He's No Prince Charming (2 page)

“I know that. I own this good ole boys’ club, remember?”

Ignoring that pesky little fact, Trace continued. “Yeah, well, at night these guys come back in from the lake and party it up. They play pool and poker and try to drink one another under the table. It’s no place for a woman like you.”

“Like me?” She jammed her thumb at her chest. Of course, Trace’s gaze traveled there, reminding him of what was beneath her backward T-shirt—a skimpy pink bra and lush curves.

“Yeah, like you,” he ground out, becoming more and more annoyed at his unwanted attraction to her. After his career-ending accident, the buckle bunnies who had banged down his door for attention disappeared in a flash. Not one of them had come to his bedside while he lay there in the hospital, bruised and broken in more places than he could count. Nor had any of them showed up during his painful rehabilitation. Since then, he had sworn off women for life, and he wasn’t about to let Dakota Dunn change that fact.

She had to go.

Trace decided he would have to scare her away, and, judging from recent experience, it shouldn’t be too difficult.

“Just what do you mean by a woman like me?” she persisted, interrupting his thoughts.

Another wave of sexual awareness washed over him, pissing him off even further.

“Well?” She demanded sharply, but when she tilted her head to the side, her sloppy ponytail slipped sideways. Someone needed to tell her she really sucked at being a badass.

But Trace had to stifle a groan. Dakota Dunn was a heady combination of sex and innocence, making him want to grab her and kiss her crazy, rip that shirt off, and bury his head between . . .

Oh, damn it all to hell. She really has to go.
Inhaling deeply, he knew he had to be a jackass, which was luckily something he excelled at. “A pampered, spineless, high-maintenance city chick who does not belong here.”

Her golden eyebrows shot upward and she gasped. “Sp-sp-spineless?” Her eyes narrowed and she fisted her hands at her sides. “How dare you!”

Knowing he had hit a nerve, Trace decided to go for the kill. “You were afraid of a damned spider! These woods are filled with much worse.”

“Need I remind you that I have a condition where spiders are concerned? I’m not afraid of anything else.” She folded her arms over her chest and arched one eyebrow.

“Not coyotes, raccoons, or snakes?”

“No, no, and
no
!” she insisted.

“Or mice?”

“No!” she said, but her eyes widened just a fraction and she swallowed hard.

“Well, that’s good.”

“Why?”

“Because one just scurried across the floor right behind you. This cabin has been closed up for a while. It’s probably infested with them.”

She blinked rapidly but shook her head. “You’re just messin’ with me.”

Trace raked his fingers through his shaggy hair, and then shrugged. “Whatever you think,” he casually replied, but then made a show of looking over her shoulder and raising his eyebrows.

“Oh, come on—I’m not stupid. You don’t want me here at this camp so you’re trying to frighten me away. Well, Trace Coleman, I’m not afraid of a little ole mouse or”—she took a step closer, giving Trace a whiff of her delicate perfume—“big, bad you!”

“Is that right?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, then.” Deciding it was time Dakota got a good look at him, Trace reached over on the wall and flicked the light switch.

Then he limped into the room.

When she didn’t budge, he turned his head to the side in a sharp movement meant to draw her attention to a thin pink scar that started at the outer corner of his left eye, bisected his cheekbone, and then disappeared into the dark stubble shading his jaw. Vivid images of a fierce bull tossing him to the ground and stomping on him came to life in her head, causing her to shudder. “Ohmigod,” she said softly. The pain reflected in his light blue eyes told Dakota he had mistaken her shudder for horror at the sight of his scar. “Trace—”

“Not pretty, huh?” Trace took a step closer, towering over her, and even though her heart was thudding, Dakota looked up at him with what she hoped was a you-don’t-scare-me expression. But it wasn’t entirely genuine. While she didn’t find the scar offensive, it did give him a dangerous edge that made her heart pound harder. There was an angry-at-the-world aura about him, and yet something vulnerable flickered in his eyes, making Dakota want to reach out to him. For a moment his expression softened, but then he seemed to catch himself and glared down at her.

“Trace, you misunderstood, I—”

“Save it,” he interrupted curtly.

“No, listen,” Dakota began, but in her peripheral vision she spotted something small and furry scurry across the floor. The mouse! So Trace hadn’t been lying, but she had been when she had said she wasn’t afraid of them. A scream gurgled up in her throat. Not wanting to show her fear, Dakota put a curled fist to her lips and tried to disguise it as a cough, but it came out a high-pitched “Urrrrhhhh.”

Trace gave her a funny look, as if he couldn’t quite make sense of her odd noise, but he also looked a bit smug, undoubtedly thinking his scare tactics were working. “Are you okay?”

“Fine and dandy.” Dakota stood up a little straighter and placed her hands on her hips while trying not to think about the probability of mice hidden in the shadows. Although Dakota knew she didn’t look it, she was made of sterner stuff than what most people imagined. Leaving her home and family at sixteen had taken guts, and not everyone could get up in front of thousands of people and sing. Regular domestic animals didn’t bother her in the least. In fact, she was an animal lover, but rodents and spiders were on her short list of things that made her shiver.

