Trace of Fever (23 page)

At this point, after the drugs, things were kind of hazy.

Jackson groaned again.

Dredging up a more commanding tone, Trace said, “Leave him alone.”

“Not until he’s incapacitated.” Helene tossed the stun baton off to the side and wrapped the nylon around Jackson’s ankles, too. But she did so over his jeans, which would at least give him a little wiggle room.

With that complete, she backed away from him. “Well, well. It’s like Christmas morning.” Breathing hard, she looked at Jackson top to toes—and smiled.

Jackson grunted out something that sounded vaguely like “Fuck you.” He rolled to his back.

Helene kicked his ankle. “Anyone else in that room?”

Trace stared into the other room, but saw nothing and no one.

Still grimacing in pain, Jackson repositioned his legs, bending his knees and bracing his heels on the floor. To the casual observer, it appeared he only wanted to ease his discomfort. Trace knew better. Though Jackson’s arms were tight behind him, he could be deadly with his legs. “See for yourself.”

To do so, she’d have to get close to Jackson again. She’d have to get in range.

“Ah, no.” Helene crossed her arms and laughed. “If you’re even half as good as Trace—”

“Who’s Trace?” He glanced over, tucked in his chin at seeing Trace’s naked boner, and said with sympathy, “Damn, man, she really has you sprung, doesn’t she?”

Helene put her hands on her hips. “I’m not buying it, so save your breath.”

“Buying what?”

“You two know each other, and that means if I get too close you’ll find a way to…do something to me.”

“Nah, sugar. I don’t know what that dude did to piss you off, but I’m harmless. I promise.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” She chewed her swollen lip. “Push yourself away from the door.”

With a shrug, Jackson did as she asked. “Now what?”

She circled him, cautiously. “Now you tell me who you are.”

“Innocent bystander?”

Though her smile didn’t waver, her eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. “You think you’re really clever, don’t you?”

“Obviously not clever enough.” He wiggled some more until he was able to sit up against the wall. “Damn, woman. Care to tell me what this is all about?”

Still playing innocent, Trace realized. Not that Helene would buy it. But at least it kept her occupied, and he
almost
had the lock free….

As if in deep thought, Helene ran the fingers of her free hand along her cleavage, slowly, back and forth. “You’re quite the morsel, aren’t you?” Her attention went to Jackson’s lap, his abs, and then back to his face. “Hmm. Now what should I do with you?”

Grinning at her, he said, “Did I overhear some discussion about blow jobs?”

She leaned in long enough to slug him in the face, then quickly backed away again.

Trace had never in his life felt so helpless. Who was with Priss? How the hell would this twisted scenario end now that Jackson had flubbed his way into it?

And worse, what would Murray’s reaction be to all this?

Jackson flexed his jaw, and continued with his easy
humor. “Maybe I misunderstood. I could’ve sworn I heard you mention—”

“Shut up!” She stomped back over to her purse and, with her back to the men, fiddled with something. Jackson was about to push to his feet when she returned, one hand behind her back.

He eyed her cautiously. “Change your mind, then, sugar?”

“Possibly.” Crouching down near him, but not too near, Helene said, “But not until I have you properly sedated.” She parted her knees, giving Jackson an eyeful—and the idiot looked. “When I get done with you, you won’t be so damned handsome.”

“Well, it’s bound to be an improvement. Being this good-looking is a curse. The women won’t leave me alone.” He smiled at her. “Case in point.”

She presented the needle.

Jackson scowled. “You don’t need that.”

Tapping the syringe, she let one drop leak from the end. “It’ll make you all nice and easy to get along with. Better still, it’ll shut you up for a bit.” Grinning, Helene nodded toward Trace. “How do you think I got him tied up?”

“I thought maybe he was willing.”

“No.” She smiled. “But don’t worry. It’s not going to hurt you. Not too bad, anyway. And there are no serious side effects.”

“I’m not sure I believe that.”

“Oh, stop being a baby. Do you really think I want dead bodies left behind? Well, I don’t.”

Jackson positioned his feet again. “Lady, you are not sticking me with that.”

“Oh, I believe I am.” She held it like a dagger in her fist, raised high, ready to stab him wherever she could.

And Priss appeared out of nowhere. Without making
a sound, she slipped into the room, swooped up the discarded stun baton and jolted Helene with a steady stream of electricity.

Trace felt the lock give away. Quick as he could, he started freeing his hands.

Priss held the baton steady, her face twisted with rage, her body rigid. The needle fell out of Helene’s hand, and Jackson was quick to use his heel to bring it closer to him.

The handcuffs caught in the pipe, frustrating Trace.

