“I’m so sorry I’m late, I hope you weren’t waiting for me.”
Trace turned at the sound of the man’s familiar voice. Stephen Cassidy, the family’s lawyer, stepped into the room. He had a small, gold-foil-wrapped box in one hand and a single red rose in the other.
Stephen was his mother’s guest? Stephen, who’d been his father’s personal lawyer for years? Stephen, who’d been handling not only the will, but all the Ashton legal issues, as well?
“Close your mouth, Trace,” Paige whispered when he sat down beside her.
Trace glanced at his sister, who simply smiled and shrugged.
Apparently, at least one of his sister’s had a clue what was going on here.
Dumbfounded, Trace watched a soft blush rise on his mother’s cheeks when Stephen handed her the rose and birthday present. In his entire life, Trace couldn’t remember seeing his mother blush—especially when his father had given her presents or flowers.
Stephen and his mother?
I’ll be damned, he thought.
It wasn’t that Trace had any objections to Stephen’s obvious interest in his mother, or vice versa, he just felt a little silly that he’d been so completely clueless. Obviously he’d been even more preoccupied lately than he’d realized.
And anyway, they were certainly both adults, for God’s sake. His mother was a beautiful woman; the debonair lawyer had been widowed himself for several years. Trace supposed it made sense. He watched them exchange a smile, saw the sparkle in their eyes. They almost looked like teenagers, he thought, which only blew him away all the more. He didn’t think he’d ever met two people more aloof and reserved and here they were, acting like a couple of kids.
The awkwardness passed after a toast of champagne and the opening of presents, and the dinner seemed strangely—well, normal. Stephen had been a part of their lives for practically as long as Trace could remember, so when the initial shock had worn off, the evening turned out to actually be pleasant. His mother didn’t complain once, in fact, she’d been so wrapped up in hanging on Stephen’s every word, she’d barely spoken herself at all.
It was obvious that his mother was just as taken with Stephen as the lawyer was with her, and while it was going to take some getting used to the idea, Trace decided he already liked the changes he’d seen in his mother’s demeanor.
They were all having coffee and drinks after dinner when Trace excused himself and headed for the rest room. His mind was still on the budding romance when he spotted the woman he actually hadn’t thought about for at least fifteen minutes.
Becca stepped through the front door of the restaurant, smiling as she tossed her hair back to shake off the rain. It occurred to him he hadn’t seen that smile for five years, and he realized how much he’d missed it. He watched her slip her coat off and hand it to the maître d’—and felt as if he’d taken a fist straight to his gut.
Her short, black dress clung to every slender, feminine curve and dipped low enough in the front to bring a man’s blood to a boil. Black stilettos made her heart-stopping, never-ending legs appear even longer.
He literally couldn’t breathe.
He wasn’t the only male in the room staring, Trace noted, glancing quickly around. Several men were openly gawking, much to their female companion’s annoyance. Becca seemed oblivious to the attention as she spoke with the maître d’. Her eyelids were smoky-gray, her lips siren-red. A single string of tiny black glittering beads danced from each of her earlobes, lightly stroking the sides of her long, sleek neck.
She’d never known how beautiful she was, Trace thought, had always blushed when he’d told her and never really believed him. He’d always thought he’d have a lifetime to convince her.
Her gaze lifted then, almost as if she had read his thoughts, and her eyes widened when she saw him watching her. Even from across the room, he could see her cheeks turn red and her lips part with surprise.
He started toward her, froze when he saw Reed step into the restaurant and move toward Becca, then kiss her cheek. She turned and smiled at him, said something that made him laugh.
Reed? Everything inside Trace went numb. She was here with Reed?
What an idiot I am, he thought. Of course she was here with someone. Women didn’t dress like that to go out by themselves or with a girlfriend. Numbness dissolved into anger and his hands clenched into fists when Reed slipped an arm around Becca’s shoulders.
Dammit, anyway! It was bad enough he had to see her with another man, but to watch a friend touch Becca, to see him kiss her, was the final straw.
