Trace of Fever (13 page)

“No, thanks.” Truthfully, she was still too furious to be hungry or thirsty. Where was Trace? What was he up to? How dare he do this to her?

Sure, he’d introduced her to everyone, including Matt,
but then, on his way out, he’d told her to “behave,” in the same tone he might have used with an unruly kid.

It almost made her blush to recall her sharp reply of “Bite me.”

Trace hadn’t said anything more; he’d just left her.

That was some time ago. At first she hadn’t thought about it so much, not with Matt giving her orders left and right and playing with her feet and hands. After all, she knew Murray had ordered this, and that Trace had brought her as a means of protecting her.

But now that she had to sit still, her thoughts rioted over Trace, over the things he’d done and the possible reasons why.

Being honest with herself, Priss knew she was as upset with how he’d touched her, and then stopped, as she was with the fact that he’d abused the fragile beginning of her trust by tampering with her drink.

She wanted to believe that, whatever his role with Murray, he had a good reason for doping her. He hadn’t hurt her, and now even the residual effects of the drug were gone. She was wide-awake, alert, and she wanted to see him. If she had to go through this, the least he could do was stay accessible.

With drink orders handled, Molly returned to a plush, padded easy chair to watch in fascination as Priss got the works. Though Chris stayed close, Molly figured he was the plant, there to ensure no one said anything they shouldn’t. He mostly played with the animals, which were all in attendance.

The big, open family room had a deck out back that faced a beautiful lake. Thinking she heard something—a voice maybe—Priss tried to turn that way to look, but Matt maintained a hold on her hair.

“Sit still.”

“Go to hell.” She strained her eyes, and saw nothing but the outdoors.

Where had Trace gone to and what was he doing that was so important he had to ignore her?

Chris laughed, drawing her attention.

That one had mockery down to a fine art, and it made Priss scowl. “What are you snickering about now?”

“You’re damned funny, Priss, that’s all.”

Molly said, “Chris,” in admonishment.

He took a long drink from his Coke, and then grinned at Priss. “You’re blustering enough, but it’s not fooling anyone.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”

Chris saluted her with his soda can. “You’ve got it bad, hon, and it couldn’t be more obvious.”

Afraid he might be right on the money, Priss looked away from him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She wiggled her bare feet, annoyed by the cotton stuffed between her toes. She pretended to admire the red polish.

Matt tortured another length of hair, pulling it taught, painting it in white goo, and then wrapping it in aluminum foil.

She now resembled an alien from space. Matt claimed the procedure would give her hair depth, whatever that meant.

“Chris is right, you know.” He physically repositioned her head so that she faced forward. He wasn’t all that gentle, either. “You’re so lovesick, it’s almost embarrassing to witness.”

Molly frowned at them both. “Leave her alone, you guys. Hasn’t she been through enough?”

What did any of them know about what she’d been through? Even Trace didn’t know, so he couldn’t have shared—except for the “knockout” drink he’d given
her, which he’d done on purpose, and which all of them seemed to take in stride.

Besides, the last thing she wanted was pity from anyone. She could deal with anything else but that. “Actually I was thinking that Matt reminds me of Meat Cleaver.”

Chris tucked in his chin. “Who?”

She waved a hand—carefully so that she didn’t mar her manicure. “He’s a popular guy in porn videos. One of our big sellers, actually.”

Chris promptly choked on his Coke.

Matt’s hands, busy only seconds before, now held suspended over her head. Highly affronted, he glared down at her. “I beg your pardon.”

That particular tone tickled her. “Yeah, seriously, you do. He wears his hair just like yours. I think he’s done… Oh, I don’t know, maybe a dozen pornos now. He’s a real star.” She winked at him. “Popular with the men and the ladies.”

Matt looked horrified. “I assure you, I would never—”

“I said he looks like you, not that he is you. Shoot, none of the male porn stars are built as good as you are. Definitely not the straight guys.”

“Uh…thank you?”

Priss snickered. “It’s sexism at its best. The women all have enormous boobs, and the guys
are
boobs.”

Chris sat forward, more interested in this than he was in nail polish. “What do you know about pornography?”

