Trace of Fever

by Lori Foster

  “I’m glad.” Gently, Trace fingered her. When she gasped, he bent to her mouth and kissed her, slow, eating kisses that only made him want her more.

  Having Priscilla Patterson naked on a bed in a private room, her green eyes heated, her long reddish hair in disarray around the pillows, her long legs open and her breath coming fast…that was as close to heaven as he’d ever get. And for that moment, he thought the rest of the world could damn well wait. He needed this. He needed her.

  She gripped his shoulders and her nails, only recently manicured, sank into his skin.

  He loved that, too. Damn, there wasn’t much Priss did that he didn’t love. Even her stubbornness turned him on.

  “Oh, God,” she suddenly whispered as she put her head back, her body stiffening, trembling.

  Trace realized she was close and it not only amazed him, it triggered his own lust. He crowded over her, teasing her nipples with his teeth and tongue while keeping his finger in her, his thumb moving over her clitoris.

  She tightened, gripping him, her body getting hotter, wetter. He couldn’t wait to taste her, but for now, this would do. He withdrew his finger, and worked two back in. Tight. So damn tight.

  Bending one leg, Priss clenched, cried out, and then she was coming, her hips moving against his hand, heat pouring off her body. Trace took her mouth, swallowing down her moans and relishing every sound, every move.

  Even after she quieted, he kept his hand between her legs, idly now, but unwilling to leave her.

  “Oh, God,” she said again, lazily this time.

  Trace knew she needed a little time, but he couldn’t accommodate her. Not yet. Not tonight.

  He withdrew his hand and, watching her beautiful face, lifted his fingers to his mouth.

  Through shallow breath, she whispered, “Trace?”

  He kissed her parted lips, light and easy. Then her chin. He opened his mouth on her throat. Her breasts.

  He wanted to consume her.

  Settling her hand in his hair, she said, “I think I need a minute.”

  “Sorry.” Thunder roared in his ears; waiting even a second more was as impossible as not wanting her. He teased her navel with his tongue, put a soft love bite on her taut little belly, and dipped down lower.

  “Trace.”

  Nuzzling into her, he inhaled her spicy fragrance. Overwhelmed by her and what she made him feel, he pushed her thighs wider, parted her with his thumbs, and stroked his tongue into her.

  Her recent climax had left her wet, and he loved it, but it wasn’t enough. He stroked in again, holding her still when her hips lifted off the bed and she moaned.

  He wasn’t an inexperienced kid. He sure as hell wasn’t a virgin. He’d had his fair share of sexual experiences, ranging from awkward to kinky and everywhere in between.

  But this all felt so new, because everything with Priss was different.

  When he licked up and over her clitoris, she cried out, her thighs closing on his ears, her fingers tight in his hair. Such honest reactions, and so hot.

  He drew her in, sucking gently, working her with his tongue, and within minutes she was coming again. Long, ragged groans told him how much she enjoyed this. He pressed his hips tight to the mattress and concentrated on not losing control. It wasn’t easy, not with her so wild. It went on and on, until she gave a soft sob.

  “Trace, no more.” She inhaled shakily. “I can’t.”

  Turning his face, Trace kissed the soft flesh of her inner thigh, lightly bit her again.

  She moaned. “Will you please get naked?”

  Yeah, he would. Pushing up and off the bed, Trace stripped off his pants and his boxers and left them there on the floor. Feeling Priss watch him with dazed eyes and curiosity, he grabbed for his wallet, and found a rubber. “Only one, damn it.”

  “I have more.”

  He looked at her in amazement, then shook his head and rolled on the condom. “I won’t ask.”

  She gave his words back to him. “I figured we’d get together sooner or later, and I don’t take chances.”

  Going along, Trace stole her sentiment, saying, “Responsible women are so sexy.” It amazed him that either of them could still think enough to banter. When he turned back to the bed, she opened her arms to him, and he was gone. “Very sexy.”

