Beyond the Seduction

by M.A. Stacie

  “You should tell her.” His sister stood, beckoning him to follow her into the large, shiny kitchen. She began to fill the coffeemaker, pointing to the table and telling him to sit.

  “Demanding much? I’m surprised Kyran hasn’t put his foot down,” he teased, grinning when she flipped him off.

  “I like her.” Dale turned to face him and leaned back against the countertop. She had the look in her eyes that she used to get when they were teenagers—the look that got them into trouble because she wasn’t about to let something drop.

  “I’ll tell her. I’m sure she’ll be stoked that she has your approval.”

  “Don’t hide your fears behind your sarcasm, Trace. I’m saying she’s nice.”

  “Nice?” He sneered. “That’s such a crappy word.”

  “Well, she must be nice, otherwise you wouldn’t be boning her.”

  “Boning? What is with you today? Wash your mouth out, you bad girl.”

  Pouring two cups, Dale giggled and slid a cup across the table toward him. She didn’t speak again until she’d taken a seat facing him. “Have you thought any more about speaking to Kyran’s lawyer? About Emmie’s harassment.”

  Trace held up his hand to stop her and shook his head. “I know you’re trying to help, but this is something I have to work through. Being able to talk so honestly with you relieves some pressure. I appreciate it, D. I do. I talked to Kyran, too.”

  “That’s good. Dad?”

  Regret churned low in Trace’s belly. He’d managed to stop from thinking about their father when he was alone, stop the guilt. However, Dale had a way of hitting the truth first time. He gulped. “I can’t tell him over the phone.”

  “So why didn’t you visit him this weekend?”

  The nausea rose in his gullet. No amount of swallowing helped. “Facing him means facing the truth.”

  The squeak of the chair on the floor had him flinching, and even though he couldn’t see her through his tear-clouded eyes, Trace knew Dale was heading around the table to him. Her arms banded around his shoulders, a small kiss placed on his cheek. “I’m sorry, Trace. I know this hurts. I just want you to be happy. Holding on to all this isn’t making you happy. It’s rotting inside of you.”

  Swiping at his eyes, he cleared his throat and tried to man up. He wasn’t a chick. He wouldn’t cry. “I need to figure myself out. This is a fact now. I can’t run.” He took a deep breath. “Tatum isn’t mine. I should accept that and stop pretending.”

  “You can’t just switch that off, and you know it. You’re hiding. I understand why you need to. I know you, and I know it hurts so bad that you’ve packed it all away, hoping you never have to open that Pandora’s Box again. Wrong, Trace. Very wrong. She was your baby. Time will help, but you have to process it.” She hugged him again. “And distractions will numb you for a short time. Shae makes you forget. She makes you smile. However, I have to ask how long that elation lasts for?”

  “I don’t like the way you see through me, D.” He groaned. “It didn’t last long. I was sitting scrolling through the pictures of Tate on my cell, and the pain hit me square in the goddamn motherfucking chest. That’s why I went back to talk to her that first time. When I was lost, she had me busting a gut laughing. She hadn’t even tried. The woman was what I needed at a real bad time. What I still need.”

  Dale gave him another quick kiss. “Tell her.”

  He wiped his eyes as she moved back to her seat. There was no way in hell he’d cry in front of his sister over this again. It broke his heart, but he couldn’t keep wishing.

  “I think Shae should know what drew you to her. And it goes without saying that you have to tell Dad.”

  Trace took a sip of his coffee then agreed. “I will. When I can. Talking to you is far easier than verbalizing it to either of them.”

  “You should ask yourself why that is. I’m just saying.”

  “You’re just saying too much.” He gulped. “I found a sock. Tate’s sock. It was just there, in the apartment. My hand fucking shook when I went to pick it up. Broke my heart all over again. How can a sock do that? It’s a sock!”

  “Trace—”

  “I thought she’d cleared it all out. But there it was. Do you think she left it there on purpose? Maybe the bitch wanted me to find it. She knew I’d fall apart, and I did. The little pink thing was soaked by the time I stopped bawling like a baby.”

