Wildcard (9 page)

Chapter Nine

Shock coursed through Trace’s veins.
Harold?
What was he doing here? He wasn’t supposed to arrive for a week yet. She couldn’t let him find out this way—with her in another man’s arms.

Trace braced her hands against Jess’s powerful chest and pushed. He held onto her ponytail for a moment longer, then let it slide through his fingers as she broke away from him.

She couldn’t seem to break eye contact with him, even though she needed to go talk with Harold. Trace had never felt so sexy, so attractive, and so secure as she did around Jess—while totally unbalanced all at once.

He was driving her crazy.

“Tracilynn?” Harold called again.

“Coming,” she shouted as she grabbed her sweat jacket from a hook on the wall and slipped it on.

Trace started to leave, then paused and looked back to Jess. With that possessive look on his face she could just imagine him pulling a Neanderthal routine and getting in the middle of things. She pointed her finger at him. “You—you behave,” she whispered before turning on her heel. She jogged around the corner and spotted Harold at the opposite end of the barn.

Trace came to a dead stop, unable to make herself hurry toward the man she’d been with for the last two years of her life.

It had been almost three weeks since she’d kissed Harold goodbye at Heathrow Airport in London. A light, conservative kiss since he was a typical reserved English gentleman who never indulged in public displays of affection.

But when she saw him there, in the world she’d grown up in, it was almost like the last two years had happened to another woman. No excitement rushed through her at the sight of him, no fluttering of anticipation in her belly. Just a pleasant feeling of seeing a good friend…mixed with the twinge of uncertainty and a distant ache over not wanting to hurt someone she truly cared about. And guilt, too, for not remaining true to their relationship. She was a one-man woman all right, it just turned out that Harold wasn’t that man.

“There you are, my dear.” Harold smiled as he strolled up to Trace. Yes, he was a devastatingly handsome man, fit and well muscled, and about as tall as Jess. His high cheekbones gave him an aristocratic look, but his sandy blond hair and deep brown eyes made him friendly and approachable, and definitely gorgeous and sexy.

Harold’s cobalt blue polo shirt, khaki slacks, and brown loafers were glaringly out of place in the barn, but she couldn’t imagine the sophisticated and refined man in anything more casual. Funny, but she’d never seen him in a pair of jeans. As far as she knew, he didn’t even own any.

“I expected you next week,” Trace said as he reached her and took both of her hands in his.

“A surprise, dearest.” Harold lowered his head and gave her a light kiss. His lips were cool and firm, and he smelled of the musk cologne she had given him for Christmas last year.

As he touched her, she felt nothing. Nothing at all.

“I couldn’t be more astonished.” Trace did her best to smile as Harold drew back.

It occurred to her that she was sweaty, her hair poking out of her ponytail, and her face probably streaked with dirt from her intense workout. A part of her couldn’t help but analyze the difference between Harold’s greeting and Jess’s. Even though she looked like a mess, Jess had made her feel beautiful, sensual, and wanted. If he’d had the chance, she knew Jess would fuck her right there in the barn.

On the other hand, Harold probably would prefer she took a shower before they slipped into bed together. And he would definitely never call sex
fucking.
For that matter he’d never call his penis a
cock
, or her vulva a
pussy.
He was too
reserved.

And Trace, well, she liked the forbidden words. They were hard and erotic, and they excited her. She wanted to be fucked by a man who loved her, a man she loved in return. A man who didn’t hold any part of himself back from her.

She cared about Harold—cared a lot. He was like a pair of shoes she enjoyed wearing, just because they were comfortable.

But there wasn’t any doubt left in her mind at all. She wasn’t in love with Harold, and she truly never had been.

When the Englishman kissed Trace, Jess gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. He had to fight the urge to grab the bastard by his collar and kick his pansy ass back to where he’d come from.

Trace was Jess’s woman now. If Harold didn’t back off, Jess was going to have to get in the middle of things in a hurry. He strode toward them as the man drew away from the kiss. Before Jess reached them, Trace said something he couldn’t hear and Harold smiled.

