist, managing to keep both of them from hitting the floor. “Baby, what—?”
Rap, rap, rap. “Open the door, Avery.”
Deputy Tom Potter, a man in his late fifties who’d been a family friend for years, was surrounded by three other deputies Avery didn’t know.
Fury and embarrassment flared in a hot streak through her chest, and she started toward the door. “Austin, that piece of—”
“Avery.” Trace’s direct tone grated on her already raw nerves, and she spun on him. His gaze had hardened into an expression she’d never seen before. “This is bigger than Austin.”
Rap, rap, rap. “Avery.”
She ignored Tom. While David had become an expert at obeying authority, Avery had discovered in all those years fending for herself, there was a time to obey and there was a time to resist. She’d also discovered that often ignoring, combatting, or avoiding authority got her a lot further than trying to go directly through it. “Trace?”
His eyes moved back to her and he nodded. “Open the door; then step aside. This isn’t about you.”
“How do you know?”
“Avery, honey,” Tom said through the glass. “Don’t make me break this brand-new door. Alice’ll have me in the doghouse for months.”
Tom’s reference to his wife and one of Avery’s best customers via Wildly Artisan melted her anger like a flame to ice. Avery continued to the door, unlocked it, and opened it a foot. “What’s this about, Tom?”
He offered her a folded group of papers. “I’m sorry, Avery. We have a warrant to search the premises.”
“For what?”
One of the other deputies pushed the door open, Tom stepped in and urged Avery aside with a gentle hand on her arm. The other three swept in, and one started calling directions.
“Step aside, sweetheart,” Tom said. ”Let us do our job and we’ll get out of here.”
“Tom—” Her threat was cut short by the sight of more deputies climbing the stairs and flooding into her shop. Deputies that included Austin. Fury exploded, wiping out any ability to think rationally, and she broke out of Tom’s hold, starting for Austin. “You piece of shit—”
She lunged for him but never made contact. Trace caught her around the waist with one arm and pulled her back.
“No, no, no,” Trace crooned in her ear, wrapping her in his arms and holding her tight.
She glared at Austin, who never flinched, never blinked. He didn’t look pleased or annoyed or angry. He looked blank. Like he couldn’t care less about her outburst.
“Just let them look,” Trace said. “They’ll be gone before you know it.”
“Let go.” She elbowed Trace until he released her; then she turned on Tom, just this side of hysterical. “If they break or ruin one thing, Tom, one thing, I swear I will plant my ass on Holland’s desk and handcuff myself there until the city pays for it.”
“Now calm down, Avery. All my deputies have strict instructions not to damage anything and to put everything back the way they found it.”
Two deputies she didn’t recognize approached and addressed Trace. “Mr. Hutton, come over here please.”
“What?” Avery swung that direction. “Why?”
Trace put up a hand to Avery. She didn’t know if it was meant to reassure her or shut her up, but it did neither. And when she turned back to Tom to demand answers, she saw Zane climb out of a patrol car and jog toward the building.
“Thank God.” She pulled out of Tom’s grip and went to the door. “Zane,” she said before he’d even reached the porch. “Please tell me what the hell is going on.”
He put his arm around her shoulders and said, “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
When they stepped back into the room, Avery froze at the sight of Trace with his hands pressed to the stainless steel countertop. His feet were spread wide, and one cop patted him down while the other stood watch. Her stomach turned icy, and in that flicker of an instant she saw her whole world shift. She imagined Trace being sent back to prison. Imagined herself as one of those women who spent their weekends in cement visitation rooms, talking to their boyfriend through glass over a phone.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Tom told Zane, drawing Avery back to the present. She turned away from Trace, now standing but still guarded by the two cops. “You’re not even supposed to be on duty for another hour.”
“You should have at least advised me,” Zane said. His blue eyes, lighter and grayer than Trace’s, were dark with anger this morning, but he softened his voice when he asked Avery, “What happened with JT?”
