“No. Most of my family lives in Texas, near Dallas. I visit when I can.”
“You still have your parents?”
“I do. Both of them. Mom’s always run the house, and Dad recently retired. I think he’s driving her a little crazy.”
The affection in his tone made Aimee smile. She was thirteen when she’d lost her mom and dad. She’d been in a rebellious period, thinking her parents were trying to restrict the freedom she wanted, and she recalled some loud arguments. If she could have known the horrible gulf looming before her when they’d been hit head-on during a storm… Growing up without that anchor left a hole in her heart that she’d never been able to fill, even though she’d tried, with Jack. “You’re fortunate.”
“I think so. Until Mom asks when I’m going to settle down and give her grandbabies. I’m grateful for my sister who’s getting ready to have her first. My mother moved in with her temporarily so she doesn’t miss a single thing. She was afraid they’d go to the hospital and not tell her. Said she didn’t want to see the first pictures of her new grandchild on social media.” He grinned. “My brother-in-law is beyond unhappy about that. He appealed to my dad for help, but all of them are helpless against the force that is my mom. At any rate, Deanna has taken the pressure off the rest of us, for the moment, at least.”
“The rest of you? How many siblings do you have?”
“I’m one of six. Four boys, two girls. I’m right in the middle. My oldest brother is considering a run for mayor.”
“Impressive.” For as long as she could remember, it had just been her and her sister, struggling to stay together and survive.
Trace plucked a fry from the oversize basket between them.
“I’m shocked to see you eat that.” At her house, he’d cooked most of his own food, a ridiculous number of salads and lean meats.
“You might be shocked at the number of things I like.”
She swallowed hard, unaccountably, again, recalling his comment the first day about her reading material. “I’m sure some of them are dangerous.” Her question had to be the result of the rum.
“In the mind of the beholder, I suppose.”
Aimee stirred the remnants of her drink.
“I prefer to think of them as enthralling.”
She glanced away.
“And you, Miss Inamorata? Burgers and fries don’t seem to fit your personality, either. Soy lattes. Fresh veggies.”
If she didn’t have the courage, and a touch of bravado, from the cocktail, she might have kept her mouth shut. Instead, she replied in kind. “Like you said, you might be shocked at the number of things I like.”
“Would I?” He took a drink of his water. “Try me out.”
The words—the temptation—hung between them. He captured her gaze, and her heart galloped. She wanted to be bold, but suddenly she couldn’t string words together in the right order.
The server returned, and Aimee boldly opted for a second cocktail. For courage, maybe? “And a piece of key lime pie.” If she was going to be reckless, she might as well go all the way.
“Two forks,” Trace said, surprising her again.
After dinner, she asked if they could stroll down Bear Creek Avenue. After informing the team, he nodded.
“I’m sure it’s your favorite thing.”
“You know, Miss Inamorata, protecting you isn’t all bad.”
She furrowed her eyebrows as she looked at him, searching for any hint that he wasn’t telling the truth.
He took care of the bill, then helped her from her chair.
“Are you always such a gentleman?”
“Part of the service.” His smile was quick, genuine, and it did funny things to her pulse.
As they meandered to a shop, he placed his fingers in the small of her back, and she jumped as if electricity had arced through her.
Her attraction to him was as real as it was dangerous. She needed to rein in her hormones. He wasn’t a friend or lover. He was a man well paid to be with her. Forgetting that would be stupid.
Still, he was aware and attentive as she browsed through a gallery, then a curio shop.
Finally, she purchased half a pound of homemade fudge in a rustic-looking store.
The Hawkeye SUV idled out front, and she’d been aware of Mallory and Riley never letting her out of their sights. It was overkill, she was sure. But she’d never convince her sister of that. Still, it was better than staying in the house again. “Thank you for this evening.”
“I’ve enjoyed it.”
“Have you?” She broke off a piece of the chocolate peanut butter confection and offered it to him.
“The pie was enough for me.”
After one bite of her second dessert, she was inclined to agree with him. “We should get the rest of the team some burgers.”
“That’s thoughtful of you. I’m sure that would be appreciated.”
After walking up and down the aisles of the last store that was still open, they returned to the restaurant to place a to-go order.
Twenty minutes later, they were back in the car and on the way home.
“Much appreciated, ma’am,” Riley said when she handed over the bag filled with food.
“I love fries,” Mallory added. “My weakness.”
“How about some fudge too?” Aimee offered that bag to Mallory, also. “I’m afraid my sweet tooth got the better of me. And I don’t want to run for three hours tomorrow to work it off.”
“I don’t want you to have to do that either,” Trace added drily.
“Thank you. I’m not a fan, though. How about you, Riley? You’ll eat anything.”
“Oh, yeah. Definitely.”
Mallory accepted the gift and placed it on the console near Riley. “This will get me through the rest of the shift,” he said, meeting her gaze in the rearview mirror with a quick smile. “Thanks.”
“Thank you for saving me from myself. Oh, and it’s not Donna, Ruth, or Julie.”
“Ma’am?” Mallory asked, turning slightly in her seat.