Hell, any man touching Becca would set his teeth on edge, he realized.
If he hadn’t been so damned determined to get her in his bed any way he could, if he’d been thinking with his brain instead of another part of his anatomy, he wouldn’t be standing here right now feeling like a complete fool. She might have kissed him last night and she might have wanted him, but his arrogance had obviously read more into it than was there.
His own plan had backfired on him, and as much as he’d like to punch Reed, he knew he had no one to blame but himself. Still, not quite certain what he might do if he saw his friend kiss Becca again, Trace turned abruptly and went back to his mother’s party. He even managed to sing “Happy Birthday” and eat a slice of chocolate cake before finally leaving, made a point to keep his eyes straight ahead when he walked through the restaurant and out the front door.
The storm fit his mood, the accompanying lightning and thunder even more so. He was glad he’d driven his roadster tonight, and he headed for the highway, maneuvered through the icy sheets of rain faster than he knew he should and not giving a damn. The harder he tried not to think about Becca, the more she was there. In his mind, in his blood.
He white-knuckled the steering wheel, felt the need to get the hell out of Napa. San Francisco, he decided. He’d find a flea-bitten motel and drink himself blind. Even if only for the night, that would get the woman out of his mind.
A bolt of lightning speared the road ahead of him and the sky exploded with white. The roadster skidded sideways, then the back left bumper smashed into something and the car stopped. Swearing, Trace got out of his car and saw the Volkswagen-size boulder he’d struck.
That certainly made his night perfect.
Raking a hand through his drenched hair, he climbed back into his car, knew that he should have been thankful that the air bag hadn’t been deployed, but was too angry to care. When another crash of lightning struck close by and the ground shook with thunder, he started the car up again, winced at the sound of metal scraping against his fender when he pulled away from the boulder and got back on the highway.
He might be an idiot and a fool, but he wasn’t completely stupid.
He headed back to his apartment, drove through the open wrought-iron gates and didn’t even bother to park in the garage. He ignored the rain that pounded him as he walked up the outside stairs to his apartment, was contemplating a double Scotch when a dark figure standing on the landing brought him up short.
Adrenaline pumped through him, had him doubling his fists and bracing to charge. He almost enjoyed the idea of catching someone in the act of breaking in so he could smash their face.
And then lightning flashed and he saw who it was.
Six
“B ecca! My God, what are you doing out here?”
The very question I’ve been asking myself, Becca thought. With the rain pummeling down on her, she’d stood here on the landing for the past twenty minutes, arguing with herself, terrified that Trace would show up, terrified that he wouldn’t. She wasn’t certain if she was shaking from pure nerves or from the icy wind permeating her wet coat.
When she’d finally seen his car drive up, the knots in her stomach had twisted so tight she’d considered stepping back off the landing and hiding behind a potted tree. She might have, if she hadn’t been too cold to move.
He didn’t wait for her to answer him, he just rushed up the stai
rs, pulling his coat off and wrapping it around her shoulders while he dragged her to his front door. He dug his keys out of his pocket, dropped them, swore hotly and scooped them back up.
They were inside two seconds later. He slammed the door against the wind and rain, then disarmed the alarm and flipped on the light.
“What’s wrong?” He spun around and grabbed her shoulders. His intense gaze quickly swept over her. Worry deeply etched his brow and tightened his jaw. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, heard the sound of her own teeth chattering.
“Come on.” Taking her hand, he pulled her to the hallway.
“No!” She yanked her hand away, then slid his coat off her shoulders and handed it to him. “I can’t. I—I’m all wet.”
“Dammit, Becca—” he tossed the coat on the floor “—don’t argue with me.”
She gasped when he snatched her up in his arms and carried her. For one wild moment she actually thought he was taking her to his bedroom. Her heart leaped at the thought, and a mixture of excitement and panic filled her. But he took her into the small guest bathroom in the hallway, closed the toilet lid and carefully set her down there.