Jackson surged to his feet, then propped himself against the wall, hobbled by his ankle restraints. “Good timing, darlin’.”

Dear God. With every second that passed, they ran the risk of Priss’s duplicity being discovered. Trace would kick Jackson’s ass for this stunt later, but for right now, he wanted to ensure Priss’s safety.

Given the circumstances, any other woman would be hysterical. But not Priss. She was clearheaded enough to time her entrance to go unnoticed, to retrieve and use the stun baton with devastating effect—possibly deadly effect if she didn’t let up.

Her jaw tightened as she clenched her teeth and kept on firing.

Trace had no choice but to take control. Calmly, his voice low and even, he said, “She’s done for, honey. I need you to ease up now.”

Priss didn’t seem to hear him. She looked determined to inflict more damage.

Helene fell to her back, her body jerking and flinching. Her eyes rolled back and spittle formed at the sides of her mouth.

“Enough.” Though she probably felt justified, Trace knew that the last thing Priss needed was a death on her conscience. “I said that’s enough!”

Almost as if in a struggle, Priss managed to release the trigger. She panted, her arms still stiff, ready to go at Helene again if she moved.

“That’s it.” Trace tried to sound soothing. “Good job.”

“Damn it.” Priss issued the complaint while looking at her hand. “She made me break a nail.”

Jackson huffed out a quick laugh. When Hell twitched and moaned, he turned and dropped down atop her, his knees straddling her hips, her arms pinned down, and his body blocking her view of the rest of the room. “I’ve got this.”

“Better late than never.” Finally, Trace managed to untangle the metal cuffs from the pipe. He half stood, half leaned on the bed. Until he freed his legs, his range of movement and leverage would be limited. “Give me my knife.”

Pulling her gaze away from Helene, Priss turned to him—and went stock-still. “Oh.” She stared at Trace’s naked body and said again, “Oh.”

“The knife.”

Face pinching with outrage, Priss looked at Helene again. “She was going to—”

“I know what she was going to do.”

Anyone could see that Priss considered inflicting more damage on Helene. Trace said firmly, “Don’t do it.”

Jackson glanced over his shoulder, then choked down a snicker. “You see what I’ve been dealing with? It ain’t natural.”

Too furious and too primed to talk, Trace pulled his pants back up but didn’t bother fastening them over his aching erection. If Jackson dared make a single comment about his condition, he’d flatten him.

He said again, “The
knife.
” His commanding tone fi
nally got through to Priss and she moved with belated alacrity.

“Sorry.” She snatched up the knife and came to him.

Trace held out his hand, but instead of giving it to him, Priss went to work on the restraints, wielding the knife with clumsy inefficiency, sawing needlessly before finally cutting through the resistant nylon. “She made these so tight….”

“Quiet.” Taking the knife from her, Trace surged over to Jackson and released his hands. He gave him the handcuffs and, with the most pressing issues resolved, turned back to Priss. “I want you out of here.”

In that instant, Helene started to come around. Jackson flipped her to her stomach and secured the handcuffs to her wrists. She moaned, and Jackson said, “Sorry, sweetheart,” before giving her a sharp tap to the jaw.

She went out like a light again. He sat back against the wall, his legs over Helene, using her like a footstool, and frowned at Trace. “I can explain.”

Trace gave him one hard, direct look. “Shut up.”

“Right.” Going silent, Jackson concentrated on freeing his ankles.

“Don’t be mad at him,” Priss interjected. “I insisted—”

Bodily turning Priss, Trace headed her toward the connecting room. “Not another word out of you, and don’t you dare move until I come for you.”

“Trace…”

“Now.”

She jumped at his hard, furious tone, but damn it, he couldn’t moderate his temper. When she started to speak again, he gave her his deadliest stare. He’d been through a day of hell, and finding her anywhere near the carnage was enough to send him through the roof. Control? Shot to hell.

With any luck, Helene didn’t know who had stunned her, and Trace wanted to keep it that way. She couldn’t know that Priss had been hiding in the connecting room, or that she’d been with Jackson.

He could only hope.

But either way, he didn’t want Priss still around when Helene came to.

She gave him a look of hurt and left for the adjoining room.

“What do we do with this one?” Jackson asked. He nudged Helene with his feet.

Trace turned his back on Jackson without answering.

He went to Helene’s purse and dumped it. Inside he found two more vials of the serum. Apparently she’d planned on one crazy little party for herself.

Jackson was already on his feet, so Trace tossed the vial to him. “Shoot her up with that shit. Use the needle she dropped, but give her a double dose.”