Just as Jess came up behind Trace, the Englishmen glanced at him. “Hullo,” he said as he released Trace and held out his hand to Jess. “Harold St. John. And you must be one of the, er, cattle herders?”

“Something like that.” Jess shook the man’s hand, surprised by his equally firm grip. “Jess Lawless.”

“He’s the Flying M’s foreman,” Trace said in a rush as her gaze darted from Harold to Jess and back. “He, ah, works for Dee.”

“You two have some talking to do.” Jess’s eyes rested on Trace, telling her without words that he expected her to do what he knew her heart had to be telling her all along. “I’ll be out at the corrals if you need me.”

He gave Harold a nod and touched his hand to his Stetson, then strode out of the barn without looking back. His gut clenched and it was all he could do not to turn around, grab that woman, and cart her off by her ponytail like a damned caveman.

Trace watched Jess walk away, his leather chaps framing his tight ass as he headed out the barn door. Dang but a cowboy in chaps made her hot. Although Jess definitely made her hotter than any man
ever
had—chaps, or no chaps.

“Would you like to freshen up, my dear?” Harold asked, and she caught the note of concern in his voice.

Trace snapped her gaze from Jess’s retreating backside and met Harold’s warm brown eyes. He was so kind, gentle and considerate. Everything that Jess wasn’t.

Although that wasn’t quite true. Jess had been considerate in his own way—he was giving her space to talk with Harold, for one thing. And Jess hadn’t taken advantage of her when he could have that night in the hot tub. Heck, she’d been ready to screw his brains out right then and there.

The mere thought of Jess’s cock plunging deep inside her aching pussy made her wet with sweat. And with the heat rushing to her face, she was sure she’d turned as red as an Arizona sunset.

How could she have such graphic thoughts in front of Harold?

He frowned, his brows furrowing. The concern made him look all the more regal and distant. “Tracilynn, are you quite all right?”

She clasped her hands together and squeezed them so tightly her knuckles ached. “I tried to call you, but you must have been on your way,” she said so fast she stumbled over the words. “I—I should have called sooner, but I wasn’t certain. Or maybe it’s just that I wasn’t sure how to tell you.”

Harold’s eyes held hers as he slid his hand into a pocket of his slacks. Sparkles flashed in the barn’s dim interior when he brought out a diamond ring and held it on his palm. “Tell me I’m not too late,” he said softly, the rich timbre of his accent lending the plea a special poignancy.

Trace bit the inside of her lip as the diamond flashed and glittered. It had to be over a carat—and the band was probably platinum. Harold would choose such a symbol, a concrete statement of her worth—and his.

Emotions rolled through her like bouncing tumbleweeds. She had never come so close to having every material thing she’d ever wanted. Not to mention the one thing she’d never had in her childhood: an even-tempered, safe, dependable man.

In a handful of days, after a few blistering encounters with a stranger, was she truly ready to throw away such security?

Harold stood before her, holding his ring, clinging to his hopeful expression even as his eyes hinted that he knew the truth. Trace saw him completely in the prismatic diamond light: a wonderful, kind, and passionless prison of a man.

Regret flooded her.

She knew what she needed, and it wasn’t safety or propriety.

No.

Her future lay in risk, in leather, in the desert heat, and a cowboy’s muscled arms.

At least for now.

For the first time in her adult life, Trace MacLeod felt a sense of freedom and anticipation for tomorrow. A tomorrow that wasn’t studiously mapped or planned, or confined in the squeaky-clean manners of the corporate world.

She had to hurt this man, and that reality shook her deeply. With her emotions turned loose, she felt the sting of his pain even before she inflicted it. No guilt, though. The real wrong would be pretending to love Harold when she didn’t. Giving him parts of herself that rightfully belonged to another man.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t marry you.” With a rattling sigh, she reached up and closed his fingers over the ring. “You’re an amazing man, Harold Rockmore St. John. Somewhere there’s a woman who’ll rock your world.”