  He didn’t think it was the effects of the drug anymore. Now it was all Priss, everything about her, that made him uncontrollable with need.

  As he moved over her, she naturally parted her legs for him. They fit together perfectly, her tender thighs cradling his hips, her breasts cushioning his chest, her mouth there for him.

  “Like this, right?” Priss laced her arms around his neck, locked her ankles at the small of his back.

  “Yeah.” Closing his eyes, Trace tried to go slow, to ease into her. But she was so wet, so hot, and she lifted against him, urging him on. “Yeah,” he said again, and pressed partially into her.

  She caught her breath and tensed. He looked at her, but her eyes glittered with desire, not pain. Cupping a hand under her bottom, he lifted her more. Against her mouth, he said, “Tell me if I hurt you.”

  She swallowed, nodded. “It’ll hurt if you stop.”

  “I won’t.” Hell, he couldn’t. With every inch he sank into her, he lost more control. Her muscles were flinching, clenching, milking him and making him nuts.

  “I won’t break, Trace. I promise.”

  He groaned, and thrust into her. Squeezed by silky tightness, he withdrew and thrust in again. And again.

  Holding on to him, Priss made small sounds of pleasure and surprise, then deeper sounds of excitement.

  “You’re…bigger than I expected.”

  “God, Priss…” He almost laughed. “You don’t know enough about men to judge my size.”

  “I’ve seen plenty of movies, remember?”

  Trace put his face in her neck. “Can we talk about that later?”

  She tightened around him. “Yes.” And then a few seconds later, “Yes.”

  A third time? He lifted up to look at her and saw the flush of her face, how her teeth sank into her bottom lip, the vagueness in her green eyes. Amazing.

  “Let go,” Trace ordered softly.

  As if the words freed her, Priss softened on a moan. Her heels pressed into the small of his back, her thighs hugged him, her body arched—and she took him with her. The release was mind-blowing, draining him of need, and stripping him of tension. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew Priss wasn’t done yet, so he managed to stay with her until her legs fell away from him and she went utterly limp beneath him.

  They struggled for breath together, their bodies damp, scents combined.

  A gentleman would have moved off her; Trace couldn’t. He didn’t have the strength and, besides, he liked having her like this. It might have only been days, but it felt like he’d waited a lifetime to get her under him.

  She proved she felt the same when she roused herself enough to kiss his sweaty shoulder, then flopped back, arms and legs sprawled out like a starfish. She looked suspiciously close to sleep.

  Tenderness left Trace smiling, when he hadn’t thought he had the energy for that. Not kissing her proved impossible, so he tipped up her face and brushed his mouth over hers.

  Her eyes didn’t open, but she said, “If you’re thinking of doing anything more, I swear, I need a nap first.”

  The reminder of her exhaustion brought home all the trouble waiting for them. Murray would hit the roof when he discovered Helene’s perfidy—and it was anyone’s guess who would be the recipient of his rage. How that’d affect Priss…he just didn’t know.

  But he wouldn’t take any chances on anything happening to her. From here on, she was out of the picture. Trace didn’t care what conclusion Murray came to, but Priss wouldn’t see him again.

  With Priss out of the way, he could handle Murray. He could handle Helene, too.

  Hell, he could handle just about anything…except losing her.
>
  PRISS WOKE SLOWLY. Unfamiliar aches reminded her of where she was, what she’d done and whose hairy leg had her pinned in place.

  Trace.

  She smiled without opening her eyes. Through the long night, Trace had awakened her twice more. He’d taken her over the side of the bed, his hands holding her breasts, his mouth on her shoulder while he went so deep that she’d felt wild.

  Later he’d lain on his back, her riding him, and he’d watched her intently while she came. It was both unsettling and intimate and very exciting. Seconds after she collapsed over him, he’d held her tight and gained his own release.

  She was now sore in places she’d never noticed or thought about. She was also so content that it was hard to remember she had a plan, a duty and revenge to fulfill.

  The sooner she wrapped up her business with Murray, the sooner she could concentrate on Trace.

