Bad to the Bone

by Roxanne St Claire

  “And then you close your eyes.”

  “But I can’t see you.”

  “Use your imagination.” She closed hers. “See the person in your heart.”

  “Molly.”

  She dropped back on her heels and opened her eyes at the way he said her name, almost as if his voice cracked. “What?”

  “I’m afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  “That our first kiss will be our last.”

  His tender admission folded her heart in half. This rough, tough, tattooed former inmate was nothing but the kindest, sweetest, most humble man she’d ever met. She could hardly look at him her heart was pounding so much, filled with something she didn’t quite recognize. Affection. Attraction. Desire.

  But something else, too.

  “It won’t be,” she promised. “It will not be our last, Trace Bancroft.”

  To seal that promise, she closed the space between them and pressed her mouth to his. She felt him sigh at first, then find that perfect amount of pressure, warm and delicious, against her lips.

  Lost, Molly forgot about tiptoes and closed eyes and secrets and years and decisions they’d yet to make. All she could do was feel the smooth, sexy, sultry mouth over hers and taste the tip of his tongue as he deepened the kiss. She clung to his cheeks, then dragged her hands over his neck, melting into him, letting a whimper escape her throat.

  No, it would not be their last kiss. She honestly wondered how she’d be able to stop at one. Or why she should.

  * * *

  How had he lived without this? How had he dragged his sorry ass through fourteen years of prison and punishment and abject loneliness? Trace had no idea how he’d survived without this kind of contact, but he knew one thing: He couldn’t survive without it now.

  She tasted so good, so right and real and womanly that he honestly thought if he had to go another fourteen years without kissing Molly Kilcannon, he’d rather die.

  At the warning of trouble in his head, he managed to break the contact, but she instantly tilted her head back and invited his mouth to taste her sweet jaw, her soft throat, her delicate skin. In the distance—or at least it sounded that way with the pulse thumping in his head—he heard a dog bark and voices, laughter and chatter.

  It broke the spell and made him lift his head, looking from one side to the other, to realize the square was definitely not empty. And he shouldn’t be seen making out with Molly like a crazed teenager with no concern for the fact that she was well-known and loved in town.

  “C’mon,” he said, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into the shadows, away from the strings of white lights.

  “My car’s on the other side of the square, parked behind my sister-in-law’s town house. You came with Shane, right? I can drive you back to Waterford.”

  And come into his studio apartment? No, he couldn’t let her do that.

  “How else are you going to get home?” she asked when he didn’t accept the offer.

  “Don’t you have to pick up Pru?”

  “I have half an hour. I can get you there and back.”

  He nodded, refusing to let go of her until they reached her little blue car, parked in a quiet, empty alley behind that row of brick town houses. He kept a hand on her shoulder as she fished out her keys and unlocked the passenger side. He took the keys from her hands.

  “Let me drive.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “It’ll keep me from leaning over and kissing you while you’re driving.”

  “What’ll keep me from doing that?”

  He gave her a good long look, caressing her lower lip with his thumb. “Common sense, remember?”

  “I think you just kissed it out of me.”

  Oh man. Why did she say things like that? It gave him hope, and if there was one thing Trace Bancroft had learned to live without, it was hope. “Get in the car, Irish.”

  She didn’t move, looking up at him for a long time, silent, searching, her lips parted like she longed for one more kiss.

  “You won’t get to Waterford and back in time to pick up Pru.”

  “I have a better idea,” she said softly, and the way the words slipped out made his chest tight and his whole body hard. “Why don’t we pick up Pru together? Then we’ll drive you home.”

  And that would be safe, no chance of begging her to come inside, no long good-night kisses that made him want to die of need.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Good.” She curled a hand around his neck and pulled him closer. “Time for more of this.”

  The kiss shocked him, not only because he wasn’t expecting it, but the heat index had somehow risen in the ten-minute walk between there and here. Her kiss was openmouthed and hungry, holding nothing back as she let him taste the vanilla and coffee lingering on her tongue.

  “Irish,” he whispered into the kiss. “Do you always have to kiss me first?”

  “Looks that way.” She inched back. “Unless you want to try to beat me to it.”

  He felt his lips curl up in a smile as he leaned her whole body against the car and braced himself in front of her. “This one’s mine.” He put his hands on her cheeks and cradled her sweet face against his palms. “Let me take my time.”

  Her eyes shuttered closed as she drew closer. “Not too much time, please.”

  He looked at her, eyes closed, lips parted, that mane of curls swirling around her precious face.

  “Waiting,” she whispered, making him laugh.

  “I’m memorizing you,” he admitted.

  She opened one eye. “Excuse me?”

  “So I can dream about you.”

  “Where’d you learn the smooth lines, Bancroft?”

  “Oh, I read romance novels in prison.”

  That made her laugh, which changed her whole face, taking it from pretty to spectacular. The sound of her musical giggle echoed in the alley, her delicious body moving against him as she tipped her head back to laugh. She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen, this dog-saving, perfect-child-raising, first-kissing woman whom he thought of every single time he thought about sex, which was a whole helluva lot.