Harold hesitated. For the first time ever, Trace thought she saw a blaze of pure, raw emotion change the man’s features. For a split-second, he seemed younger. Fierce and lion-like.

And just as fast, the look vanished. Harold had tucked his feelings back in their bottomless box. The corner of his mouth quirked in a resigned smile. “You did a lovely job of that. Rejecting me, I mean.”

Trace felt her insides coalesce and firm up. She knew she’d made the right decision, and thank God Harold was taking it so well. “Your woman-to-be, I mean she’ll
really
rock you. Not just shake you up a little.”

Her former lover gave a hint of a smile and slipped the ring into his pocket. His expression told her he was hurt…but at the same time was that relief in his eyes?

But as was his habit, he didn’t speak about it any further. The conversation was quite clearly over.

Arm in arm, Trace and Harold walked out of the barn in comfortable silence, making the short trek to his red sports car with a rental sticker on the bumper.

“You’re not returning to London,” he said as though the statement were fact as they came to a stop next to the driver’s side door.

Trace cut her gaze up to meet his and she started to tell him
of course
she was. But instead she said, “I…haven’t made any decisions. My life, my career is in England.”

“Ah,” he placed a light kiss on her forehead. “But your love is here.”

“What? No—” Trace’s protest was silenced with Harold’s finger firmly against her lips.

“It’s in your eyes, my dear.” He glanced toward the corrals. “And I do believe I saw it in his.”

Trace’s entire body tingled as she followed the direction of Harold’s gaze and saw Jess leaning against the corral’s wooden railings. He’d folded his arms across his chest and pulled his Stetson too low for her to see his eyes, but she could make out the hard line of his frown. He was still dressed in his dusty clothes and chaps, and to her he’d never looked better.

She looked back to Harold as he removed his finger from her mouth. With a smile he brushed his lips over hers then pulled back and winked. “And I’m sure that little kiss will put a twist in the chap’s knickers. He seems the possessive type, as well he should be with a rare prize like you.”

Trace wrapped her arms around Harold’s neck and kissed his cheek. He might be wrong about her not returning to London, but he was one heck of a guy. “Watch out for the local girls while you’re in Arizona.” She released him and stepped back. “That sexy accent of yours is a killer.”

Harold smiled as he opened the door to the sports car and climbed in, then shut the door and buzzed the window open. “Dunno about that, my dear. Might have to sample the wares a bit, don’t you think? I’ve always fancied American experiments.”

She smiled, feeling almost giddy as the engine roared and he backed the car out of the driveway and headed down the road.

Trace did her best to ignore Jess as she watched Harold drive away, but the cowboy might as well have been right beside her rather than a hundred yards off at the corrals.

Instead she focused on the car’s taillights and the growl of its engine growing fainter in the distance. Harold. In a red sports car. Threatening to sample the local wares.

Too funny. Maybe she should give him Nicole’s phone number. After all, turnabout was fair play. And Trace had definitely been turned about. Upside down and inside out. Her entire life had changed, and in seconds, it would change even more.

Risk…leather…desert heat…a cowboy’s muscled arms.

Her heart hammered, and she shivered in the evening’s growing chill. As if to protect herself, she wrapped her jacket tighter.

Who am I kidding? I’m way past protection. Jumped off the damned cliff a few days ago, and so far, I’m still flying.

The sunset seeped across the horizon in hues of orange and purple, and the air smelled crisp and wonderful—of fall in the desert, and winter around the corner. Without looking she knew that Jess was striding toward her. Beneath her jacket her nipples beaded and ached, and a whole swarm of butterflies invaded her belly. Her skin tingled from her scalp to her toes and she felt alive in a way she never had before.

The moment Jess reached her, Trace whirled around to look up at him, a sense of breathless anticipation soaring through her. His eyes were still shadowed by his Stetson, but the tenseness of his jaw and the firm set of his mouth told her that Harold’s little show hadn’t settled well with her cowboy.