  Wondering about that, what the future might hold, she turned her head and found Trace watching her.

  He looked so serious that it startled her. “You’re not sleeping?”

  “No.” When his fingers moved, she realized that he had his large hand cupped over her breast. His gaze went to her mouth. “How do you feel?”

  Oh, she knew that look only too well now. Much as she’d like to jump his bones—again—reality took over. “Sore. In need of coffee.” She winced, hating to disappoint him. “And I have to pee.”

  The heat dimmed in his amazing hazel eyes, replaced with humor. “I should have realized.” After he kissed her shoulder, he said, “Go on. I’ll get the coffee ready.”

  “Thank you.” But she hesitated. She was naked. He was naked. And now, with morning sunlight slanting through a break in the curtains, well…it was different.

  One brow lifted and he rose up to an elbow. “Feeling shy?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  His grin warned her seconds before he whipped away the covers. She smacked at him, but that only got her kissed again. “Come on.” He left the bed and pulled her up with him. “Do what you have to do, then come back to bed. We’ll drink our coffee there.”

  “I think I need a shower.” The excesses of the night had left her a little sweaty.

  Trace hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”

  She didn’t understand his quick agreement until she was in the shower, hot water easing the aches of her body. The curtain pulled back and Trace, still naked, handed her a cup of coffee.

  She’d touched his body everywhere, tasted him all over and yet, seeing him again, even without the kick of caffeine, left her taut with renewed interest.

  She reached for the coffee cup, got about half of it gulped down, then stepped back. “Care to join me?”

  Already stepping in, he said, “I was going to insist.” He took the cup from her and set it outside the tub, closed the curtain, and reached for the soap.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Bathe you.” He turned her so her back was to his chest, the water sluicing over her breasts. “You hadn’t danced, hadn’t made love. I’m guessing no one has ever pampered you, either.”

  The feel of his soap-slick hands sliding down her body made her eyes heavy and her breath shallow. “No.”

  “Good.” His erection nudged her backside as he whispered, “Then I can be first at this, too.”

  OVER AN HOUR LATER, after they’d run out of energy, Priss curled up against Trace in the bed. She loved how familiar it already felt to be with him like this, her head on his shoulder, his hand curved over her hip.

  Staying like this for…oh, forever…would be heavenly. But they both knew reality would soon interfere.

  Priss hated to ruin the moment, but it wasn’t in her nature to stew in silence. And after the closeness they’d shared in the last twenty-four hours…well, she felt she deserved a few answers.

  A hand on his chest, her leg over his, she tipped her face up to see Trace. “What are you really doing with Murray?”

  Though his gaze slanted down at her, he stayed stubbornly silent. After all the tenderness, the intimacy, his lack of trust was almost palpable. Considering she could still taste him, and her heart still pounded with excitement, that should have been insulting.

  But for whatever reason, it wasn’t. Trace was who he needed to be in order to keep others safe, to rescue them from horrendous situations. She got it, more now than ever.

  “You need me to go first, huh?” Her hand stroking his chest hair, Priss said, “I can understand that.”

  When dealing with Murray and his ilk, trust was an elusive thing.

  She drew a breath, and burrowed closer to Trace’s heat. The confession she needed to make left her throat feeling raw and her chest tight. But it had to be said.

  She sensed Trace’s stillness, maybe even a little dread. He wanted to know her secrets, but he intuitively knew that the truths would be ugly.

  “Murray not only raped my mom, he passed her around to his friends and let them all rape her, too. That lasted for about two weeks before she found an opportunity to get away.”

  Tension suddenly gripped Trace. His arm around her back tightened. The seconds ticked by as the implications of what she’d said sank in. “You don’t know if he’s your father or not, do you?”

  Priss shook her head. Years ago, she’d been ashamed for what her mother had suffered, and how it had left her with no knowledge of her father. Later, she’d been wounded that anyone could care so little, be so cruel. And finally, when her mother began fading away from her stroke, she’d gotten angry.