“It won’t kill her?”

“I have no idea.” And at the moment, he didn’t really care. One dose had his memory hazy, so hopefully two would leave her completely at a loss as to what had transpired. “When you finish, dump her somewhere. One shot would give you about a half hour of her being pliable before she turns into a hellcat again. Two might buy you more time.”

“Got it.” After picking up the needle she’d dropped, Jackson eyed Helene’s fallen body. “Shame she’s such a nut. If she had even an ounce of sanity or compassion, she’d be pretty damned sexy.”

Trace didn’t see it. To him, raging psychosis negated any physical appeal Helene might have. “It’ll be better if she doesn’t see you again.”

“That’s what I figured, too.” Jackson tapped the needle, releasing an air bubble, then went back and pulled up
Helene’s tight skirt. He made a sound of regret, and stuck her right cheek.

Helene never stirred.

Trace started to go…but he had to know. He grabbed Jackson’s arm and pulled him to the other side of the room, away from Helene, and away from where Priss could listen in.

W
ITH A CLEAR VIEW OF
Helene still out cold, Trace asked Jackson, “Why the hell are you even here?”

Jackson looked far too uneasy for Trace’s peace of mind. “I know you didn’t want me here. I got the message loud and clear when you cut the call. Thing is, your little lady was damned insistent that I do something.”

“Like get stunned and tied up?”

“You try planning with a hellcat breathing fire in your ear, making demands, prodding you—”

“Priss?”

“She’s a terror. That name doesn’t suit her at all.”

Fine, so Priscilla had been worried. There was no reason, and he’d explain that to her later, but that didn’t get Jackson off the hook. “Why aren’t you at least alone?”

“There was no reasoning with her. She was hell-bent on heading out the door, with or without me.” He met Trace’s anger front on. “My only option was to go along with her, or knock her out the same way I did with Helene.”

The idea of anyone putting hands on Priss left Trace bunched with rage. “Don’t even think—”

Jackson smirked. “Right. I figured you wouldn’t like that idea much.” He glanced back at Hell, saw she was totally limp, and said to Trace, “I was hoping for better timing to tell you this, but since we’ll both be busy tonight… Priss was already riled before she heard you on the phone.”

“Riled?”

He shrugged, uneasiness showing. “Over how the whole rescue went down.”

“What are you talking about?” A thousand scenarios went through Trace’s head. “Did you hurt her?”

“Ah…no. It was the other way around.” Jackson crossed his arms. “You know, you could have warned me about her violent tendencies.”

Yeah, he probably should have. But since he’d told Priss that Jackson might come by… “I don’t understand.”

“Her modesty was bruised, that’s all.” More subdued, Jackson added, “I managed to stuff her out the window and to my car with nary a bruise.”

“So why the hell are you grinning?”

Jackson chewed his lips a minute, then coughed. “She was…well, she was in the shower when I got there. Naked. You know…” He nodded. “All wet and stuff.”

Trace’s heart stopped. “What?” And then with cold menace, he asked, “You saw her naked?”

“Buck-ass. Yup.”

Fighting the urge to flatten a trusted friend and colleague, Trace spoke through his teeth. “You looked?”

“Hello! A little hard not to, Trace, okay? She was
naked.
” He ran a hand over his jaw. “Helene was literally at the door, so I, uh…had to hoist Priss up and out the window.”

Imagining that, Trace went blank, numb.

“No time to waste, you know? I did give her a towel, but…yeah. She dropped it.” In a rush, Jackson added, “Once I had her outside, I gave her my shirt to wear.”

Once he had her outside.
Meaning…he hadn’t just seen a flash of her naked. No. It was way more than that.

Trace had nothing to say. Nothing. The idea of Jackson seeing what he hadn’t, for whatever reason, left him sick with fury and possessive rage.

Jackson cleared his throat. “Well…I should take
care of Hell, right? Figure I’ll pull my car around to the hallway exit and just wrap her in a blanket. Since she’s out and can’t start fussing, odds are no one will notice.” He squinted one eye, peeked down at Trace’s lap and winced. “You okay, buddy? I mean, that looks mighty uncomfortable.”

Trace stared at Jackson, then turned and walked out.
Okay?
Hell, no, he wasn’t okay. He’d been drugged with some strange but powerful chemical substance that made him ultra sensitive, painfully hard and kept even his skin singing.

And then to find out what Priss had been through, the situation she’d been in with Jackson…

Seeing Priss sitting primly on the edge of the bed dressed in Jackson’s clothes did little to assist a return to coherency.

Especially when Priss’s gaze immediately dropped to his open fly.