  “Oh, Trace. Why didn’t you call me? I’d have come straight to you. I could have helped. Maybe when you move out of that huge apartment you’ll get a little more closure.”

  Trace cupped the back of his neck, looking down at his lap. He knew this was coming, knew that when she heard she was going to imagine scenarios that weren’t happening. “Um, yeah, about that . . . I’ve kinda found somewhere. Well, actually, it found me.”

  “Oh?”

  She was going to flip out when he told her. Since she’d married Kyran, she’d become a hopeless romantic. No matter how much she denied it.

  “It’s a small apartment. Fits my needs. I’m going to see it this afternoon.”

  “Where?” she asked, her eyes thinning as she assessed him. Trace wasn’t getting away with being evasive today. Bracing himself for her hysteria, he said, “It’s above the dance studio. I’ll be leasing it from Shae and her mom.”

  Dale blinked. “Shae. You’re renting an apartment from the woman you’re having sex with?”

  “Yup.”

  “Muddy, Trace. That could be very muddy. More so if she’s not keeping it as light as you are.”

  Dale wasn’t telling him anything he hadn’t already considered. He hadn’t debated the decision as much as he should have, though he had to get out of his current situation. Again, Shae was the one to aid him with that.

  He slumped in the chair.

  “Kyran offered to look for you.”

  “Expensive penthouses aren’t my thing.”

  “Ha! You should have seen Kyran’s place when we first met. It was a box with a bathroom. He didn’t keep anything except coffee in his refrigerator, and he hadn’t slept there in days. Trust me, penthouses aren’t his thing either. We bought this house for us as a family and you know it.”

  He started to debate whether or not he was making the right choice. Leading Shae on was wrong, and even though he was certain he’d made his intentions clear, reiterating them when he went to view the apartment wouldn’t hurt.

  “You’re scowling. What’s going on in your head?” Dale asked, reaching across to flick at his fingers. “Go on, tell your sis.”

  “My head’s mush, D. I’d tell you if I knew what was going on in there.”

  She sat still for a second, chewing on her lower lip. Her silence didn’t bode well. “Don’t bite my head off but . . .”

  “But?”

  “But do you think hanging with Shae—taking her for sexy nights away—is a good idea if you’re not thinking straight?”

  He threw his hands up and slammed them on the table. “Fuck knows. All I know is that she makes me forget. She lets me be me. There’s no before, no issues, no drama. Shae gives me the oblivion I need without her even trying.”

  Dale hummed, a small smile tilting the corners of her mouth up.

  “What?” he asked, her knowing smile setting his nerves on edge. She was up to something. He’d experienced that far too often in the past.

  “Nothing,” she replied, not fooling him with her innocence.

  “Liar.”

  Her mouth bobbed open, snapping closed twice before she decided to speak. “Maybe you should look a bit deeper into your reasons for being with Shae.”

  “Dale.”

  She held her palms up. “I’m just saying.”

  Trace barked out a laugh. “That’s a standard disclaimer, and we both know it’s bullshit.” He softened his tone. “I’m not ready.”

  The sound of the front door opening and closing stopped their conversation, and seconds later Kyran’s tall, muscled form fille
d the doorway. The man could be intimidating to look at, especially when he sported a black eye or two. Today he appeared to be blemish free. The hood of his sweatshirt was pulled up over his head, hiding his face from clear view, so Trace wasn’t too sure.

  Kyran panted, pulling his earbuds from his ears. “Hey, Trace.”

  Trace nodded a greeting, watching as Kyran walked over to Dale. She pushed the hood from her husband’s head as he cupped her jaw with his hand.

  “Good run?” she asked, her eyes shining with affection.

  “Always.” Lowering his lips to meet hers, Kyran kissed her with slow, passionate thoroughness. Trace looked away. Not so long ago he’d had that very thing. He and Emmie may not have been as intense as his sister and Kyran, but they’d still had the intimacy.

  It hurt to watch it now.

  Clearing his throat, Trace pushed his chair away from the table and stood. “Um, I’m gonna take off.”