  The anger had saved her from despair, leaving her with a single purpose to focus her life.

  Until she’d met Trace. She still wanted to kill Murray, but she also wanted to somehow protect the tentative relationship with Trace.

  She doubted it was possible to do both.

  “My mom never knew.” She tucked her face into his throat. “She didn’t want to know. For most of my life, she was scared to death of any man who tried to get close. When she knew she was dying, it took all her effort to tell me that not all men were monsters. She said she wanted me to be careful, to always be on guard, but she didn’t want me to live with her hang-ups.”

  Quietly, Trace asked, “When did she tell you about Murray?”

  “When I was fourteen. I was selfish and bitching about wanting to go to a public school, to date and have friends.”

  “That doesn’t sound selfish to me at all. It sounds really normal.”

  “For a normal kid, maybe it would have been. But that’s not me. Because of what Murray did to my mom, we could never be normal like that.”

  Trace turned on his side toward her, and Priss ended up on her back. He smoothed her hair from her face, traced one of her eyebrows with his thumb. “You aren’t normal, Priscilla Patterson. You’re unique.” He kissed her, very soft and sweet. “Extraordinary.” Another kiss, this one lingering. “And exceptionally hot.”

  Priss smiled. “The only other person to tell me that is Gary Deaton, and he just wanted in my pants.”

  “I’ve already gotten in your pants, so you can believe me when I say it.”

  “Maybe.”

  A little sad, Trace braced himself over her. “So let me understand this. When you were an impressionable fourteen-year-old child, your mother told you that she’d been held captive by a madman and passed around sexually with his friends?”

  It sounded horrible, even to her. “She had to tell me then, to make me understand why I couldn’t sneak off to parties or football games. And she had to know if any man looked at me too long, if anyone ever took my picture. She needed me to understand the risk, to know what could happen if anyone had ever found out about me, that I could be Murray’s daughter I mean.”

  Though he didn’t look convinced, Trace kissed the top of her head. “I’ll kill him for you.”

  He sounded so sincere, and so accepting of her dysfunctional childhood, that a smile bloomed in Priss’s heart. “Thank you.” She drew him down to h
er for a longer kiss, one he gladly accepted. “That’s sweet of you, but no.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Sweet? I offer to kill a man and you think it’s sweet?”

  “You wanted to kill him anyway. And so do I.” The hair on his chest fascinated her, so she concentrated on that. “You’ve never come right out and said so, but I’ve known for a while that you’re a good guy, Trace.”

  He gave her a cautious survey. “I’m not sure that accurately describes me.”

  “Of course it does. From the very beginning, you were making moves to protect me. When you kept my license, it was so that Murray couldn’t run a check on me, and that was before you had any idea who I was or what I wanted. Everything you’ve done since then has been a balancing act of fulfilling what Murray expects of you, while at the same time trying to keep me from getting too involved.”

  “As of this minute, you’re not involved, not in any way.”

  If only that were true. For some, it’d be so easy to step back and let Trace do his thing. Especially since he did it so well. He would kill Murray, she knew that. But she couldn’t delegate the responsibility. She’d never be able to live with herself. “Sorry, Trace, but I’m involved up to my eyeballs. There’s no changing that.”

  He sat up suddenly. “Wrong. It’s changed.”

  Worry niggled up her spine. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that you’re out of it.” He took his watch off the nightstand and strapped it around his wrist. “I’ll tell Murray that you ran off, that I don’t know where you went. He won’t be able to find you, and after sending Helene after you, it’s a believable lie.”

  “No.” She wouldn’t let him be this autocratic. She wouldn’t allow him to decide her fate—her life—for her.

  He strode to the chair and picked up his slacks. “Jackson will take you to stay with Dare until I’ve wrapped up things here.”

  Meaning after he’d killed Murray and all his cohorts. Panic squeezed around her. She didn’t want to be separated from him, and she didn’t want him to rob her of the vengeance she rightfully deserved. “No.”