“My sister’s first name.” Aimee smiled. “I understand there’s quite a pool of money available to the person who figures out her name.”
“Enough to take a nice trip to the Virgin Islands.”
“Or put a down payment on a house,” Riley added.
“Not that we’re interested in obtaining inside information, ma’am,” she amended hastily.
“And it’s not Louise.”
Mallory was grinning as she turned back around.
The conversation ended, and Aimee’s unease crept back in. The outing should have refreshed her. Instead, sitting next to Trace as they navigated through traffic bothered her. His knee touched hers. Heat flared, reigniting the same reaction she’d had earlier when he commandingly put his fingers against her. He glanced at her, and even in the darkness, his intensity slid through her.
She should move away, but she didn’t.
Neither did he.
When they turned a corner, they came in even greater contact, and he placed his hand on her leg to steady her.
She pulled away, as if scalded.
Every glance, holding hands, sharing dessert, laughing together, had ratcheted up her awareness of him until she wanted to crawl out of her skin.
Or worse, quench the craving.
When the vehicle stopped in front of her home, she hurried out, rather than waiting for one of the agents.
Trace rounded the vehicle and jogged to catch up with her. When she fumbled with the lock, he took the key from her. “I can do this,” she protested.
“Of course you can.” He covered her hand with his. “But you’re going to let me.” He stood impossibly close, using his body to shield hers, reminding her she was his client, and nothing more.
Telling herself, again, that she couldn’t afford any ridiculous sort of notions about him, she sighed.
When he finally released the lock, she hurried inside.
“Aimee!” Eurek
a called, desperately, she imagined.
While Trace secured the door, she went to say hello to her pet, grateful, more than ever, for the distraction.
“Out. Out, out, out.”
“I know. I promised.” She offered her hand, and he climbed on.
“Whee!”
She carried Eureka to the perch she’d set up for him in her office. After misting him with a water bottle so that he could occupy himself by preening, she forced away her disturbing thoughts about Trace and her damn strong feminine reaction to him. Hoping she could focus, Aimee powered up her computer and logged in to the group discussion board for her work project.
The most recent update was a video from Jason Knoll, a young, brilliant computer prodigy. As a fourteen-year-old, he’d written a game that had been purchased by one of the world’s largest producers of video games, making him a millionaire. Today, he wore an in-your-face yellow T-shirt, had long uncombed hair, walked around in bare feet, and every motion was animated to the point of exaggeration.
They’d been on the same team for over a year, working to develop a state-of-the-art way to spy on people, by utilizing devices that resembled insects.
The evening before, he’d launched one that looked like a mosquito. The video showed the bug moving through the air. She cheered when it successfully navigated away from a hanging bug zapper. That was an amazing bit of programming work. But then, a neighbor picked up a can of insect repellant and sprayed the mosquito. She gasped in horror as the expensive insect wobbled then plunged to the grass.
“We took a lot of things into consideration,” Jason said. “But not that. Stuff is sticky as hell. If anyone has any ideas, let me know.”
The video ended.
She was working on the injection part of the project, and she had her own set of challenges. About five percent of the time, her delivery mechanism didn’t work as designed. When the stakes were high, that failure rate wasn’t acceptable. She opened up her code to take a fresh look at it.
In the quiet, she couldn’t ignore Trace’s sounds as he checked the doors and windows, even though the house had been under surveillance the entire time they were gone. As if that wasn’t enough, the surveillance video was streamed to Hawkeye headquarters as well as all members of the team.
Fort Knox had less security.
He entered the office, and Eureka called out, “Agent!”
She scowled. Disloyal avian, greeting her nemesis.
“Hey, you green menace.”
As if he’d understood every word, Eureka lifted a leg.
She looked back at her screen to hide her grin.
After ensuring the window was latched, Trace left her alone, and she exhaled in relief. She never remembered a time when her attraction for a man eclipsed her interests in work.
The sound of his voice as he spoke on the phone to Riley reassured her, and simultaneously reminded her of the intimacy he’d shown at dinner.
A little while later, the word Madre drifted toward her, and he asked about his expectant sister.
An hour later, her eyes tired from looking at code that she couldn’t decipher, she sighed and admitted defeat before pushing back from her workspace.
Eureka turned toward her, and she placed her hand near him. “Step up. Time for bed.” It didn’t surprise her that he chose to be naughty and move to the far end of the perch. She shouldn’t have told him he was going to bed. “Step up,” she repeated, moving her hand closer to him.
For a moment, he ignored her command. “Eureka,” she coaxed.
After a few more seconds, he relented.
“Good bird.”
“Good bird,” he repeated. “Good bird. Good bird.”
She carried him back to the dining room to settle in for the night. Trace was in the kitchen, uncapping a bottle of water. The house was quiet, and her insides were suddenly a livewire of tension.
“Look, Aimee, about what happened—”
“Thanks for taking me out tonight.” She needed to excuse herself, make a mad dash for the bedroom. Instead, she remained where she was.
Trace placed his drink on the counter. “Come here.”
Every instinct for preservation flashed with warning. But something more urgent—feminine to masculine—responded to his quiet command. Obediently, she moved a couple of steps closer.
