Trace + Olivia Series Boxed Set (74 page)

“I’m not getting on that ferry. It has nothing to do with a comfort zone.”

“Woman, did you hear what I said? I would
never
force you to do anything. Not that I’d have to,” he grinned crookedly.

“You’re so full of yourself.” I playfully pushed his shoulder.

“I have a lot to be proud of,” he waggled his eyebrows as he took my hands and hauled me up. “Come on,” he slung an arm across my shoulders, “we have a statue to see.”

I let him lead me to a better viewing point. The statue was quite spectacular, and I would’ve loved to see it even closer, but I wasn’t going near the ferry.

“I’m sorry,” I said after we’d been standing there for a few minutes.

“What for?” He looked at me questioningly.

“I know you would’ve liked to have gone,” I pointed to the ferry pulling away. “You could’ve gone by yourself.”

“But I didn’t want to,” he smoothed his hands up and down my arms. “I’m perfectly fine standing right here with you.
This
,” he motioned around us, “makes me happy.”

I swallowed thickly. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m holding you back from things. Without—”

He silenced me with his lips.

“Why do you do that?” I gasped breathlessly when he pulled away.

“Do what? Kiss you senseless?” He smirked, pleased with himself.

“Yes, that,” I snapped.

“Sometimes, you need to shut up and kissing you is the most pleasing way to do it.”

“You have one strange thought process,” I commented, fighting a smile.

“You say strange, I say spectacular. Any excuse to kiss you is a good one,” he chuckled. “But what I was going to say to you is, in no way do you ever hold me back. How could you ever think that? Look at all the crazy shit we’ve done.”

I laughed, feeling lighter. “I guess you’re right.”

“I’m
always
right. I’m a Wentworth after all,” he winked.

We gazed out at the water and statue for a little while longer before he said, “Ready to go?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

Since I wasn’t getting on the ferry, there was no point in hanging around here any longer. At least I’d gotten to see it.

“Wanna head into Manhattan?” He questioned.

I gazed up at the New York City skyline. “Would you think I was weird if I said no?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I won’t think you’re weird.”

“Then no, I’m not interested. Big cities aren’t my thing,” I shrugged.

“God, you’re perfect,” he grabbed me, kissing the top of my head.

“I’m far from it, but I’m glad you think so,” I smiled as we started back to the subway station. I was already dreading what we might encounter on there.

By the time we got back in the car, my stomach had completely settled, and I was ready to do something else. Seeing monuments and museums was interesting, but it was time for something a little more … exciting … like bungee jumping.

Trace plugged his phone in and—wait … was that? No way.

Trace looked at me with wide eyes as I began to laugh hysterically. I clutched my stomach, struggling to breathe, as tears coursed down my face from laughing so hard. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you have the Spice Girls on there.”

“I didn’t put it on there, I swear—”

“This is too funny,” I wiped my face free of tears. “‘I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really want. So tell me what you want, what you really, really, want. I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, really, really, really, wanna zigazig ah,’” I sang along to the song.

Trace shook his head and then joined in.

“‘If you wanna be my lover,’” he pointed at me as he sang along, ‘“you gotta get with my friends. Gotta get with my friends. Make it last forever, friendship never ends. If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give. Taking is too easy, but that’s the way it is.’”

Then we started singing together. It was so hard for me not to burst into laughter.

“‘Slam your body down and wind it all around. Slam your body down and wind it all around. Uh, uh, uh, uh. Slam your body down and wind it all around. Slam your body down and zigazig, ah … If you wanna be my lover.’”

When the song ended, he turned the volume down.

“The Spice Girls,” I giggled, shaking my head back and forth. “What else do you have on there?” I eyed his iPhone.

“Once upon a time I had a big crush on Ginger Spice. Don’t judge me, woman,” he joked, changing the playlist. “And there might be one Britney Spears song on there.” I eyed him. “Okay, maybe two. But don’t tell me you never had a crush on one of those 90’s boy bands.”