  “Molly.” He whispered her name because it sounded as pretty as she was, moving closer to her mouth, holding her tight, and initiating a kiss for once. She kissed back with all her passion, with the spark that made her so unusual and bright, and enough desire to send all his blood thrumming south to make his jeans so tight, he wanted to scream.

  His hands ached to get under the jacket to get closer, one touch. One single touch of her skin was all he needed. He ran his hands up and down her back, pulling her into him, aware of her fingers sliding into his hair, over his neck, and along his shoulders, like she was seeking a way under clothes, too. He vibrated with need, humming, pulsing, and he could feel her doing exactly the same—

  “Wait, wait.”

  He jerked away at her request.

  “My phone is going crazy.”

  “That’s your phone vibrating?”

  “Among other things.” Pulling it out of the handbag, she sucked in a soft breath.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Pru.”

  He stepped away, a little stunned at the shot, like a hypodermic full of adrenaline had been stuck in this gut. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. But she texted me about ten times, and I didn’t even notice. She needs me to get her, now.”

  He was already moving her aside, opening the door, nudging Molly into the passenger seat. “Let’s go.”

  Closing her door, he jogged around to the other side, yanking the car door open, and moving on an instinct he hadn’t even known he possessed: protection.

  He blew out a breath, the thought making him a little light-headed. “What happened, Molly? Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine. She wants me to pick her up sooner.”

  “She texted ten times. She must be in trouble.”

  “Or impatient.” Molly clicked throu
gh the texts on her phone as Trace left the alley, then read him the address. “It’s not far from here.”

  Even still, he accelerated hard out of the alley and onto the main street.

  “Slow down, Trace,” she said. “There’s no reason to go back to prison.”

  He shot her a look. “If that little prick put a hand on her, I will.”

  “Wow.”

  As he headed down the main drag, he glanced at Molly. “What, wow?”

  “You really are her father.”

  He started to argue, then stopped, tapping on the brakes when he came up to another car at the light. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  As he turned, Molly reached over and put her hand on his arm. “Which is almost as attractive as the way you kiss.”

  “Almost,” he said, keeping things light, even though he felt anything but light.

  Ten minutes later, when Pru came running down the driveway of a darkened house as they pulled up, any chance of lightness disappeared at the sight of her.

  “Has she been crying?” Trace asked, hearing the tautness in his voice.

  Molly didn’t answer, but the very moment the car stopped, she threw the door open and hopped out.

  “Are you okay?”

  It was all he heard, because she pushed the door closed as she took off to reach Pru, leaving Trace to sit at the wheel and watch the two of them carry on a conversation. He couldn’t make out the words, but he could read the body language of a young girl spewing a story, a mother listening, hushing, touching with comfort, nodding with understanding.

  His fingers curled around the door handle, ready to jump, to fight, to defend, to do whatever was necessary to make that kid feel good again. He’d do anything for her. Anything.

  The realization slammed his chest and literally took his breath away.

  When did this happen? How? Were genes that strong? Was it real? This…this…love? How was that even possible, and what did it mean? If he’d do anything for her, would he leave if he had to? If that’s what she wanted?

  The questions beat at his head, blurring his vision and squeezing his brain as Molly and Pru walked to the car.

  “Hey,” Pru said, climbing into the backseat.

  “Hi.” He studied her face in the rearview mirror. No sign of tears was visible, but her expression was pinched and unhappy. “You okay?”

  “Fine.” She dropped her jaw into her palm and turned to look out the window.

  But clearly she wasn’t. And he was not going to be fine with whoever put that sadness on her face.

  Molly climbed in, silent, pulling her seat belt on. “It’s okay, Trace,” she said softly. “Just, you know, teenage girls arguing.”

  Really? That’s what this was about? “Oh,” he said, glancing again at Pru, who closed her eyes as if she simply couldn’t bear to be where she was at that moment. “Well, that’s a new one for me,” he admitted.

  Molly put a hand on his arm. “Let’s get back to Waterford Farm.”

  In other words, his help, advice, and support weren’t wanted. Would it be different if she knew he was her father?

  He didn’t know, and deep inside, he almost didn’t want to find out.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Looking down at her last patient’s chart, Molly walked out of the examination room and smack into her father as he came around the corner.

  “Oh, Dad. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you.”

  He frowned a little, searching her face. “Distracted, Molly?”

  “No, why?”

  His eyes narrowed. “We had a conference call with the NVA at ten.”

  “Shoot! I totally forgot.”

  “It wasn’t on your calendar?”

  She swallowed, knowing full well that the call with the National Veterinary Association was right there on her desk calendar and on her phone. But at nine thirty, the trainers had had a break and Trace had come over to walk Meatball. He’d been so happy because the dog was being released tonight and…she let out a sigh. Yeah, distracted.

  They’d dallied a little longer than necessary on a long walk. She tried not to blush remembering those stolen kisses while Meatball ran around for the first time in a few weeks. The last thing Molly had on her mind was the NVA chapter phone call.

  “I was with a patient.” It wasn’t technically a lie.

  But Dad’s brow, still dark despite the generous amount of silver in his thick hair, lifted enough to know she was busted. “Can we talk?”