He took her shoulders in a firm but loose grip. If she tried to pull away, she knew he’d let her go. “Taking this any further might be a hell of a mistake.”
“I know.” She swallowed, but she was lost in his eyes. Raw desire was there, in the rich, deep depths.
“I want to kiss you. Tell me no.”
For a million reasons, she should run. Instead, she shook her head. “I… Yes.”
He moved one hand to the back of her head, then inched up and spread his fingers to fist her hair.
Trace was as forceful as he was commanding, and it was the illicit thrill she knew it would be.
“Preciosa.”
With purpose, he held her captive and moved toward her.
He brushed his soft, sensual lips across hers, as if giving her a taste, but also one last chance to run away.
She swayed toward him.
“So perfect.” He kissed her, seeking entrance to her mouth.
With a soft sigh, she surrendered. At first his tongue was seeking, as if he wanted to learn the secret to her responses. When she lifted onto her toes, he plundered deeper, taking what she offered, then asking for more.
He tasted of seduction. Of temptation. And his scent was spice and chilled alpine air, as untamed as he was.
Far too soon, he began to withdraw. He was no longer dominant. In fact, he was tender, easing his grip to make small circles with his fingertips, massaging away the tiny ache he’d caused.
He left her breathless.
Slowly, he released her shoulder, then tucked wild strands of hair back behind her ear with a gentleness that captivated her. “I’m sending you to bed, querida. Before I can’t.”
“Yes.” They were sliding toward something that might destroy her emotionally. Keeping her distance was smart, even if her body ached with demand. “Good night.” She turned away. Though she didn’t look back, heat from his gaze followed her down the hall.
At the bedroom door, she paused. Unable to stop herself, she turned.
He was there, arms folded. Uninviting.
Hoping he was as frustrated as she was, Aimee went inside and closed the door. Alone, she pressed her fingers to her mouth, as she tried to pretend it had meant nothing to her.
In the living room, the television blared to life, and Eureka squawked in protest until Trace turned down the volume.
She changed into nightclothes, then, for more than an hour, her thoughts in riot, she tossed and turned.
Eventually the house fell quiet, the sudden silence seeming to echo. She tuned in to the sound of water running in the kitchen, then quiet again before Trace said a few words, presumably on the phone, but he could have been talking to Eureka since the parrot said something that could have been “Night-night.”
Trace’s footfall was firm on the hardwood floor as he made his nightly rounds, through the office, then back down the hallway.
She held her breath, fearing he’d knock, hoping he would.
Though the movements she could discern became fainter, she imagined him pulling off his shirt, then changing into his thin, reveal-damn-near everything sleep pants.
The kiss had devastated her. He’d awakened a physical reaction. More frighteningly, he’d evoked her emotions. She hungered for him, while knowing she dare not go any further.
Aimee punched her pillow into shape, but she still couldn’t drift off. Taking a bath to relax might wake him up, but she needed to do something to escape the turmoil rolling inside her.
Careful to not make too much noise, she turned on the lamp, then slipped from the bed to grab a book. Instead of picking up a scholarly read or even a mystery, she allowed her fingers
to hover over her more erotic titles.
With a sigh, she selected an anthology with short and intensely hot vignettes, some Victorian in nature, one a medieval historical, another a contemporary fantasy. But in all of them, she was the heroine, and Trace was the hero. In this particular one, she was a princess who needed taming, and he was the duke, dressed in fashionable breeches and polished boots, impatiently tapping a cane against his calf.
She tossed aside the book and rolled to her stomach, working her hand beneath her to finger her clit.
The angle didn’t quite work for her, and in frustration, she turned back over, then went to grab the vibrator from the bottom drawer. No doubt Trace had seen it, along with her other toys. At least he’d had the courtesy not to mention what he’d found.
She buried herself beneath the covers to dull the sound of her toy before sliding it on to the lowest setting.
Rather than satisfying her, the tiny fluttering annoyed her. She needed more.
She closed her eyes and spread her pussy before turning the device to a higher speed.
Unbidden, thoughts of Trace danced through her mind. But instead of one of the short stories she’d just read, she imagined them being alone, with him directing her what to do, giving her a spanking—her first—and encouraging her to learn what she liked. He’d be unrelenting and determined, his voice gruff, granting her no reprieve.
The orgasm loomed just out of reach. But when she pictured Trace guiding her hand, she cried out, shaking, breathless as she came.
Somehow she managed to turn off the vibrator before she dropped it beside her.
That had been the most powerful climax she’d had in months.
What would sex with Trace be like? Romantic? Maybe frenetic because their relationship would end the moment he was reassigned?
She sighed. Was he even a Dom? She didn’t even know that much. His interest in her reading material might have been passing.
Aimee pushed wayward strands of hair back from her forehead. Even if he was, it didn’t matter. Though Hawkeye didn’t have a strict policy against fraternization, getting involved with a teammate was a bad idea—particularly a protective agent who was as demanding and bossy as Trace Romero. If getting involved was a bad idea, then getting spanked by him would be stupendously stupid.
Trust in Me (Hawkeye Book 2) Page 4