“I did,” I smiled.

“Which one?”

“Backstreet Boys,” I admitted.

“And who was your favorite?” He asked, fighting a smile.

I squirmed in my seat. “Brian,” I muttered.

“‘Everybody, yeah. Rock your body, yeah. Everybody, yeah. Rock your body right. Backstreet’s back, alright.’”

“I can’t believe you know that song,” I bit my lip to stifle my laughter.

“I think every kid growing up in the 90’s knew that song, not to mention countless other pop songs,” he shrugged. “You couldn’t escape them. Don’t worry, my parent’s still exposed me to the classics,” he smirked.

“What’s your favorite song then?” I asked.

He bit his lip, his eyes narrowed in thought. “Don’t make me choose. I love all kinds of music so it’s impossible for me to pick one.”

“That’s a sucky answer,” I frowned. “But I don’t think I have a favorite song either.”

“See?” He grinned, finally backing out of the parking space after our impromptu Spice Girls sing-along. “There are too many good ones to pick only one. I don’t even have a favorite artist or band. Picking one over another would be like …” He paused, thinking. “Like picking a favorite child. Impossible and unfair.”

“Do you think your taste in music has changed since you were younger? I know mine has,” I kicked my sneakers off, getting comfortable since I had no idea how long it would be until we stopped.

“Hell yeah,” he chuckled, changing lanes. “I used to sing Farmer in the Dell
all
the time. It drove my parents nuts. Then I moved on to the Spice Girls,” he joked. “After that, I listened to a lot of heavy rock music … I call that my angst years. Now I like pretty much every genre of music. If it has a good beat and lyrics I can appreciate then I’m cool with it.” He glanced over at me for a moment, and then said, “I like how different types of music can set a certain mood, or make something even more memorable. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I do,” I nodded.

“For example,” his eyes met mine briefly before darting back to the road, “when I took you to karaoke night, to cross singing off your list, I picked Just a Kiss for a reason. I was too scared to tell you what I was feeling, so I chose that song.”

I snorted. “Then you did kiss me, and ran away,” I looked out the window, avoiding the look I knew he was bound to be giving me.

“I’m still sorry about that,” he whispered. “It was a pussy move for me to make. I was scared of what I felt for you, Olivia. I had
never
felt that before.”

“Felt what?” I asked, curiously.

“Like I’d be lost without you,” he murmured. “I know that sounds like such a chick thing to say, but it’s true. I knew you were different from the moment I met you. You’re not like other girls, Olivia. You’re just … you … and that’s why I love you. There isn’t one thing in particular that I love about you … it’s everything. You’re beautiful, and smart, and you don’t mind the random shit I say, or my crappy dancing …”

“Whoa,” I breathed. “That was … deep.”

“Hey,” he put a hand to his chest, his eyes on the road, “I can be a deep guy. Give me some credit, woman.”

“Oh please,” I rolled my eyes. “Your ‘deep’ moments are few and far between. I need to soak this in while I can.”

“I can be serious,” he frowned.

“You were watching Dora the Explorer while eating Trix cereal last week,” I rolled my eyes.

“I like the Backpack song,” he grinned.

“Of course you do,” I laughed.

“Seriously, though,” he reached for my hand, “I meant what I said.”

“I know you did,” I smiled, “and in case you were wondering, I feel the same way about you.” I leaned over and kissed his stubbled cheek.

His eyes were a dark forest green when he looked down at me briefly. “I love you, and I can’t imagine my life without you in it.” Slowly, he brought my left hand up to his lips, kissing the top of it before grazing his lips over my engagement ring. “I can’t wait until you’re Mrs. Wentworth.”

“Me either,” I laid my head on his shoulder, a smile on my face, a smile that rarely ever left thanks to him.

Rain beat down on the car and a crack of thunder roared, causing me to jump. I hadn’t seen a storm this bad in a long time. The rain was so heavy that I could barely see out the window.

Trace came running back to the car, completely soaked.

