“If I recall correctly, it was your decision to go to the safe house in the first place, right?” Trace asked, and the sound of his voice interrupting the eerie silence caught Marissa off guard. Luckily, she recovered easily.
“Yes, it was.” At the time, she’d been scared out of her mind and completely oblivious to who might possibly want to hurt her, so yes, she’d jumped on the safe house bandwagon rather quickly. “But oddly enough, I didn’t have much say in anything after that.”
“It was always for your own good, Marissa,” Trace added, his voice calm, soothing.
Biting her lip, she kept from adding anything more.
“What are you thinkin’ about?” Trace’s raspy voice interrupted her thoughts a moment later.
Marissa looked up to see intense gray eyes—although they were more white than gray—staring back at her. “Just thinking about when it all started,” she lied. She was actually thinking about what it would be like to kiss Trace, to feel his strong arms wrapped around her again, only with a little more intimacy mixed in.
Not that she could tell him that.
“You were at the mall that day, right?” Trace asked, pushing to his full height and walking to the coffeepot. He proceeded to refill her cup and returned it to her.
Marissa watched him, took in the way he moved. For a man with so much power, he didn’t seem to expend any more energy than he had to. Every movement seemed to be predetermined, using stealth and an immense amount of masculine grace.
The guy made her blood turn to fire in her veins. Shaking off the thought, she opted to answer him. “Yeah. Court and I went shopping. She went to try something on. That’s when he grabbed me,” she told him when she realized she was still staring.
Marissa remembered the terrifying series of events as though they had happened yesterday and not nearly one year ago. It had started out as an absolutely uneventful trip to the mall, so much like many other trips, but then drastically different all at the same time.
She couldn’t even remember what they’d been shopping for. Maybe nothing, but either way, they’d ended up in one of the big department stores rummaging through the clothing racks, seeking a sale. She’d been flipping through the clothes when a man had approached. At the time, she had thought nothing of it.
He was a normal-looking guy, not good-looking, not bad-looking. Just average. Nondescript, even. He hadn’t seemed creepy or stalkerish, but Marissa had avoided him all the same, continuing on her quest for whatever. When he had gotten too close, she’d decided to move on to another rack of clothes when he’d pulled one of the shirts from the same rack and held it up. He’d then proceeded to ask a question, something about the color and whether Marissa thought his wife would like it. She remembered that the last words had trailed off, making it so that she couldn’t understand him.
That’s when he had moved closer once more. Looking back, she figured he’d done so in order to repeat his question, and when he had, he’d put a gun against her side. From that moment onward, he’d been in full control.
Thank God Courtney had come out of the dressing room when she had. That day, more than any other, it had been in Marissa’s favor that her best friend wasn’t just a pretty face around Sniper 1. The woman had been trained with the best of them, and she had killer skills that seemed to kick in at the slightest provocation.
Luckily, that day Courtney had brought her A game.
Before the asshole could get Marissa out of the mall and into his vehicle, Courtney had disarmed him. Of course, they’d attracted a lot of attention, including that of the mall cops, who’d hurriedly come on the scene in their attempt to take over.
But somewhere in the melee, the man had gotten away, so the team hadn’t had a chance to interrogate him. To this day he hadn’t reappeared, but no one believed he was the person behind all of the attempts. They figured he was hired muscle. Definitely didn’t make Marissa sleep better at night knowing he was still out there.
“You’ve been in what? Four safe houses now?”
Marissa was curious as to where Trace was going with this or if the man was just making small talk. She knew without question that he knew exactly how many safe houses she’d been in, where she’d been located, and for how long. The Trexlers and the Kogans were a close-knit bunch, and family was family. Regardless of whether they were related by blood or not, they looked out for one another.
“Five,” she told him, staring down at her coffee mug.
Five safe houses, five different states, all within a twelve-month period. She’d had numerous bodyguards—Sniper 1 agents who had drawn the short stick, obviously. The thought of going back to another safe house, being locked away while everyone else tried to uncover whatever it was that these people could possibly want from her… It didn’t warm her heart any.
She felt Trace’s presence before she actually realized he had moved. Marissa was suddenly overwhelmed by his towering frame and the insanely delicious scent of the man as he came to stand beside her. Without thinking, she turned and looked up at him.
He was close.
So close she could see the vibrant charcoal specks in his exotic eyes, see the dark stubble that lined his jaw, his chin, and his upper lip. The man was so beautiful Marissa was pretty sure her heart skipped a beat as she admired all of the finely chiseled angles of his too-handsome face.
He was also standing way too close for comfort, which explained why she was holding her breath.
He seemed to be studying her, his gaze gliding over her face.
“We’ll find him,” Trace finally said, his voice low, reassuring.
Sexy.
She wanted to believe him, wanted to hold him to that, but she knew better. If anyone was going to find this man, draw him out, and end this nightmare, it was going to have to be her. She couldn’t see any other way.
Marissa’s eyes suddenly filled and she fought the tears that threatened. She wished like hell he could keep that promise, but she’d been told that before by her own father. Until they found whomever was after her and figured out exactly what they wanted, she wasn’t going to trust anyone’s word. Not even Trace’s.
