Convincing Cara (Wishing Well, Texas Book 2)

by Melanie Shawn

  Trace.

  In a flash, I knew the real reason I’d wanted to stop by the bar. Because somewhere deep in my subconscious I’d been hoping that Trace would be there and he would see me in this dress. He was the only person I really cared about.

  I closed my eyes as I let that really sink in. Part of moving on to the next chapter in my life was that I needed to be honest with myself about my feelings. I needed to own them. For so much of my life, I’d had to push down every fear, every negative emotion. My entire focus had been on getting well, and I hadn’t wanted anything but positive thoughts to fill my mind.

  Now? Now, things were different. Now, it was time I learned to process things—including things that might not be the most uplifting. For instance, it was past time I deal with my unrequited crush on Trace. If I was actually sad because he didn’t see me in a dress I had worn for a date with another man, there was a serious problem.

  I had two options. I had to either do something about it or move on. My mind was still playing eeny-meeny-miny-moe when the car dipped and I opened my eyes to see that we’d just pulled into the ranch.

  “On the left,” I directed Jim to the main house.

  I might not have been able to solve all of my problems right that second, but I could take a nice, long bath, have a glass of wine, and read a romance novel.

  “Thanks.” I waved to Jim as I got out of the car and tugged the strap up on the bag that held my work clothes.

  Jim’s tires rolled over the gravel as the car left, signaling my brain that I was now all alone. I tried to ignore the visuals flashing in my mind of a knife-wielding maniac waiting on the other side of the front door. The wooden planks on the porch creaked beneath my steps as I crossed, adding a soundtrack to the horror movie playing in my head. A shiver of terror ran through me. Twenty acres was a modest ranch around there, but it was a whole lot of property to be alone on. Sure, I had the horses, the cows, and the chickens, but every time Colton left and I was the only person out here, I got a little freaked out.

  Of course, I’d never told my brother that. If I had, then he’d never leave. He was a tad on the overprotective side. Which I understood. Not only was it just the two of us, sibling-wise, but for a few years, he hadn’t known if I was going to be around.

  My hands were shaking like leaves as I put my key in the lock. Okay, this had crossed the line over to ridiculous. I mentally instructed myself to knock it off. As much as I needed to face my crush issue with Trace, I also needed to face my irrational fear of being alone.

  Blowing out a breath as I shook my shoulders, I reminded myself that Wishing Well had been voted one of the top three safest towns in all of Texas, and it was number one in Clover County. I was not in any danger, other than from my own psyche.

  Plus, what were my options? I could either make the trek—or, more likely, a mad dash—down the dirt path to my house or pull up my big-girl panties, my lucky big-girl panties (which I actually hadn’t gotten lucky in yet, but that’s neither here nor there), and open the door to my brother’s lovely and safe house. Pop a bottle of wine and take a long soak in the tub.

  This should not even be a question.

  After turning the key, I pushed the door open, rushed in, and slammed and locked it behind me. The second the click of the deadbolt sounded, I realized I was acting crazy. First, I had been scared of what was inside, and now, I was scared of what was outside.

  Yeah, there was definitely something wrong with me.

  A chuckle bubbled up in my chest as I dropped my bag to the floor and headed towards the kitchen. I was still giggling a little at my ludicrousness when I noticed that the hallway light was on.

  That’s strange. Colton always makes a point to turn off…

  “What’s so funny?” a deep voice rumbled.

  “AHHH!” I screamed as adrenaline burst through me like a frozen pipe in the dead of winter. In a panic I ran towards the front door.

  A strong arm wrapped around my waist, so I struggled and continued screaming until the sound of a familiar voice cut through my fear.

  “It’s me! Cara, it’s me!”

  The soundwaves registered as my body relaxed into a hold it recognized. I whipped my head around and visually confirmed what my ears and my body already knew.

  The scary intruder was Trace. And a shirtless Trace at that.