  “Sure, in my office.” For a split second, she was twelve again and had forgotten to feed her dog. Why did her growing attraction for Trace feel like she was doing something wrong? Because they hadn’t come clean with the secret? How could they? Pru was still ticked off about Saturday night, when her friend Corinne texted with the news that she and her parents had seen Molly “making out” with that guy in Bushrod Square.

  And Molly had yet to tell Trace any details about why Pru had texted ten times, because she knew he’d want everything to stop. She’d let him think it was girl problems. If he even slightly suspected that Pru wasn’t happy about them being together, he’d put the brakes on everything. All the kisses. All the laughing. All the, well, kisses.

  And Molly didn’t want any of it to stop.

  “So, I guess since I missed the call, I got roped into coordinating next year’s seminar,” she said lightly, slipping around her desk to slide into her chair.

  “I’m going to do it,” he said, taking the guest chair. “I suspect you have too much on your plate.”

  She eyed her father, still trying to figure out if he was ticked about her missing the call…or had something else on his brain. “That was very nice of you, but I’ll help, I promise.”

  “Do you?” he asked.

  “Do I…promise?”

  “Have too much on your plate?”

  “No, not at all,” she assured him. “Everything’s fine.”

  “I mean, it’s a lot, Molls. Being a single mother, running two vet offices, having a…social life.”

  And that’s where they were going. “All under control, Dad.”

  He leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desk, his crystal-blue eyes intent. “You know you can tell me if it’s not.”

  “I know.” She waited a beat. “And you know you can come right out with whatever is really on your mind.”

  He smiled a little, his strong jaw loosening as if he was relieved. “So how is your social life?”

  “Well, it’s fine, thank you very much.” Did she actually have a social life? “I haven’t exactly been a butterfly lately, but I’m going shopping this weekend with my growing group of sisters for Chloe’s bridesmaid dresses. And I was invited to a party for the owner of one of my patients, and oh, I walked in the Puppy Parade on Saturday.”

  “I heard.”

  She bit back a laugh. “Which version? The ‘they were holding hands,’ or ‘gee, they seem really friendly,’ or ‘Molly Kilcannon was kissing someone in Bushrod Square.’ That one seems to be making the rounds.”

  “The one that upset Pru.”

  Molly closed her eyes on an exhale. “The last one.” When she looked up at him, Dad was shaking his head slowly. “What? I can’t? I shouldn’t? I’m too young? Too old? He’s not good enough? Which is it?”

  Dad’s eyes flashed. “I didn’t say any of those things, and you know it. Nor did I think them,” he added before she could argue. “But Pru made a few comments on Sunday I couldn’t help noticing, and she was looking a little sullen. When I asked her—”

  “You asked her?”

  He looked hard at her. “You’ve never had a problem with me, or your mother, or your grandmother, talking to Pru about anything at any time.”

  “Of course not,” she said quickly. “But why didn’t you ask me?”

  “Because you weren’t the one mumbling about her mother embarrassing her when she was loading the dishwasher after dinner on Sunday.”

  That was because Annie Kilcannon had ne
ver once done anything embarrassing. But Molly was not Annie Kilcannon. “I’m sorry she feels that way.”

  He scanned her face, almost as if he was looking for more than she was saying. The truth? An admission? “What?” she asked.

  “You need to be honest with her, Molly.”

  For a moment, blood drained from her cheeks. “Honest?”

  “If you are seeing Trace as more than the owner of a patient, if there’s a…a relationship brewing, you need to include her.”

  “In everything?”

  “Everything that matters, like your feelings for him. If you know what they are.”

  She knew what they were, and they were nothing she wanted to discuss with her father or her daughter. “I like him. Is that a problem?”

  He didn’t answer, but held her gaze.

  “Dad? Is it a problem?” She heard her voice rise, suddenly aware that she might face more than Pru’s disapproval. She might face her father’s, too.

  “I’m not sure.”

  She dropped onto her elbows on her desk and huffed out a breath. “Why?”

  “Shane really likes him.”

  She grinned at him. “I found him first.”

  Dad laughed. “Shane likes him as a trainer. Possibly a long-term trainer.”

  “Ahh.” Now she caught his drift. “And you think if I start dating him and things go south, he’ll leave Waterford Farm, and I’ll be responsible for us losing a good service dog trainer.”

  He gave her that look he used to give her when he would help her solve an algebra problem in eighth grade. That now you get it look that he was so good at.

  “Well, I certainly don’t want to get in the way of the training programs, but…” She wet her lips and carefully chose her words. “I’m not going to let that stop me if I decide he’s…”

  “He’s what?” Dad asked, his voice tight, like he really cared what she was going to say.

  “He’s…special. Different.”

  His smile was slow and kind of screamed, I told you so. “More than meets the eye?”

  “Yes, Dad. You were…” She narrowed her eyes at him and leaned back, scrutinizing him this time. “Was this an act of the Dogfather?”

  “What? Molly, please. That whole matchmaking thing is overblown by all you kids. I have more things on my mind than who you’re dating, believe me.”