Opening a cupboard, he pulled out a stack of towels and set them on the brown-granite counter, then slipped her drenched coat off her shoulders and frowned at her. “How long were you out there?”
Shivering, she hugged her arms close to her, felt the rain sliding down her face and neck. Lord, she felt like a complete idiot. “Not very long.”
He draped one large, soft white towel over her shoulders, then grabbed another and blotted the water dripping from the ends of her hair. “You’re soaked to the bone.”
“I—I was just going to leave.” Not much of a response, she thought, but it seemed to be the best she could do under the circumstances.
Unable to stop the shaking in her hands, she gripped the ends of the towel around her shoulders and pulled it tighter. She was cold…so incredibly cold. His hands moved briskly over her back and shoulders. Warm, strong hands, she thought, remembering what those hands felt like on her bare skin. Tiny waves of electric current coursed through her, increasing her awareness of him, of his closeness. When his hands softened and slowed, she knew he felt it, too.
Kneeling beside her, he lifted her chin and gently wiped her forehead and cheeks. Too embarrassed to even look at him, she dropped her gaze.
“What in the world were you doing out there?” he asked quietly.
“Waiting for you.”
He stilled; the words hovered between them for a few moments.
“I saw you at the restaurant,” she said awkwardly, feeling more than a little foolish for stating the obvious.
“I saw you, too. In fact, I think every man in the room saw you.” He set the towel down and lightly skimmed a finger along her cheek. “But that didn’t answer my question.”
She trembled at the gentle touch of his calloused fingertip on her skin. Her mind screamed at her to lie, to make up something—anything—so she could somehow leave here with at least a tiny piece of dignity.
No more lies, she told herself, and slowly raised her gaze to meet his. “You know why I’m here.”
His eyes turned dark as a forest at midnight; his mouth pressed into a thin line. She felt the tension move from his body into hers, and like a living thing, coiled through her, tightening, burning.
“What about Reed?” he asked.
She closed her eyes, sucked in a fortifying breath. “It wasn’t fair,” she said softly. “Being with him, when I was thinking about you.”
He tucked her wet hair behind her ears, then slowly slid his hands down her neck. “Open your eyes, Becca,” he said hoarsely.
She did as he asked, felt her heart jump when she saw her own need reflected in his narrowed gaze. The intensity of her feelings frightened her. Slowly she raised a shaking hand and placed her fingertips on his warm cheek.
The anticipation of wanting a man—this man—of wanting him to make love to her, was almost more than she could bear.
She moved her fingers down his cheek, felt the light stubble of beard. Waves of pleasure skimmed through her. She touched his jaw, his chin, then moved upward to his lips, felt him stiffen under her touch. He took hold of her wrist.
“Trace,” she whispered.
His name on her lips made his heart stop; the need in her soft brown eyes jump-started it again. The ache that had been slowly spreading through him took on a life of its own, became a living thing, a savage, primitive creature that had been denied for too long. But not tonight, he knew.
Not here, not now.
Her eyes shimmered with passion, her lips parted, waiting. He pulled her closer, breathed in the sweet scent of her, a mixture of rain and flowers and a scent that was hers alone.
His hands tangled in her wet hair and pulled her head back. Keeping his gaze locked with hers, he lowered his mouth. Her hands slid up his chest and her arms wound around his neck.
Their lips met, lightly at first, then suddenly he groaned and ground his mouth against hers, tasting her more deeply and intimately. She met the thrust of his tongue with her own, moving eagerly with the rhythm he set. She made a sound, a soft whimper of need, and he pulled away and stared down at her. Her cheeks were flushed with passion, her lips moist and swollen from his kiss.
God, she was beautiful.
She’d brought the storm in with her, he thought. It was here, in this room. In his body and his blood. Raging. Pounding. A fury that had waited five years to be released, and now that it was, could not, would not, be stopped.
You belong to me, he thought. If only for the moment, if only for the night, she was his.