Dakota saw the mouse dart back across the floor, this time toward the door.
Yes, leave
, Dakota prayed.
Head for the woods and never come back!
She made a mental note to get a cat, but just when she thought the coast was clear, the little critter did an about-face and sat on his haunches behind Trace, as if mocking her.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Dakota muttered while eyeing the mouse.

“You sure about that?” Trace asked, obviously thinking she was referring to him.

“Yes!” she answered, but when the mouse inched forward in her general direction, she imagined it climbing up her leg, which was silly, she knew, but still . . . “Urrrrhhhh!” She did the cough/scream noise again, telling herself it was only a stupid little mouse and she could crush it beneath her flip-flop. But when that nasty image entered her head, she covered her mouth with her hand.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Trace asked.

His concern had a bit of a bite to it, since it ticked him off that his appearance was so disgusting to her. He knew the scar was ugly and he was trying to frighten her off, but
damn
, she was all but gagging. Her amber eyes rounded in fear, even though she had the decency to try to disguise her scream again with a ridiculous-sounding cough. If he still possessed a sense of humor, he supposed he might find the situation somewhat darkly amusing. But he didn’t. Now all he wanted to do was to get the hell away from her, because in spite of it all, he was feeling a pull of attraction that he just couldn’t shake.

“I, uh . . .” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and took a step backward.

“Dakota,” Trace began, deciding he had taken this a bit too far. “Do you need to sit down or something?” After all, she did own the place, and if he wasn’t careful his job might be in jeopardy. “Look, I’ll send someone up to help clean up and set some mouse traps.”

Her eyes widened. “And kill it?”

Trace gave her a deadpan look. “No, take it into protective custody,” he answered dryly, but then frowned. “Wait, what do you mean
it
?” Trace asked, but then saw his furry little bluff scurry past him.

Dakota started to backpedal.

“Dakota! Stop!” Trace warned when he spotted shards of brown broken glass scattered on the floor behind her, no doubt from kids sneaking into the vacant cabin to party. If she took one more step, her bare foot would likely get cut. “Don’t move!” he shouted, but she was fixated on the stupid mouse and ignored his plea.

“Damn it, Dakota!” Trace rushed forward, cursing his lame leg. Reaching out, he snaked his arm around her waist and they stumbled backward, smacking into the wall with a thud. In the confusion, he had unintentionally grabbed her ass, and she was pressed intimately against him. Her breasts pushed against his chest, and when he inhaled a quick breath, her light, alluring scent filled his head. Her cheek rested against his thin cotton shirt, and he was sure she could feel the rapid beat of his heart.

Trace supposed she was in shock, because for a moment she didn’t move, and when he tilted his head down to explain to her why he grabbed her, she lifted her head up at the same exact moment. Their lips brushed ever so lightly, but Trace’s body reacted instantly.

Her amber-colored eyes widened and then darkened to the color of barrel-aged bourbon. “What are you doing?” she asked in a husky, velvet tone that washed over Trace like warm, gentle rain. It took everything in his power not to kiss her.

“Saving your ass.”

“So that’s why you’re squeezing it?”

“Oh, uh . . .” Trace dropped his hand and would have backed away, but he was up against the wall. “I didn’t mean to,” he ground out.

She gave him a sure-you-didn’t look. “I guess you didn’t mean to kiss me either?”

“I didn’t kiss you.” He didn’t embarrass easily, and yet he felt heat travel up his neck. Dakota was somehow managing to wrestle emotion from him that he didn’t know he was still capable of feeling, and he had been in her presence for only a few minutes.

And he didn’t like it. Or did he? Frustrated, he said, “I wasn’t putting the moves on you.” But he suddenly felt the heat creep from his neck to his face.
Putting the moves on you? God, I sound like such an idiot
, Trace thought to himself. “There was glass on the floor and you were about to cut yourself,” he explained tightly.

Dakota backed away a step and looked over at her daisy-topped flip-flop. “Everybody wears these. They are very popular right now,” she added, as if she had to defend her choice of shoes.

“I grabbed you for your own good,” he added firmly, “not to cop a feel. In case you didn’t notice, you’re not in Hollywood anymore,
Princess
. No paparazzi here.” He leaned in close and said low in her ear, “And believe me, if I had meant to kiss you, you would have known it.” He knew his behavior was bordering on flirting, and for just a moment Trace felt like his old confident self. It had been a long time since he had a woman in his arms, and damned if he didn’t like it.

“Don’t you think you’re protesting a little too much,
cowboy
?” Dakota leaned forward and put her hand on his chest, giving him a little shove for good measure. When she swallowed hard, Trace had to give her credit for standing her ground.

“You think so, huh?”

Trace looked down at her with those intense light blue eyes, but she left her hand on his chest even though her heart was beating like a jackhammer. The warmth of his skin seeped through his shirt, and despite his dark and dangerous demeanor, Dakota felt like running her hands over the soft cotton and pulling his head down for a long, hot kiss. Crazy. And yet for a heated moment, she could have sworn he wanted to do the same thing.