“They’re full too,” he groaned, leaning his head back as he stared at the car ceiling. “Apparently the storm has caused all the motels to fill up. There’s not another one for at least fifty miles and I’m exhausted. I can’t keep driving.”

“I can—”

“No,” he pressed a finger over my lips, shushing me. “Only I drive the Camaro.”

I glanced at the backseat and then at him. “We can sleep in the car. The backseat is bigger than most.”

“I don’t think we have much choice,” he rubbed his eyes, then buckled his seatbelt. “I’ll try to find a safe place to park.”

I jumped again as lightning lit the sky.

“I don’t like this,” I admitted reluctantly.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he chuckled.

“How?”

“Cover your body with mine,” he smirked, “problem solved.”

“I should’ve known,” I forced a smile, because not even Trace’s sense of humor could make me feel better right now. Thunder growled ominously and I prayed we made it through this storm alive.

Trace drove at a snail’s pace as the windshield wipers worked overtime to clear the glass. The rain was coming down so fast that we could only see a few feet in front of us. I hoped the wind—that was currently trying to push the car into the wrong lane—would blow the storm passed … and quickly.

Trace pulled the car as far off the side of the road as he could manage without crashing into one of those wire fences they used to keep cattle back and turned the flashers on.

“This is g-g-good enough,” he shivered, his teeth clacking together. His hair was plastered to his head and water dripped off his chin. His clothes were soaked and if he didn’t change into something dry, he was going to get sick. Unfortunately, our clothes were in the trunk, and there was no way to get to them without getting out of the car … which would lead to the dry clothes getting wet. “There’s enough gas to let the car run,” he muttered, turning up the heat.

I guess that counted for something.

I unbuckled the seatbelt and climbed into the back.

“Are you coming?” I asked him.

“Y-yeah,” his body trembled with another shiver. He cupped his hands over his mouth, blowing hot air against them. “I’m cold,” he said unnecessarily.

“I know you are, come here,” I patted the backseat.

His wet clothes made a squishing sound against the leather seats as he climbed in the back.

“You need to get out of your clothes,” I told him, already reaching for his plaid shirt and pushing it off his shoulders.

He grinned crookedly. “You l-l-love any excuse t-t-to get m-m-me out of m-m-my clothes,” his teeth chattered.

“Right now, I’m more concerned with getting you warm before you get sick.”

“Oooh, are you going t-t-to wear a n-n-nurse’s outfit and feed me by hand?” Despite the fact that he was shivering uncontrollably the man was still making jokes and there was a mischievous glimmer in his green eyes.

“Sorry,” I spread my arms wide, “no nurse’s outfit here.”

“D-d-darn,” he shivered, letting the plaid shirt drop to the floor.

I pulled his white t-shirt over his head and it fell to the floor as well. His jeans were the next to go.

When I curled my body around his, he stuck his thumb in the elastic of his boxers letting it snap against his skin. “A-a-are these s-s-staying o-o-on?”

I laughed weakly. “Yeah, they are.”

“A-a-and h-h-here I thought y-y-you had an u-u-ulterior m-m-motive for g-g-getting me n-n-naked.”

“You are … something else,” I muttered, laying atop his chest and wrapping my arms around his neck. Only Trace would make sexual advances while freezing to death.

“S-s-so I-I-I’ve b-b-been t-t-told.”

I pressed my face against his chest, hoping my body heat would help him get warm. It wasn’t working though. His body was so cold that
I
was becoming chilled.

Another loud clap of thunder had me letting out a squeal.

“I-I-It’s o-o-okay,” his large hand spread across my back, rubbing up and down in comfort.

I ruffled my fingers through his hair, trying to dry it.

“I-I-I’m f-f-fine.”

“No, you’re not. Stop trying to be Mr. Tough Guy and let me take care of you.”

“O-o-okay, b-b-bossy p-p-pants.”

“Stop talking,” I mumbled, moving my hands across his chest, trying to transfer my warmth to him.