“I know it’s lucrative, because I own an adult store.”

All eyes went round.

Molly sat forward, too. “You do?”

“Yeah. Movies are our biggest seller. And through our catalogue sales, the toys do pretty good, too.”

“Toys?”

“Molly,” Chris interjected, “shouldn’t you be working on a book or something?”

Molly refused the suggestion. “I’m taking mental notes.” She bobbed her eyebrows. “Believe me.”

“You’re a writer?” Priss asked her. Why had no one told her that?

“Yes, and I’m thinking a thread with a porn producer would make a great story. He could be a supervillain. The wheels are already turning.”

Chris groaned.

For a few minutes, they discussed books. Priss was amazed by Molly’s success as a bestselling novelist. Not that she should have been. After all, Trace and Dare were exceptional men. Why wouldn’t they associate with exceptional women?

And thinking that, especially with any comparisons in mind, nearly depressed her. She shouldn’t care what Trace ultimately thought of her…but she did.

To shake off that thought, Priss asked, “So your latest book will be a movie?”

“Yes, it’s very exciting.” Molly moved to the edge of her seat. “But I’d rather hear more about your business.”

“No,” Matt said, and he resumed his work on Priss’s hair with a little more pain than necessary. “This is not a topic for a mixed audience.”

“Prude,” Priss accused. And then to Molly, “I inherited the place when my mom passed away.”

“Oh.” Molly blanched. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m adjusting, but thanks.” No way did she want to get into a depressing talk on her mother’s demise.

“So…” Molly cleared her throat. “You run it by yourself now?”

“I have an employee-slash-partner.” Priss shrugged. “He’s watching it for me while I’m away.”

“Huh.” Molly tilted her head. “Does Trace know about your shop and your partner?”

“I told him.” Priss felt peeved all over again. “Honestly, he didn’t seem all that interested.”

Chris whistled low and reclined back on the floor, braced on his elbows.

“What’s with the whistle?”

Matt answered for Chris. “It’s clear that you’ve got the hots for Trace.”

“I’ve only known him a couple of days!”

Undeterred, Matt continued, saying, “But if you don’t adjust your attitude you’re setting yourself up for disappointment.”

“My attitude?” It felt like they’d somehow come full circle. “My attitude is just fine.”

They all gave her a pitying look.

Priss rolled her eyes. “Okay, not that I’m buying into any of this, but…what do you suggest?” She said it with enough sarcasm to impress Chris, but actually, she could use a male perspective on things.

The guys were gay—but still guys.

Chris set Liger aside. The big cat went to a windowsill to recline in the sun. “Stop playing the tough guy. It’s ridiculous and not very believable.”

Ridiculous? Heat flooded to her face. “I’m not
playing
anything!”

“Yeah, right.” He finished off his Coke and crushed the can. “I was there when you leaped from the truck with blood in your eyes, remember?”

Good God, she had been attempting an escape, not putting on a show. She gripped the arms of the chair and tried to moderate her tone. “Then you should remember that I had good reason for…” She glanced at Matt, wondering how much he knew about Dare and Trace and whatever enterprise they owned. She brought her gaze
back to Chris. “Well, you know why I reacted that way earlier.”

“Maybe. In part.” Chris shook his head.

“In part? Are you nuts!” Did none of them get the insult in what Trace had done to her?

“Look, Priss, if you were afraid of Trace, or even mad at him, you wouldn’t be obsessing over him now.”

Her neck stiffened with indignation. “I’m not obsessing.” Was she? Well, maybe a little.
Where was he?

Molly leaned forward, attentive and interested. “Are you and Trace…you know. Involved?”

“No.” Firm, Priss shook her head. “We’re not.” Not that she hadn’t tried to involve him, but so far, for the most part, he’d been resistant. “Not beyond a couple of kisses.”

Molly brightened. “He kissed you?”

“A couple of times.” Should she tell Molly about the picture Trace took? Or how Trace has touched her under the guise of frisking her? Maybe not, not with Matt listening in. It’d only cause a need for more explanations than she could give.

“I’m not surprised,” Matt told her. “You’re already attractive. You have good, basic bones to work with.”