His warm finger curled beneath her chin, forcing her to look up at him again, and Marissa couldn’t suppress the shiver that danced down her spine.
“I’m serious. I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
No, he didn’t. But this one, she wasn’t so sure he had the ability to keep.
Knowing that saying anything wouldn’t make this situation any better, Marissa nodded her understanding. Her breath hitched in her throat when Trace glanced down at her lips, then back up to her eyes. There was a violent eruption in her belly, one that made her hands shake, her heart palpitate, and her mouth go completely and utterly dry.
It had absolutely nothing to do with fear.
With his finger still wrapped beneath her chin, Marissa found herself leaning forward. Was he pulling her closer, or was she the one closing the gap between them? She had no idea, but oh, holy hell, she wanted to feel his lips on hers. It was a fantasy she’d had since she was a teenager, one that had never come to fruition.
The next thing she knew, Trace was even closer, his lips hovering directly over hers, his breath—the sweet scent of mint—fanning her face. If she moved just a millimeter, she’d fulfill every teenage fantasy, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Her body was frozen in place, her brain misfiring from the heady scent of this man, the warmth of his touch. Her stomach plummeted to her toes, gravity not caring one iota that its sole job was to keep her grounded.
“Fuck,” Trace whispered, but then he was gone. The intoxicating scent receded, the world came back into focus, and the warmth dissipated, leaving her cold.
He hadn’t kissed her. But he had wanted to. She knew that much.
Thank God he had more willpower than she did because if it had been up to Marissa, they’d be tearing one another’s clothes off at that point, forgetting everything that was going on around them, an
d finally, finally, giving in to the attraction that had been pulsing between them for years.
“I need to…” Trace paced away from her. “I’m sorry, Marissa… Fucking hell.” And with that, Trace disappeared, leaving Marissa to stare at her coffee cup as she tried to catch her breath.
Yeah, if they ever made it to that point—the point where he did finally put his mouth on her—she had no doubt that they’d be incinerated by the passion that sparked between them.
The question was, how long was he going to be able to hold out?
Because Marissa was ready to stop avoiding what she wanted. And what she wanted was Trace Kogan.
Twenty-Two
One fucking hour.
Trace paced the floor in his bedroom while he tried to regain some measure of control. Marissa hadn’t even been in his house for one fucking hour, and he’d damn near incinerated the invisible wall, that precariously brittle barrier that was between them for a reason. The wall that needed to remain between them if either of them were to survive.
Fuck.
The way she’d leaned into him, the way her breath had hitched, increasing in tempo as he’d contemplated pressing his lips to hers. She’d pulled him right under her spell, and he had been hard-pressed to do the right thing.
His brain and his body were obviously not on the same page when it came to what was right and what was wrong, because covering Marissa’s body with his own seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do.
Coward.
That was exactly what he was, wearing down the hardwood in his bedroom while he tried to come up with a plan to keep her at a safe distance while she was under his protection.
She was here for the duration. They weren’t going anywhere, because that was the goal: keep her safe, out of sight, and pray like hell someone would come lurking in the shadows for her so they could nail the asshole and end this nightmare she seemed to be mixed up in. It was their safest option. If they could keep her hidden, the bastard would be drawn out in his quest to find her. He would have no choice.
A knock on his bedroom door pulled him up short. He stared at it, not sure what the hell he was supposed to do. It had to be Marissa. No one else was there, and Z wouldn’t hesitate to slam through the door just because he felt like it.
“Yeah?” he called out, not wanting to open the door for fear of seeing her.
“I’ve got my laptop,” she said, her words muffled through the wooden barrier.
Shit.
Moving to the door, he steeled himself to see her again. With a cloak of professionalism falling into place, Trace pulled open the door. Without looking directly into her eyes, he took the laptop from her hand and started back toward his bed and stopped short.
Other way, dumb ass. Not toward the bed.
Fucking shit.
He damn sure didn’t want Marissa Trexler in his bedroom, on his bed, with him... Shit. What kind of idiot was he?
Spinning on his heel, he turned back, urging her out of his bedroom with his body. Once they were safely in the hall, he pulled the door shut and moved past her and into the living area. Placing the laptop on the bar, he went to work, thankful for something to take his mind off all the ways he wanted to kiss her, touch her, taste her, make love to her…
Not fucking helping.
Focus. That was key.
Trace would admit, he wasn’t the same sort of computer genius that Dominic or Austin was, but he could hold his own when it came to hacking and scrambling. After all, he’d learned from the best of them. For now, this would have to do.
Fifteen minutes later, Trace turned, fully expecting to see Marissa standing there waiting for him. She wasn’t.
Glancing around the room as though she’d done some sort of disappearing act, he realized she must’ve gone back to her bedroom.
Great. Just what he needed.
And who the hell had thought this was a good idea?
Right. That had been him.
Trace remembered that he’d been the fool to come up with this brilliant plan. Pure genius he was. He should’ve let one of her brothers take her to their place, hide her out, and keep her safe. Or maybe one of his brothers could do it.