Damn. She practically devoured him with her eyes—and he liked it. He loved it.

He
needed
it.

But now wasn’t the time, damn it all. Using care, Trace fastened his pants the best he could. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

Did she sound worried, merely curious or a little annoyed? He let out a breath. “I need you someplace safe before anything else happens.”

Priss nodded, but still she sat there, her gaze bright, her cheeks flushed with residual anger. “You’re really okay?”

“I will be.” If she wanted an apology for him yelling at her, she’d be doomed to disappointment. She shouldn’t have been there in the first place, and she shouldn’t have been bullying Jackson.

He held out a hand. “Come on.”

She inhaled sharply, then propelled off the bed and into his arms, squeezing him tight. Her body was flush against his, touching him, moving, and he lost his fragile grip on propriety.

Tangling a hand in her hair, Trace drew her face back and took her mouth in a consuming, starving kiss.

It wasn’t enough.

He wanted to brand her, to claim her, to make her his own in every way imaginable. And she wasn’t fighting him. No, not even close. Instead Priss was all over him, accepting and anxious.

Trace let his hands drop to her bottom, lifting her up and against him. He ground against her, oblivious to everything except her taste, the heat of her body and his straining erection.

When he left her mouth to taste her throat, she whispered, “Trace?” with confusion and need.

“I’m sorry.” There was her damned apology after all, but not for yelling earlier. “Helene drugged me.” He lifted her higher so that he could open his mouth over the tender swells of her breasts.

“I know.” Her hands braced against his shoulders, trying to find balance. “I was so afraid….”

Backing her to the wall, he caught her thighs and lifted them to either side of his hips. Oh, God, perfect. The feel of her, her scent swirling around him… He ravaged the soft, fragrant skin of her throat while moving against the junction of her thighs. A few seconds more, and he’d be coming.

He groaned with rampant need that boiled closer and closer to the surface.

A light tap sounded on the door and Jackson cleared his throat. “Well…this is awkward.”

God Almighty, he’d kill him yet.

Priss’s hand smoothed over Trace’s hair, and he heard
her say, “Not now, Jackson. Close the door. Trace will see you in a few minutes.”

“A few minutes, huh?” Jackson scoffed. “Yeah, sure. But uh…you’re okay, honey?”

Before Trace could decide whether or not to flatten Jackson, Priss hugged him closer.

“I’m fine, I promise.” Her hand continued to move over Trace, easy soothing strokes that still incited his every nerve ending. “Now go away.”

Trace heard the door close and he felt like a bastard, like a molester, like a weak idiot with no morals and no backbone.

Drugs were a real son-of-a-bitch.

Priss had been through her own kind of hell. She deserved his attention, his comfort. But he had no control at all. Hell, even now, knowing his lack of control to be true, he couldn’t seem to pull back from her.

Her hand slid over his shoulder, down to his side. “Trace?” She kissed his ear. “This might be easier on the bed.”

He groaned again, his body straining, racked with need.

Feeling her smile on his temple, he heard her whisper, “Or not.” And then she moved, gliding against his cock, and even through layers of material, it was enough to devastate him.

“Wait.” The single word sounded like sandpaper. Trace fought for a breath, then another. But he would not come in his pants like a green kid. “I can’t…I
won’t
do this.”

“No?”

He wanted her to understand, but he was short on words and long on need. “Not to you.”

She went still, and Trace geared himself up for a variety of reactions. Then she wiggled, and he let her free even though it almost killed him. When her feet touched
the floor again, she didn’t move away from him. Instead she lowered her hands to his erection.

He hissed out a breath. “Priscilla… Honey, this is wrong.”
Even though it felt so good.
“Everything you’ve been through…”

“I’m fine, Trace, really.” Her hand circled him, and she looked at him with a softened gaze and a little awe. “But you’re not.”

He would never understand her. “Everything that’s happened today… You’re not rattled?”

“Not anymore, now that I know you’re safe from Helene.” Priss shrugged, tipped her head. “You seem pretty rock steady, too, considering.”

“I’m on fire.” His hands shook when he cupped her face. “Jesus, I don’t know what she gave me, but…”

“But you still handled things when you needed to.”

Pride demanded that he explain things to her. “I was just about free when you two showed up. I would have gotten away from her.”

Her hands continued to move on him. “I believe you.”

“I would have handled things. You shouldn’t have gotten involved.”

All her attention remained on his cock. “Right now, I’m sort of glad I did.”

She sounded awed, and excited. “That’s not helping, Priss.” Whatever the drug concoction, it had a potent kick that just kept amplifying.

“And you need to get off?”