“Yeah, I think so.” Dakota knew she was playing with fire, but she suddenly didn’t care and stubbornly left her hand right in the middle of his chest. She knew she was coming off like a brazen Hollywood hotshot, but so be it. After being on top of the world, she was reduced to living in this old cabin in a fishing camp. She was tired. She felt lost, but she was far from defeated.

Mice or no mice, she wasn’t about to let Trace Coleman run her off. The past year had been filled with worry and stress, and Dakota had been knocked around enough. Besides, she was supposed to discover her sexy, sassy side, and so she dug deep, arched one eyebrow, and tapped his chest with her pink-tipped fingernail. “Don’t forget that I’m your boss.”

He wrapped his big, warm, calloused hand around hers and stopped her tapping finger. “Not if I quit.”

Her heart thudded and her pulse raced. “You’re joking, right?”

He tilted his head to the side. “Are you?”

She licked her bottom lip, not quite sure how to respond, but took a step back. He still held her hand, and something she couldn’t quite define shook her to the core when she felt her fingers slip through his.

Their gazes held, locked.

“Okay, look,” she said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. She cleared her throat and attempted to sound matter-of-fact. “Like I said, I’ll keep to myself and let you do your job. But you still have to keep me informed. Deal?”

When Dakota looked up at him with anxious, hopeful eyes, Trace felt another unwanted surge of protectiveness. Once again he had a suspicion there was more going on than she was revealing.

She extended her small hand, and even though she attempted to appear businesslike in spite of her backward shirt and sloppy, sideways ponytail, it was hard to take her seriously.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said in a firm tone, and shook her hand. Her fingers felt delicate and feminine in his firm grasp, reminding Trace that like it or not, he was going to have to keep an eye on her.

“Listen, I live in that cabin right across the gravel road,” he said, and jammed his thumb over his shoulder. He reached in his pocket and gave her a card. “My phone number is on there, but cell phones don’t always get good reception and we only have a land line down at the camp offices.”

“Thanks.” She took the card from him and smiled.

“Don’t call unless it’s an emergency,” he warned.

“I won’t,” she answered stiffly, and her smile faded.

“I’ll send Sierra up to help you get this place cleaned up.”

“Sierra? I thought she was the camp cook.”

“I’m surprised you know her name,” Trace responded.

“I know more than you might think.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really.” She had a determined set to her mouth that took Trace by surprise, but he endeavored to maintain his bored expression. If she knew the measures he had taken to keep the camp and marina afloat, she might lose the attitude. “Sierra Miller is the camp cook, but she also cleans the cabins. She’s around your age, but she’s like one of the guys,” he added, letting Dakota know in no uncertain terms that she was not going to fit in.

“Oh.” She suddenly looked a bit lost again, but he steeled himself against giving her any friendly encouragement.

“Well, I have work to do down at the dock now,” he said, then turned and headed out the door.

“Trace?”

He wanted to keep going, but her soft yet husky voice had him stopping in his tracks. He slowly turned around. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry to have burst upon the scene without giving you any notice. My parents don’t know I’m here yet, and for personal reasons, at least for the time being, I’d like to keep it that way.”

“It’s your marina and your cabin, Princess. I’m just the hired help.” Trace shrugged. He really wished she would go back inside and not watch his halting progress down the fieldstone steps, but she came out onto the porch.

“Oh, and Trace, I might have been queen of bubblegum pop, but I’m hardly a princess. Believe me, I’m capable of cleaning up on my own. I’ll head into Tall Rock later for some supplies.”

She gave him a small smile, and damn it, she had a vulnerable, almost lost look in her eyes that made him want to gather her in his arms. No one, especially now, would accuse him of being a tender kind of guy, and he had to wonder where these unwanted feelings were coming from. He had just met the woman, and for some reason she had the ability to turn him inside out.
Well, enough of this crap
, he thought while absently rubbing his thigh muscle, which was beginning to tense up.

“Suit yourself. Just do like you said and keep out of the way,” he answered tersely, and quickly turned away, but not before he saw the hurt look on her face.
Good
, he thought, and wished he could hurry down the path. But by this time of day, his leg ached and stiffened up and would stay that way until he could relax on his back deck in his hot tub. He’d be there already if it weren’t for her interruption into his orderly day and simple life.

Still, as he walked down the gravel road, all he could think about was her pretty face and husky voice that was as silky and sweet as honey on a hot biscuit. A sudden image of her standing there in that sexy little bra had him wiping beads of sweat from his brow.

With a shake of his head, Trace wondered what the hell was happening to him. She was reeling him in just like the eager, hungry fish that were biting today, but he’d be damned if he’d let her. He reminded himself that women were shallow, callous creatures who loved you when you were up and kicked you when you were down. And in more ways than one, Dakota Dunn had the power to turn his safe little world at the marina upside down.