The last thought had an unfamiliar possessiveness coursing through him. He didn’t want to think about Marissa around his brothers. And he damn sure didn’t want to think about her out of his sight. She was safer with him.
At least that’s what he told himself.
Knocking on the door to the guest room, Trace waited for her to answer. When she didn’t, he knocked again but didn’t wait as he pushed open the door.
Her laptop was almost collateral damage.
Trace nearly swallowed his tongue as he stood stone still, clutching her laptop to his chest to keep from dropping it, staring at Marissa, who was…
Holy mother of…
Marissa Trexler was half-dressed in the middle of his guest bedroom, her incredible body backlit by the sun gleaming through the window, making her look like a living, breathing dream come true.
An angel.
He felt like he was in a commercial—one where the light shined brightly on the sexy, scantily clad woman, enticing the viewer to buy whatever it was she was selling. And Trace was fully onboard. Hell, he had his fucking wallet open, his credit cards at the ready.
Fucking shit.
Shaking off the haze of lust that had clouded his vision, Trace mentally envisioned the light receding, disappearing entirely and leaving him standing in the cold, stark reality of the situation. And now that he thought about it, yes, maybe saying Marissa was half-dressed was a little melodramatic.
In her defense, she had on some sort of black, skintight pants—leggings, he thought they were called—and a pale pink bra that showcased her amazing tits in the most provocative yet strangely innocent way. And she was pulling a sweater over her head.
Obviously she was changing clothes, trying to get more comfortable. A little ironic considering Trace was about as uncomfortable as he’d ever been in his entire life.
“Trace!” she screamed, pulling him from his trance.
“Huh?” he mumbled, still unable to pull his attention away from her beautiful breasts. They were certainly more than a handful, and through the delicate pale lace of her bra, he could see her nipples puckered beautifully.
And then she robbed him of his visual feast when she turned away, yanking the sweater down over her head.
“Are you done?” she asked, her tone clipped.
Ogling her? Probably not. But he doubted that was what she was referring to, so he said, “Yeah. Your computer’s good to go.”
“I wasn’t talking about the computer,” she bit out. “I meant are you done eye fucking me from across the room. Don’t you believe in just a little bit of privacy?”
Okay, so that was what she’d been referring to.
Trace set the laptop on the edge of the dresser and took three steps into the room, coming to stand directly in front of her. He couldn’t get his brain to work, maybe because his cock seemed to be doing all of his thinking for him. Letting his eyes rake over her body, from her delicate ankles to her cute little nose, Trace finally met her gaze again. “Ever heard of locking the door?”
Marissa glared back at him, but she didn’t move away. “Ever heard of putting a lock on the door?” Her words were laced with sarcasm.
Glancing behind him, he noticed for the first time that the door didn’t actually have a lock on it. Huh.
Turning back to face her, he couldn’t eradicate the grin that formed. He loved the fiery side of Marissa. It made him want to tie her to the bed and tame her into submission. Make her bend to his will until she was screaming out his name, begging for mercy in the most erotic, sensual way.
Definitely not helping.
Rather than tell her all the things he wanted to do to her, he took a step back. “Next time, answer when I knock.”
“I di—” Marissa clamped her mouth closed as Trace continue
d to watch her. “Just get out.”
Without another word, Trace backed out of the room and into the hallway, giving her one more once-over before he closed the door. And he didn’t miss the scorching heat that backlit Marissa’s glowing blue eyes.
As with everything else in his life at the moment, he had the feeling this was not going to end well.
□«»□«»□«»□
Marissa sucked in air, attempting to get her heartbeat to slow. She’d just witnessed the most intense expression on Trace’s face, and the confusion that wracked her body was distracting.
She still couldn’t believe that he’d just waltz in without giving her a chance to answer the door when he announced his presence by pounding on the wood. She’d been changing clothes when the first knock had sounded. Obviously he hadn’t heard her when she’d told him to give her a minute. Instead, he’d stormed right in.
An almost painful heat had engulfed her entire body when his eyes had trailed over her, stopping to linger on her breasts before making their way back to her face. Her nipples had hardened instantly from the intensity that had radiated from his gaze. Yet she hadn’t been able to do anything but stare at him before, yes, throwing him out. God, she was an idiot. It had been an opening she’d been waiting for, and still she’d managed to let the opportunity pass her by.
Exhaling deeply, Marissa shook her head. In an attempt to remember what she was supposed to be doing, she peered over at the dresser. Right.
For the life of her, she hadn’t remembered the reason for Trace’s untimely presence in her room, but now that her embarrassment was receding somewhat, she noticed what he’d barged in on her for.
Her laptop.
Marissa made a beeline for the dresser. Work. That’s what she needed to do. Not only would it possibly get her closer to figuring out the puzzle that was her life but it would also get her mind off Trace Kogan.
Something had to or she was going to go stir crazy—ninety minutes into a never-ending purgatory and she felt as though she were skiing downhill, fast, and the tree at the bottom was coming up on her quickly. Nothing was going to stop the impending collision, and part of her was looking forward to it.
Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1) Page 19