  “What…are you…doing here?!” I somehow asked between ragged breaths. Adrenaline coursed through my veins. I didn’t know if it was because of my previous perceived danger, or the current real danger from being surrounded by the strength of Trace’s bare arms.

  “Your brother had to leave early and he asked me to stay here. To keep an eye on things,” he explained, still holding me tight against him.

  Not that I was complaining. I could have happily stayed like that for…well, forever. I leaned back into his embrace, the side of my face pressed against his chest. Tilting my head upward, my gaze locked with his and we stared silently into each other’s eyes. I was surprised to see that Trace’s breathing was almost as labored as mine.

  His gaze dipped to my mouth, and I nervously licked my lips under his stare. As my tongue slid between my lips, a deep moan from his chest vibrated against my back. The lovely sensation was unfortunately cut short when Trace lowered his arms to his sides.

  My weak knees buckled at the loss of his support. When I stumbled forward, Trace’s large hands landed on my hips and steadied me. Then, slowly, he turned me around so that I was facing him. His fingers still rested on my hipbones, and I had the sudden urge to step closer and wrap my arms around his neck.

  I tried to control the impulse by placing my hands on my stomach to anchor them so that I didn’t end up hugging him. It also helped to settle the butterflies that were apparently throwing a disco party in my belly.

  “You have to stop sneaking up on me,” I said. This was the second time in so many days that I’d been startled by the sexy man of my dreams. I wasn’t sure how much more my poor heart could take.

  “Sorry.” A slow grin spread on his handsome face, sending tingles from the top of my head to the tip of my toes.

  “Yeah, you look real sorry.” I was going for sarcasm, but my words came out much breathier than I’d intended.

  His fingers tightened on my hips, and the increased pressure of his intimate grip sent a shock of bliss exploding between my legs. Trace’s honey-colored gaze scanned me up and down, and what had started as a flutter in my core morphed into a heavy pulse.

  “You look…good,” he rasped as his hands dropped down to his sides.

  Yep. That right there is why I wanted to stop by the bar, I thought even as my body was immediately grieving the loss of his touch.

  “Thanks,” I barely managed to softly whisper.

  He crossed his arms over his broad chest, enhancing his hard-earned muscles. “Did you have fun on your date?”

  I winced at the harsh edge of his tone. “How did you know I was on a date?”

  He did a head-to-toe survey of my body. “You’re not exactly dressed for the office.”

  “Oh, right.” Glancing down, I nodded, hoping that he didn’t notice the goose bumps that had broken out over my arms under his scrutiny.

  “So, did you have fun?” This time, the question came out with less of a bite.

  “Not so much.” My gaze lifted to his. I was sure the heat I felt under his stare was all in my head, but it felt real. I thought it might be a good idea to move the conversation onto safer ground than my dating life. The last thing I wanted to do was reveal too much, which I tended to do when I started nervously rambling.

  “So, Colton asked you stay out here?”

  “Yep.” He didn’t elaborate.

  Ooookay. I tried to keep my eyes from drifting south over his very shirtless, very sexy, upper body. With no permission from my brain, they dipped and my cheeks warmed as a rush of heat caused, what I was sure, was a visible blush. I shifted in place, more than a little embarrassed that I was
completely incapable of keeping my peepers off his magnificent body.

  Wine. Wine would probably help this situation.

  Sidestepping Trace on my way to the kitchen, I did everything in my power to ignore the delicious shiver that ran down my spine as my shoulder brushed against his chest, skin to skin.

  “To keep an eye on things?” I reiterated as I opened the fridge, hoping that the Moscato I’d put in it a couple of weeks ago was still there.

  My wish was granted. I saw the bottle in the side door.

  “Yep,” Trace repeated.

  “Things being me,” I stated flatly as I grabbed the wine.

  For the past few weeks, it had been obvious that Colton was worried about me. He kept stopping by for various reasons, none of which were necessary. As much as I appreciated my brother’s concern, I still hadn’t opened up to him about why I hadn’t been myself. We were close, but I don’t think any little sister would feel comfortable having an I-want-to-lose-my-virginity talk with her big brother.