  “Oh, no, no,” Dale said, pulling away from Kyran. “You said you were staying until Ella woke up. Don’t go changing your mind now.”

  “Fine. I’ll go and sit in the living room, then. I’ll leave you guys alone.”

  Kyran chuckled. “You make it seem like I was fucking her on the table. Trace, I was kissing my wife. It’s allowed.”

  “So I hear,” Trace mumbled, feeling rather awkward.

  “You’ve saved me a phone call by being here anyway.” Kyran grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

  “Yeah?”

  “How do you feel about a bit of babysitting?”

  “You want me to watch Ella?”

  Dale frowned at her husband’s request. It was news to her.

  “Taylor’s coming into town,” Kyran said with a smile. “For the weekend, next month. I thought it would be good if we took him and Libby out for a meal. I was then hoping I’d get lucky and my wife would like to spend the night with me naked, in a hotel room.”

  Nodding, Dale kissed his cheek.

  Kyran continued to talk to Trace, although he could see the heated looks he was shooting Dale. “You could sleep here, Trace, or take Ella back to your place. Your choice.”

  “Your brother’s finally coming back to Sea Pointe, huh?”

  “He sure is, and he’s bringing his wife, Libby.”

  Trace knew Taylor’s history. The man was a recovering drug addict. Kyran and their father had been at the end of their ropes, unable to cope with the drug use any longer. They’d packed him off to the family ranch in Hunter’s Hollow. It had been Taylor’s defining moment. He’d weaned himself off the cocaine and formed a new life at the ranch, and their uncle had since signed the entire ranch over to Taylor. Coming back to Sea Pointe would be a huge step for him.

  “And you trust me to look after Ella for the night?”

  “Come on! You’ve got your own kid—” He stopped mid-sentence.

  Trace’s stomach plummeted, his heart stopping. The verbalization cut him deep and left him bleeding.

  “Shit, I’m sorry,” Kyran apologized. “It just came out. I didn’t think.”

  Trace shook his head, blinking as he tried to clear his vision, and walked past Kyran. His brother-in-law moved out of his way, but he did try to grasp Trace’s shoulder.

  “Gotta go,” he croaked out.

  He didn’t falter in his retreat, walking with purpose until he reached his bike. He ground his teeth, the urge to punch something because of the total injustice boiling his blood. Would his hell ever end? Would he always feel so bereft?

  “Trace!” his sister yelled from her front door.

  Shaking his head, he lifted his helmet. “Tell Kyran I’ll do it,” he shouted over to her before pushing the helmet on his head and kicking the bike into action.

  Chapter 14

  The music swirled around her as her body swayed and twirled to the rhythm. Her slippered feet padded across the wood floor, and she caught her reflection in the mirrored wall as she jumped into the air. Her legs were still defined from dancing, her body still holding the grace it had when she was at college. Even her hands conveyed the poise required, all the way to the tips of her fingers.

  Shae had kept up her dancing, even though she no longer looked to her mom for tuition. Lisbeth would only grow sad when she couldn’t keep up or do the moves she used to with ease. Because of this, Shae had developed her own unique style. It wasn’t ballet, nor was it modern. She had learned that combining both suited her movements and had the entire thing flowing freely.

  No one had seen her dance this way. She kept that for when she was alone in the studio. It was her little secret—a dance that was hers alone.

  Shae panted as the song ended, still holding her pose. Her leg strained where she held it up behind her, and the ball of her foot throbbed from her rigid form. Again, she checked her posture in the mirror and smiled when she liked what greeted her.

  She’d never regretted not taking her performing further because she enjoyed teaching the children. That didn’t mean she didn’t long to be on stage from time to time, though.

  Smoothing her hair from her face, she wandered across the room and took a long drink of water. She started as a figure appeared in the doorway, and she squealed.

  Trace stared at her.

  “Oh my God, you scared me! How long have you been there?”

  “Long enough.”