“Bones?”

“But when I finish fine-tuning you, you’re going to be stunning. Physically
irresistible
. So you should use your feminine appeal instead of the balls-to-the-walls attitude if you want Trace’s attention.”

Stunning? Irresistible? Somehow Priss doubted it. She glanced in the mirror and…yeah. Not great, especially not with foil in her hair.

She ignored Matt’s insult to her attitude in favor of concentrating on the possibilities. “Use it how?”

“Anger is just another form of caring. If you didn’t care, why get mad?”

Uh, because he had
drugged
her. Hello! But for her own sake, Priss knew she should keep that to herself. She sighed.

“Don’t be so available, emotionally or physically.”

“Way too much excess of both,” Chris agreed.

Matt put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Instead of you working so hard, let Trace work a little.”

Hmm… Could she make him work a little? Did she want him to? Yeah, she did.

“Baloney.” Molly glared at both men. “That’s bad advice, so don’t listen to them, Priss.”

“No?”

Molly shook her head. “I never played those games with Dare. I always tried to tell him what I was thinking and feeling. Well, once I trusted him, I did. And I pretty much had no choice but to trust him from the get-go.”

Fascinated, Priss opened her mouth to ask about Molly’s personal situation, but Molly cut her off.

“And now we’re married.”

Interesting. But what if she never trusted Trace? What if he never trusted her?

Chris snorted. “Apples and oranges, Molly. Trace and Dare are two
very
different men.”

Priss wanted to expound on that. They were different, but they also shared similarities that spoke volumes. They were each capable, cautious, dangerous, rock hard and edgy. They stayed highly attuned to their surroundings, and to everyone around them.

If she shared what she’d noticed, Priss thought she might be able to get some dialogue going, and maybe trick Molly or Chris into giving away some deets—like where the guys worked, or who hired them.

What Trace wanted with Murray.

But even if Molly and Chris didn’t understand the
necessity for secrecy, she did, and there was the chance that Matt was an outsider.

Meeting his gaze in the mirror, Priss asked him, “How much do you really know?”

He said quickly, “I know
nothing.
” Using the end of a comb pick, he separated another section of her hair, keeping all his concentration on his chore. “Not a single thing. And I want to keep it that way. God forbid one of those two decides I’m a security liability.”

His reaction intrigued Priss. “Because they would do…
what
exactly?”

Chris snorted. “Nothing.” And then to Matt, “Don’t talk stupid.”

“Yeah,” Molly complained. “You’re going to give Priss the wrong impression.”

“Worse than my initial impression with my
very sleepy
ride here? Not likely.” Given what Matt said, Priss knew he was aware of something. Maybe not the whole scope of what Dare and Trace did, not the particulars, but he knew enough that he didn’t want to be involved.

Smart guy.

Before she could really question him, Matt announced, “All done with your hair. Now, it only makes sense to get the waxing out of the way before we start on your makeup—”

Her flesh crawled and her stomach knotted. “No.”

“—because I don’t want to do your makeup until after your hair is styled, so—”

“No. No waxing.” Priss shook her foil-filled head. On this, she could not relent. “Forget it.”

“And,”
Matt said, emphasizing the word dramatically, “it’s my understanding that Trace has less time than anticipated, so we shouldn’t dawdle.”

“I said no!”

Matt waved off her protests. “Molly, is there a more private room we can use?”

Straightening in her cozy, padded chair, Molly looked from Matt to Priss and back again. “Um…I suppose the—”

“Hairdresser—”
Priss spoke through her teeth, deliberately insulting, her temper frayed and her volume elevated “—you’re not listening to me.
There will be no waxing.
”

The sleeping dogs lifted their heads, alert to the new tension in the room. Liger gave her a wide-eyed stare.

Molly cleared her throat, but didn’t move.

Eyes downcast and brows raised, Chris slipped across the room and out the door to the back. He closed the door quietly behind him.

Priss just knew he was slinking off to tell Trace about her refusal, but so what? Yes, she understood that this was part of Murray’s game to test her, and she knew Murray wouldn’t be pleased, that he might even be done toying with her, if she disobeyed a single command.