Avery crossed her arms over her middle, suddenly cold, dizzy, and nauseous. She felt like she’d missed a whole chunk of the conversation. “What about him?”
Tom glanced at a small notebook in his hand. “He alleges Trace was selling drugs out of this location.”
“Bullshit,” Avery bit out immediately. “JT’s pissed because he got caught breaking into the café yesterday morning. Trace had the good sense to fire him, and JT’s just trying to get revenge.”
“Did you report that break-in?” Tom asked.
“No,” she said, struggling to justify what probably looked to others like a lapse in judgment. “I came in so early, JT didn’t get a chance to take anything.”
“When’s the last time you saw JT?” Tom asked.
Avery’s head felt sluggish. “Uh . . . yesterday.” She tightened the cross of her arms, unable to get warm. “Before he and Trace went into Santa Rosa to pick up supplies.”
Tom pulled a photo from his pocket and showed it to Avery. JT stared back at her, with a split lip and a bruise beneath one eye. “Did he look like this then?”
Her brow tightened. “No. So what?”
Tom tucked the picture away. “So he’s saying that he and Mr. Hutton got in a fight over drug proceeds, and that’s why Trace fired him.”
Avery huffed a disgusted breath and rolled her eyes. “For God’s sake, Tom, JT just got out of prison. Trace has been a model citizen for half a dozen years. Who are you going to believe?”
“Mr. Hutton,” Tom said, “lift up your shirt.”
Avery gave Tom a where-the-hell-did-that-come-from? look, then glanced at Trace, who pulled his shirt up, exposing bruises across his abdomen.
“How’d you get those bruises, Mr. Hutton?” Tom asked.
“Jesus Christ,” Avery said, her anger bursting into the growing tension in the room. “He got those on the roof.”
Tom’s gaze cut to Avery. “Did you see him incur the injury, Avery?”
“No, but—”
“Let’s go talk outside.” Zane cut her off and steered Avery toward the front door.
Avery resisted. “I don’t want to leave Trace—”
“He’s a big boy,” Zane said, pushing her out the door and onto the porch. “I promise he can take care of himself.”
Outside, stan
ding among all the police units, Avery’s mind started to fragment. News of this stupid raid or search or whatever it was would be all over town by noon. Her mind whirled around the rumors it would stir and the problems it could cause. She worried over the implications it would carry and the impact it would have on business.
Avery reached in her back pocket for her phone, but it wasn’t there. She stopped and turned toward the building again. “My phone . . .”
“You can’t go back in right now.”
“I just want my phone.” Her voice broke, and she pressed her fist to her forehead to keep herself together. “I want to call Delaney and Phoebe. Shit.” She dropped her hand and looked up at Zane. With a lowered voice she asked, “Does Trace need a lawyer? Should I call someone for him?”
“If they don’t find any drugs in your building, Trace won’t need a lawyer.”
“They aren’t going to find—” The ice re-formed in her gut. “Oh, shit. What if . . . what if JT left some there?”
“Why would he do that?”
Avery threw her arms in the air. “Shit, I don’t know.” She paced in a circle, then returned her gaze to Zane but pointed to the café, livid. “Is this JT or is this Austin? ’Cause I’ve got shit on Aus—” She sucked a breath and swiveled toward the building. “My phone.” She spun back toward Zane. “You need to get my phone. I have a picture on there that Austin doesn’t want anyone to see.”
Zane squinted toward the building, his expression stern. His phone rang, and, without taking his gaze off the café, he answered, “Yeah.”
A high-pitched, quick-speaking female sputtered on the other end of the line. Zane lowered his gaze to the ground. “Slow down, Gram, I can’t . . . No, he was fine when Harlan dropped him off . . . Well, how in the hell did he . . . No, I have no idea.” Zane put his free hand on his head and turned away, pacing a few steps before he stopped and heaved a sigh. “Christ, we can’t afford an emergency-room visit.”
Now Avery was caught between Zane’s drama and her own. But she could handle only one at a time, which meant she had to solve this mini-crisis within the major crisis before she’d be able to think straight.
