Trace of Fever (15 page)

Not
kissing her proved impossible. It was tricky, but Trace managed to bend close without losing his good eye on the edges of silver foil. He brushed his mouth over hers, felt her warm breath, the softness of her lips, and had to force himself to draw away.

“Don’t worry about any of that. I…” Damn. He shook his head. “I convinced Murray that you weren’t the type to allow it.”

“Not the type?”

“I believe I used the term
country bumpkin.
I said you’d revolt, and he agreed to leave you au natural. You can thank me now.”

Priss snorted. “It’s humiliating, knowing you discussed that with him, with Matt and probably with your buddies Chris and Dare, too.”

He cupped his hands around her neck. “I know, and I am sorry. But surely it’s better than the alternative of—”

She smashed a hand over his mouth. “I’d have hurried along my plans to kill Murray before letting anyone invade my privacy that way.”

“You are
not
killing anyone.” Regardless of solid motivations.

“That’s not for you to decide.”

It was, but she hadn’t accepted it yet. Trace caught her wrist, kissed her palm and lowered her hand. “Dare and I agree that you can leave here fully conscious. Just know that until everything is resolved—”

“Everything, meaning what?”

He ignored her interruption. “—you’ll be watched. Forget privacy, Priss, because you won’t have any. Until I’m satisfied that you won’t throw a wrench into my plans, you’re going to have a tail 24/7.”

For reasons Trace couldn’t understand, she smiled at him. “Fine by me.” She patted his chest. “Just don’t plan on being satisfied anytime soon.”

She stepped around him to pick up her cat, opened the door, and said into the room, “Hairdresser, I’m ready. Let’s get this over with.”

T
WO HOURS FELT LIKE TEN
as Trace paced the kitchen, waiting for Priss’s unveiling. Chris and Dare were with him, but Molly had gone along with Priss and Matt.

He glanced at his watch again. “Can’t you hurry Matt along?”

Busy at the computer, Chris made a face. “For the umpteenth time, no. He’s creating art, or so he says. Leave him to it.”

“I’m going to be late.”

“You’ve got plenty of time,” Dare told Trace as he finished making sandwiches. “Even if you hit traffic, which you shouldn’t, you’ll get back with a couple of hours to spare.”

“I’ll have to get Priss settled before I take off.”

“Jackson’s on hold. He’ll be ready when you are.”

From the doorway, Priss asked, “Who’s Jackson?”

All three men looked up.

As if in slow motion, Dare set aside the knife he’d been using to cut chicken salad sandwiches into quarters.

Chris pushed back from the computer and let loose with a low whistle.

Trace stared. Damn, he’d known she was a looker, no disguise could hide that. But he hadn’t realized…

Matt beamed. “Stunning, am I right?”

“Well, say something, guys.” Molly slid in around the two of them and came forward, grinning. She carried a bag of products that Priss would use to re-create her current look. “Doesn’t she look fantastic?”

“Yeah, she does.” Dare pulled Molly in close, kissed her and whispered something in her ear. She looked at Trace and laughed.

Chris saluted his friend. “Great work.” And then to Priss, “You can copy it?”

“I’m not an idiot. It’s a little makeup and some hair product. Easy-peesy.”

Trace barely followed the conversation. Priss’s long hair had been trimmed and shaped so that now it somehow fluffed around her face, looking like she’d just come from a little bedroom activity. The subtle red coloring showed more, and looked sexier.

Green eyes that had always been direct now looked sultry and suggestive, even while she awaited his verdict on the results. Her lashes looked longer, her lips more lush—and none of it was obvious.

She looked good enough to tempt a saint, and it dawned on Trace that Murray, who was nowhere near sainthood, would think so, too.

Furious at the situation, at the overriding conflict of what he had to do versus what he wanted to do, Trace drew a tight breath. “Yeah. Fantastic.”

Propping her hands on her hips, her attitude unaltered by her beauty, Priss glared. “So why do you sound so disgusted, then?”

Dare pulled Molly closer to his side. “You look very nice, Priss. It’s just that Trace isn’t a man who likes to share, but he’s currently not in a position to deny others.”

Trace continued to stare at her, and he saw her dawning understanding. She gave a peek back at Matt, aware of
him as a trusted friend but not a part of the inner circle. Hell, Priss didn’t know what that inner circle protected, and still she went along.

