Trace of Fever

by Lori Foster

  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.

  But in this, she didn’t care.

  Staring at that closed door, she muttered, “So Chris knows where Trace is, but he wasn’t going to tell me? What a complete butthead.”

  Matt stood his ground. “At the very least we have to do your eyebrows, legs and underarms.”

  Incredulous that he hadn’t yet let it go, Priss swiveled around to face Matt. “I can damn well groom myself.”

  Rolling his eyes, Matt put his hands on his hips. “You do not want to be an unrefined girl. And I do not want to do half the job. It makes no sense to be so beautifully polished in parts, but to remain so…bohemian in other ways.”

  Mortification tightened her chest. “Come at me with hot wax.” Priss stared right into his eyes, her voice soft, deadly. “I dare you. Really, I do. Try it, and let’s see what happens.”

  His expression looked comical. “You’re threatening me?”

  “I’m telling you that you’ll be wearing hot wax if you don’t let it go.”

  He threw up his arms. “Fine. Be that way. Go about like a troglodyte, like a…an ape. See if I care.”

  “Thank you.” Troglodyte? Sheesh. With that settled, Priss’s tension eased enough that she could breathe freely again. She stood, checked her fingernails and her toenails and declared herself dry. “Looks nice,” she said while admiring her hands.

  “At least I got something accomplished,” Matt grumbled.

  Priss stretched. “Molly, you got any music? It feels dead in here right about now.” And she didn’t want Trace to find her all out of sorts. The guys said to be less obvious, so that’s what she’d try to do.

  Molly rushed to a small panel on the wall, relieved no doubt to have something to do. “I can play my favorite tracks on surround sound. It’s in every room. Decadent, huh?”

  With a glare at Priss, Matt said, “Nothing but the best for Dare.” He blew Molly a kiss. “And that includes you, doll.”

  Priss laughed at the veiled insult. “You might as well have said I’m in the category of the worst. But all things considered, I forgive you for the slight.”

  Matt made a face. “Oh, wow, I’m so grateful for your benevolence.”

  The music started, and it was a song Priss loved. “How long will I have this stuff on my hair?”

  “Depends. I’ll check it in twenty.”

  Twenty minutes to liven up her disposition. “Do you dance, hairdresser?”

  At five feet eleven inches, and with his bleached-blond hair adding an inch more, Matt stared down at her. “Challenging me?”

  “Why not? I’ve never had much opportunity to dance, so I’m sure you’re better. But I feel like cutting loose a little, and we’ve got twenty minutes to waste. What do you say?”

  For her part, Molly had already set aside her drink. “I’m in!”

  So were the dogs. They anxiously awaited direction, ready to leap on anyone who showed interest in the game.

  Priss caught Matt’s chin and gave it a squeeze. “Come on, hairdresser. Lose the sour expression. It doesn’t suit you.”

  “No.” He still appeared peeved. “It doesn’t.”

  “Look at it this way—” she held out a hand “—you can further polish me with a few lessons.”

  “You’ve truly never danced?”

  There was a lot she’d never done, but once she took care of Murray, that would change. “Only in the privacy of my own room, and even I was appalled at how bad I am.”

  His mouth twitched before spreading into a grin. “Oh, okay. But when I’m
all done with you, I better see some sincere appreciation for the transformation.”

  “Guaranteed.” Especially if he made her stunning, as he’d promised. She couldn’t wait to see Trace’s reaction to that.

  Matt took one of Priss’s hands, one of Molly’s, and the next thing she knew, they were all three dancing as the dogs bounded around them, barking in excitement. Liger watched with little interest.

  And Priss had a blast.

  CHAPTER NINE

  TRACE FOLLOWED BEHIND Chris as he led the way from his smaller house down closer to the lake, up to Dare’s much larger home. They’d accomplished only a little, but he now knew that Priss’s ID was authentic, and that she lived in Ohio.

  “She was seriously ready to blow, Trace. I know pissed when I see it, and that girl was pissed. Big-time.”

  Dare flattened his mouth, but couldn’t keep quiet. “You say Matt wanted to wax her?”

  “Yeah.” Chris looked back at them. “I think he thought he was supposed to…you know…style her everywhere.”

  Trace locked his teeth together. He did not want to have this discussion again. Not with his friends.

  “I don’t blame her for complaining.” Dare frowned at Trace. “Hell of a thing to ask a girl to do, especially in a private home instead of a salon.”

  Trace stopped dead in his tracks, fed up, pushed over the edge. “She’s not a girl. She’s a grown woman who put herself in this predicament by plotting against Murray.”

  Dare and Chris stopped, too, then turned to face him. They both crossed their arms and waited.

  “Mutt and Jeff,” Trace muttered over their belligerent, accusing expressions. “How you two can act so much alike, I don’t understand.”

  Chris was the first to drop his arms. “We don’t.” And then, “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “He’s deflecting,” Dare told Chris, not changing his stance one iota. “Guilt is a son-of-a-bitch, and he’s got it in spades.”

  Chris cocked a brow. “Because he wanted her waxed?”

  “Hell, no, I don’t want that.”

  Chris half smiled. “I see.”

  “He’s feeling guilty because it was no doubt Murray’s idea to put Priss through this, and Trace agreed to it, even knowing how Priss was going to feel about it.”