  “Yeah, I think that was the general idea,” he replied, confirming my suspicion.

  “Do you want a glass?” I opened the drawer with the opener.

  “No, I’m good.”

  I nodded while I stuck the screw into the cork and began turning it. It wasn’t going well, thanks to my overactive hormones, and within a few seconds, it was taken out of my hands.

  “I got it.” Trace easily manipulated the opener and had the cork popped in no time.

  My mouth watered as I watched him. His body was truly a work of art. From his broad muscular chest to his sculpted arms. The real showstopper, though? His washboard abs. I needed a bib to catch the drool. It was wrong that a person could look that sexy doing such a menial task.

  “So,” he asked as he poured my glass, “why didn’t the date go well? More dick pics?”

  “Oh…no,” I laughed—a little too loudly. I couldn’t help it. Just hearing that word coming out of his mouth made me feel all kinds of giddy.

  He grinned, a sexy grin that made me think he knew exactly why I was giggling like a schoolgirl, as he slid the wine glass to me.

  I took a much-needed, fortifying gulp. I might have thought I’d needed a drink on my awkward dates, and I had. But now, I really needed a drink—for much different reasons.

  “So…” Trace casually leaned back against the countertop, resting his hands on either side of his hips. “I’m guessing your lucky panties still haven’t lived up to their name?”

  I’d seen people on TV and movies do spit takes, where whatever they were drinking ended up all over their co-star. I’d never seen it happen in real life though. In fact, I’d always just assumed that it was a gag. Now, I knew that that was not the case.

  At Trace’s mention of my lucky panties, the wine I had been drinking sprayed from my mouth like a popped fire hydrant all over the bare chest I’d been doing my best not to ogle.

  “Oh my gosh!” I shrieked as I reached for paper towels and rushed across the kitchen to the sink. “I’m so sorry!”

  After wetting the paper towel, I turned and found Trace standing directly in front of me. “Oh!” I gasped.

  This guy really lived up to his ninja nickname. How did I never hear him sneaking up on me?

  “I’m so sorry,” I furiously wiped the alcohol off his chiseled form as I apologized yet again.

  I’d never been this close to, let alone touching, a half-naked man. And it wasn’t just any man; it was the man I’d been in love with since I was just a kid. I tried my best to stay focused on getting the job done, but my body’s reaction was very distracting.

  All I could hear was the pounding of my heart and my panting breaths. My entire body was engulfed with flames of pleasure whipping through me, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the nearness of the perfect male specimen in front of me or my lack of ability to catch my breath.

  I was afraid I was going to hyperventilate and pass out or die. Hey, if it ended up being the latter, at least it wouldn’t be a bad way to go…

  Chapter 17

  Trace

  “It’s on like a chicken bone.”

  ~ Dolly Briggs

  My drawstring sweats were not going to do a very good job at hiding the effect Cara’s hands roaming over my chest and abs was having on me. I wanted to let this play out, to keep her touching me as long as humanly possible, more than anything I’d ever wanted in the entire world. But it had to stop. Because this was going to get very embarrassing if I didn’t do something quick.

  “I’m fine,” I lied, my voice gravelly, as I covered her delicate hands with mine.

  As soon as I touched her, Cara’s entire body stilled. Her attention, which had been directed solely on my chest, shifted as her blue eyes peeked up at me through a blanket of dark lashes. Her fair cheeks were flushed, and her lips parted as her jagged breaths fanned over my damp skin. Confusion was swimming in her aqua gaze.

  Damn. In the past, I’d always thought, given my choice of superpowers, I’d take flying. No question. Now, I saw it differently. I’d choose the ability to read minds, hands down. Then I could know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, what was causing Cara’s puzzled expression. If she was feeling even a tenth of what I was, then my best guess was that I had put it there. As much as I wanted to assure her that everything was okay, I couldn’t form any words. I was consumed with the primal urges roaring inside me.