“Got it. Well, it’s not Trace’s problem. Maybe he should recall that.” She turned to look at the wall clock. “Shouldn’t we be hitting the road?”

The woman looked like living, breathing sex, but she talked like a businesswoman. Trace hated it. All of it.

Dare indicated the array of food. “I fixed lunch. You have to be getting hungry.”

Matt went straight for the grub, but Priss declined. “No, thanks.”

Trace scowled. “Enough already. You need to eat.” Hell, she hadn’t had anything, not even a drink of water, since her breakfast sandwich early that morning.

The makeup and tousled hair lent a whole new air to her expression of sarcasm. “I’m nothing if not a fast learner.”

Bemused, Dare picked up a sandwich, took a bite and then offered her the rest. “Safe enough?”

“You guys are tricky, so I’ll pass.”

“For the love of…” Trace let that sentiment trail off. Seeing her so hot, so sexy, had done enough to destroy his calm. “Don’t push me, Priss.”

“Or you’ll do what? Dope me?”

Matt glanced up, then deliberately away, whistling softly to himself.

Trace took one hard step toward her—and his cell phone rang. Scowling, he retrieved it from his pocket, looked at the number and then at Matt. “Out.”

Matt grabbed two more sandwiches and his drink and headed to the family room. Chris caught Molly’s arm and urged her from her seat. “We’ll go with him.”

Rolling her eyes, Molly went along, but said to Dare, “I’ll expect an update.”

He just nodded. The dynamics of their relationship amazed Trace. Apparently Dare confided everything in his wife.

Must be nice to be that secure with a woman.

He eyed Priss, who stood still in front of him, in no way considering his possible need for privacy.

Trace answered the phone. “Miller.”

“How’s it going, Trace? Is Priss cooperating with the stylist?”

“It’s fine. And yeah, she is.” Truthfully, she’d done her best to bully Matt, but luckily he wasn’t a pushover.

“Got a report on the results? I have to admit, I feel like a kid on Christmas, waiting to unwrap a gift.”

Yeah, Trace knew just how Murray’s mind worked. “She looks good. You’ll be pleased.”

Jovial, Murray asked, “Is she there?”

Maybe he’d overestimated Murray’s level of trust. Not that Murray ever fully trusted anyone. He was forever trying to catch Trace in a lie, but Trace remained careful of what he said, and when, to avoid that particular scenario.

Lacking inflection, Trace said, “She is.”

“Great. Put her on. I want to talk to her.” No doubt to verify Priss’s whereabouts for himself.

Ice shot through Trace’s veins. Murray could have only one agenda in mind, to intimidate Priss, embarrass her or try to trip her up. An inner battle raged, but in the end, he said, “Here she is.”

He handed the phone to Priss without saying another word.

Her eyes widened. With the mascara and liner, the effect was exaggerated. “Who is it?” she mouthed.

“Murray wants to speak with you.”

Just that quick, Dare went to warn the others to silence.
Trace put a finger to his mouth, alerting Priss before hitting the speaker button on the phone.

She chewed the gloss off her bottom lip, drew in a deep breath and took the phone. “Murray! Hello. How are you?”

Trace stood as close to her as he could.

Murray said, “Having fun, honey?”

“It’s amazing. I had no idea that a professional could make such a difference with my hair. I mean, I take good care of myself, but this is…well, it’s decadent. I don’t even look like me anymore.”

She gushed just as any neglected young lady might when introduced to the benefit of unlimited pampering.

Trace smiled at her, feeling unaccountably proud of how quickly she adapted to appease Murray.

“I look forward to seeing the results myself.”

“Of course, whenever is convenient for you. And Murray, thank you so much. It wasn’t necessary, I told you that and I meant it. But this is just…well, it’s the most fun I’ve ever had.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” A beat of silence, and then, “I understand you switched hotels?”

Shock rippled through Trace. How the hell had Murray known that already? Had the son-of-a-bitch planned to do her harm so soon?

Trace would have told Murray a story about her move as soon as he saw him, but he hadn’t thought to prepare Priss—

Unfazed, she put a hand on his chest to reassure him. “It was the oddest thing,” she said to Murray, sounding exactly like the naive young woman she claimed to be. “Trace felt certain that someone was watching us, and he didn’t think it was safe to stay where I was. He insisted that you would want me moved to a more secure place.”