He stared at her. “You’re not acting very virginal.”

“Get real.” She snorted. “I work in a porn shop.”

A fact he’d never forget. “Yeah, I need to get off.” Even saying it put him perilously close to the edge of no return. “Afterward, maybe I can clear my head.”

“I’d like to help with that.”

The things she said, the things she did… “Your first time shouldn’t be like this.”

“You’re right.” While staring down at him, Priss licked her bottom lip. “The thing is…I want to…taste you.”

His lungs compressed. Hearing her say that nearly took out his knees. He slid his fingers into her hair, holding her head and envisioning the whole thing with devastating effect. He knew he should turn her down, but he couldn’t get the words out.

“Can I take your silence for agreement?”

Trace squeezed his eyes shut tight, told himself to refuse before it was too late… “Yes.”

“Oh, good. But first I have a question.”

He’d never survive this. “What?”

“That bitch didn’t have her mouth on you?”

“No.” He kissed her hard, and wanted to keep on kissing her. Her lips were soft and open, warm and sweet. One day soon he’d take his time with her. Tonight wasn’t it. “No, she didn’t. That was her plan, but then you and Jackson got there—”

“I’m so glad.” Priss started slipping down to her knees, and Trace knew he wouldn’t last. Not beyond a minute. Maybe not beyond the first touch of her sweet mouth.

He tried to go easy, to keep from clenching his fingers in her hair, but the second he felt her breath he was a goner. Her tongue touched him tentatively, exploring, and he suffered a hot surge. “Don’t tease, Priss. I can’t take it.”

She said, “Mmm,” and her mouth opened on the head, sliding over him, enclosing him in moist heat. He stiffened all the way down to his toes.

Holding him in her fist, Priss took more of him, almost to the base of his shaft, and he lost it. She might be a novice, but her innocence was more of a turn-on than experience could ever be. He knew he would be her first
in so many ways, but this—this had been reserved for fantasies.

With his hands in her hair, Trace held her close, guiding her, showing her how he needed her to move. A ringing sounded in his ears, his limbs trembled, pleasure exploded and he came with a groan of bone-deep satisfaction.

Only vaguely aware of her taking everything from him, swallowing, moaning in her own excitement, Trace eased her away.

As Priss reluctantly released him, he dropped down to sit beside her, his back against the wall, his thoughts blessedly cleared and his body no longer on fire. He labored for breath, and tried to think.

Almost purring, Priss snuggled against him like a content little cat. “That was pretty neat.”

Pretty neat.
God, it wasn’t to be borne. Putting an arm around her, Trace mustered up common sense. “We have to get out of here.” He squeezed her to his chest in a brief hug. “I swear I’ll not only thank you properly, I’ll reciprocate—”

“Reciprocate?” She perked up at that idea, then blushed. “You mean…?”

He could hardly wait. “Yes, but that’ll have to be later. Right now, I need you to change into your regular clothes. You have something here in the room, don’t you?”

Frowning, confused and maybe a little hurt, she nodded. “Yes.”

“Good. After you’re dressed, get together everything. Don’t even leave behind a hairpin.”

“I don’t own hairpins.”

Her disgruntlement made him smile. She was so incredibly sweet and unique, sensual and independent. And far too daring. He touched the corner of her mouth, then had to kiss her. “I’ll be back in minutes, and then we’ll get out of here.”

She caught his hand as he stood to leave. “Trace?”

Damn, she was beautiful. He pulled her to her feet, kissed her again, quick and hard. “I need you, Priss.
You,
not just quickie relief—though I swear, what just happened is something I’ll never forget.”

“Really?”

How in the world could she look complimented by that? “Really. But the drugs haven’t worn off, and I’m far from done, and you’re the only woman I want.”

Her expression brightened more. “The only one?”

Trace laughed. After the night he’d had, it was the most absurd of reactions, but still, he laughed again. “We need privacy, honey. And a bed. And I need you naked.” He cupped his hand to her cheek. “Let me help Jackson, and then we can get out of here.”

She turned away to the closet. “I’ll be ready when you are.”

Never in his life had Trace expected to find such an…accommodating woman. In so many ways, she matched him, when he hadn’t thought that was possible. Until meeting Priss, he’d marveled at how easily Dare had settled into marriage, because it had seemed such an unachievable dream to him. But now…he wasn’t sure a lifetime with Priss would be enough.

She made him laugh, when genuine laughter had been missing for so long from his life. Drugged or not, she turned him inside out wanting her. And though he’d kept many innocents from becoming collateral damage, he’d never once felt for any of them the same powerful mix of emotions that Priss wrought.