  Every cell in my body was screaming for me to lower my head and kiss her. To lift her up on the counter, step between her legs, and show her exactly how lucky those panties could be. I wanted to do more than just kiss her, more than just make love to her; I wanted to claim her. To own her. To erase any thought of any other man from her head—forever.

  A flash of clarity unlike I’d ever had before settled over me, cutting through the lust fog that had taken up residence in my brain. This girl standing in front of me, her hand shaking beneath my touch, was mine. My days of standing on the sidelines of her life were over.

  When Cara had been sick, I’d been forced to stand by, completely helpless. When she’d left for college, I’d kept an eye on her, but always in the background. When she’d moved home and decided to date, I’d stood idly by.

  The friend zone was a nice place to visit, but I didn’t intend to live there. Moving day had arrived.

  “Are you wearing your lucky panties?” I grinned the grin that had made many panties drop.

  Her cheeks reddened to a crimson color as she pulled her hands from under mine. She started to step around me. “I don’t know what you’re—”

  I placed my hands on the counter on either side of her, blocking her escape.

  She froze, and I held my breath.

  If she tried to push past me, I would, of course, drop my hands. I just wanted to give her a chance to rethink running away and face this. Face me. Face us.

  Her next move would tell me if she was ready to rezone our relationship from friends to more than friends.

  After several tense moments, she shifted so that her lower back was resting against the sink. She was facing me straight on, my arms surrounding her. I let out the breath I’d been holding.

  She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. It was something she did when she was nervous. I liked that she was nervous. Nervous and—if the blush on her face and her breathing were any indication—turned on.

  “So…are you wearing your lucky panties?” I rasped.

  As she cleared her throat, her eyes met mine. The hint of a challenge in them caused my dick to twitch with excitement.

  “How do you know about them?” she asked.

  I was happy that we’d moved past the denial portion of the evening. She was opening up the dialog I’d been dying to have with her since the night she’d told me about them.

  “You told me about them—”

  Her eyes widened as she blurted out, “I did not.”

  “Yes. You did. The night I took you home from the bar.”

  She winced, and t
he glint of challenge that had beamed from her baby blues a second ago turned to horror. Her voice was barely a whisper as she asked, “What did I say?”

  “You said that you bought them before you left for college. They are white lace with a cherry in the center of the waistband. You thought it would be funny to wear a pair of cherry panties when you got your cherry—”

  “Stop!” she shouted as she covered her face with her hands. “I can’t believe I told you that.”

  I’d have done anything Cara wanted—except stop talking. This conversation was going to happen.

  “You also told me that, since you were still a virgin, they hadn’t exactly been lucky.”

  She whimpered beneath her hands and shook her head. I almost pointed out that she was cuter than a ladybug in a tutu, but I didn’t think she would have appreciated that in her current state of mortification, so I kept my opinion to myself.

  “But you said you weren’t going to give up on them, that you were loyal and you believed that, one day—”

  “Okay!” She shoved her hands against my chest, which was futile because I didn’t budge. I wasn’t going anywhere. “Enough. You can stop now.”

  “What if I don’t want to?” I teased.

  “Fine.” She threw her hands up in the air. “What other humiliating thing did I say?”

  “You think that telling me you’re a virgin is humiliating?”

  “Oh, no!” Her tone dripped with sarcasm as she continued. “Not humiliating at all. I always tell guys that I’ve…I’ve…” She waved her hand between us as she stumbled over her words “I’ve…grown up with that I’m a pathetic virgin that has lucky panties.”

  “There’s nothing pathetic about being a virgin.” I gripped the counter tighter—my hands were itching to wrap around her hips, pull her against me, and show her just how unpathetic I thought she was. “And I think it’s fucking adorable that you have lucky panties. I’m glad they haven’t ‘worked’ yet, because that means I can be the one to change your luck.”

  Cara’s posture stiffened, and she sucked in a sharp gasp as her eyes locked on mine. I stared back at her, hoping to infuse everything I felt for her into her consciousness. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and I wanted her to see that she filled mine. More than anything, I wanted her to see herself the way I saw her.