Murray wasn’t expecting that quick reply. He paused, cleared his throat. “Trace is right, of course.” And then with suspicion: “You say he caught someone watching you?”

“I don’t know if he caught anyone exactly. He just said he felt someone was. He looked around, and then he said I should move. I was going to call you to tell you, but he promised me that he’d take care of that when he saw you again. I’m—I’m not sure, but I think maybe he didn’t want to give me your phone number.”

“Really? How silly of him.” But Murray didn’t offer up the number. He wanted no direct links to Priss, and everyone knew why. If —maybe
when
—she turned up hurt or even dead, there could be no trails leading back to him.

“I’m glad he relocated you, Priscilla.” Tone silky, he asked, “Where are you staying now?”

Priss looked at Trace, and he prayed she’d remember to give her old address, the one she’d first lied about to Murray. He’d left enough of her belongings there to fool Murray if anyone went by and checked to see if she was in residence.

Without missing a beat, Priss related her old location to Murray, but she went one better by not dwelling on it. Overtalking a lie never gave credence; just the opposite. Priss handled it like a veteran. She gave the location, and then went on to chat about her clothes, her makeup, her painted nails.

In no time, Murray cut off her rambling enthusiasm to ask for Trace again.

God love her, Priss had done an excellent job of both boring Murray and convincing him of her ruse.

Even Dare seemed surprised by her expertise. He and Dare shared a look; Priss was a natural-born liar.

Not exactly a sterling quality for a young lady.

Trace took the phone. “Was there something else, Murray?”

“Yeah.” He bit off the word. “You
knew
she was being watched?”

“Of course. But again, I didn’t know if it was you or someone else. You told me to ensure her safety, so that’s what I did.”

With a lethal edge to his tone, Murray asked, “Who else did you think it might be?”

“An old boyfriend, a friend—no idea, really. I know she claimed not to have any relatives, but how do we know for sure? You didn’t say anything about tailing her, but I knew she had eyes on her.”

“You didn’t tell her it was likely to be me?”

“No. When she asked me why anyone would be watching us, I told her that you were a powerful man and a lot of people were jealous of you.”

“Good cover.” His voice lowered. “It’s uncanny, Trace, this sixth sense you have.”

Trace said nothing to that. Truth was, he should have known Murray would immediately check on her story, but he hadn’t even thought of it, and it pissed him off.

He had to stop being so distracted by Priss.

“So tell me.” Slick anticipation sounded in Murray’s tone. “Have you had her yet?”

Trace closed his eyes, wishing like hell that he’d taken the phone off of the speaker function. Priss didn’t need to hear this, but it was too late to do anything about that now. He could feel her staring at him, not so much with accusation as with uncertainty and curiosity.

Dare said nothing, did nothing. Trace knew he didn’t want to embarrass Priss further.

Opening his eyes again, Trace locked his gaze with Priss’s. “No time to work on that yet.”

“You slacker, you.” Murray chuckled. “Helene told me
that you’d be right on it. I think she expected you to rape the girl as soon as I gave the order. She’s been fuming around here all day.”

“Fuming?” God, Hell would be the death of him.

“That’s right,” Murray said with interest. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was jealous.”

Priss gave him a look of pitying disgust and turned her head away.

“But you do know better.” Trace caught her elbow before she could move too far from him. “Because you know I’m not an idiot.”

“Yes. But lately, I’m not so sure with Hell.”

Christ, did that mean Murray would turn on his lover? Or worse, let her turn on someone else? Anything seemed possible.

“Anyway, I have other things to do now. Finish up with Priss as soon as you can. I don’t want you to be late tonight.”

“I’ll be there.”

“I’ll see you then.”

After Murray disconnected the call, rage made the impulse to throw the phone nearly impossible to ignore. Instead he shoved it back in his pocket and looked at Dare.

His friend, not being an idiot, either, joined the others in the family room. Trace stepped up to Priss. “You okay?”

She flipped her hair back. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

The way her hair tumbled drew his hands. He lifted one long lock, expecting it to be stiff with hair spray. But Matt was even better than he’d thought. Her hair was soft, silky, and it turned him on. “Murray put you on the spot. That could’ve rattled anyone.”