  Shae knew something was wrong with him. His body was rigid, and not in the way that made her flustered and hot. His stare was harsh, hawklike, and she felt as if she was under his scrutiny from the instant his gaze locked with hers. “You watched me dancing?”

  “A bit.” His tone lightened a little, his shoulders relaxing somewhat. “I liked it.”

  A flutter started in her chest at his small compliment. “Thanks. I don’t tend to have an audience.”

  Trace shuffled on his feet, saying nothing in response. Something was eating at him. She thought about trying to make him laugh, but when she tried to ask him something as innocuous as what he’d been up to, she was met by a great big wall of silence.

  He didn’t get any more talkative as she led the way up to the vacant apartment. She tried, but he did little more than grunt or nod. The situation left her uncomfortable, and wanting to fill the void, she began wandering through each room of the apartment, offering nothing more than a hand gesture. He kept quiet, but his foreboding presence was very dominant.

  “And this is the bedroom,” she said, staring at the floor.

  How fucking awkward.

  He grunted. She was clueless about what it meant. “Do you want to walk through again?”

  “Nope. I’ve seen enough.”

  Shae huffed. “You hate it. I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was that bad. I guess I should give it a lick of paint before advertising it, then.”

  “I don’t want you to paint it,” he growled, his knuckles turning white from his grip on the doorframe.

  “That isn’t your decision.”

  Shae tried to walk past him, hurt that he didn’t want the apartment. Trace remained in front of her, blocking her exit. The scowl on his face had become dark, far more aggressive than it had been when he’d stomped in. His anger frayed her nerves. She had to escape. The small apartment felt too small.

  “Let me pass, Trace,” she said, her voice trembling a bit.

  He folded his arms across his chest, his gaze still boring into hers. She took one step back. He arched a brow. “Problem?”

  Her stomach quivered, and even though it was clear how volatile he was, she wasn’t scared of him. Instead her body throbbed with something very different. “You’re in my way,” she said, keeping her voice low. “I can see you’re . . . upset about something, and the apartment doesn’t appear to have helped your mood. It’s best if we leave it there and get some air.”

  Trace moved away from the door, but he didn’t allow her through. He walked toward her until they were standing toe to toe. Shae tilted her head up to see him. The heat of his gaze as it raked ove
r her had a shiver rushing down her spine.

  She licked her lips.

  “My mood’s just fine.”

  “Sure it is. And that fire sparking from your eyes is perfectly normal.” She jutted out her chin. “Don’t take me for a fool, Trace.”

  “Wasn’t doing that.”

  Pushing at his chest, Shae made a move to get around him. She reached the door before his hand grasped her wrist, spinning her around until her back slapped against the wall. Trace pressed his front to hers, and her nipples hardened at the dominant display. She tried to speak. She couldn’t, not when his erection rested on her stomach. Trace was pissed, but also turned on.

  “You were. Something crawled up your ass, and you came here looking for a fight. Well, go ahead.” She gestured around the room. “There’s nothing much to wreck, so go for it.”

  A muscle in his cheek ticked. “Not gonna trash anything, babe.”

  She felt his cock pulse. “You’re messing with my head, Trace. What’s wrong?”

  He moved his head, the smallest of shakes, and a heartbeat later they were kissing. His mouth devoured hers, their teeth clashing as they both altered the angle. His fingers bit into her thigh, tugging on it until it wrapped around his waist. Trace cupped her ass, lifting her and leaving them in a position reminiscent of their first time.

  She clung to him, her nails dragging down his back as she fought to steady her spinning world. Their kisses deepened and grew in ferocity. Her nips along his bottom lip causing Trace to hiss and buck his hips.

  “More,” he demanded. “Fuck. More.”

  Dropping her feet to the floor, Trace stepped back. She staggered, blinking to get her bearings. The moment her head stopped spinning, the minute her breathing calmed, Trace spun her around again. Her palms slapped flat on the window ledge, and she felt his hands smoothing over the globes of her ass. Shae inhaled. She pushed back, humming when he took hold of the top of her leggings and yanked them to her thighs. “Oh, God,” she whimpered.