“Kiss me, Trace,” she breathed against his neck. “Kiss me, please.”
She hadn’t needed to ask twice. He felt the low, strangled moan deep in his throat as he caught her mouth with his. She clung to him, kissed him back with a passion that was so familiar. So right. Her soft breasts pressed against his chest, made his blood race and his heart pound. His hunger for her gripped him like a fist. He wanted to take her right here, in the hallway, on the floor, against the wall, anywhere, as long as he could bury himself deep inside her and ease the throbbing need in his groin.
Somehow he managed to make it to the bedroom. The light from the hallway washed across the bed. He reined his need in and lifted his head as he lowered her to the floor, sliding her body down his. When their bodies met intimately, her eyes widened and she looked up at him. There was no question what she’d done to him, or how badly he wanted her.
He saw the hesitation in her gaze, but he wouldn’t ask her if she was sure. He didn’t want her to think, dammit, didn’t want to give her an opportunity to run from him again.
He caught her mouth with his, kissed her hard and long, until he felt her sway against him.
He reached for the zipper at the back of her dress and tugged it down, then slid his hands underneath the damp garment, slipped it off her shoulders.
It dropped to the floor.
He inched back, wanting, needing, to see her and his pulse stuttered at the exquisite sight. Her breasts, enclosed in black lace, were full and round, her skin smooth and creamy. A smile of black lace stretched across her slender hips and flat stomach. When he pressed his lips to her cool shoulder, he felt her shudder. She not only smelled like the rain, he thought, she tasted like it.
He heard her soft murmur asking him to hurry, but in spite of the need clawing at his gut, he simply had to touch her everywhere, had to reacquaint himself with every familiar inch of her.
Need coursed through Becca like a raging river. She bit her lip when Trace pressed his mouth to her stomach and she leaned into him, raking her hands through his thick, damp hair. When his hands covered her swollen, tight breasts, she sucked in a slow, deep breath. His fingers kneaded the tight buds of her nipples and pleasure, sharp and painful, ricocheted through her. He unhooked her bra and his mouth replaced his fingers as he tasted he
r.
Her world was spinning. No other man had ever made her feel this way, no other man ever could. Dread filled her at the thought, but she was lost and there was nothing she could do, nowhere she could go. Sensations pummeled her. His rough hands on her skin, his hot mouth on her breast, the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against her…
His mouth and tongue were hot and moist as they moved over her breasts and her stomach. When he slipped his fingers under the elastic band of lace at her hips and tugged them down, Becca felt the heat coil tightly between her legs. She stood naked in front of him, trembling not from the cold, but with need. Her fingernails curved into his shoulders.
He nuzzled her bra aside with his teeth and mouth, then clamped on her nipple. She moaned and arched into him.
They fell to the bed as one and rolled. She started with the top button of his shirt, slowly worked her way down to the waistband of his trousers before sliding her hands back up again over his flat, hard stomach and broad muscled chest. His body was like steel, strong and powerful. Rugged. The realization he was hers at last left her giddy and dizzy. She pressed her lips to his chest, swept her tongue over his hot skin. The masculine, salty taste of him aroused her even more.
She forced her mind to concentrate on giving pleasure rather than receiving, but the two were intertwined. It was impossible to stop the fire racing in her blood. He squirmed when she slowly ran her fingertips over each rib bone, then across the hard muscles of his stomach. She unbuttoned his slacks with the intention of exploring her path to its final destination, but when she tugged his zipper down over the hard ridge of his manhood, he gave a low growl and suddenly it was she who was on her back. She barely had time to catch her breath before his shirt was off, his shoes, then his pants, until he stood gloriously and magnificently naked.
Her heart jumped at the sight of him, pounded furiously in her chest. He moved over her, slid his hands all the way up her legs to the top of her thighs, His lips followed the path of his fingers and he kissed the inside of each thigh, her knees, her calves, then back up again until she writhed frantically under him.
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