Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [107]
The sooner she wrapped up her business with Murray, the sooner she could concentrate on Trace.
Wondering about that, what the future might hold, she turned her head and found Trace watching her.
He looked so serious that it startled her. “You’re not sleeping?”
“No.” When his fingers moved, she realized that he had his large hand cupped over her breast. His gaze went to her mouth. “How do you feel?”
Oh, she knew that look only too well now. Much as she’d like to jump his bones—again—reality took over. “Sore. In need of coffee.” She winced, hating to disappoint him. “And I have to pee.”
The heat dimmed in his amazing hazel eyes, replaced with humor. “I should have realized.” After he kissed her shoulder, he said, “Go on. I’ll get the coffee ready.”
“Thank you.” But she hesitated. She was naked. He was naked. And now, with morning sunlight slanting through a break in the curtains, well…it was different.
One brow lifted and he rose up to an elbow. “Feeling shy?”
“Maybe a little.”
His grin warned her seconds before he whipped away the covers. She smacked at him, but that only got her kissed again. “Come on.” He left the bed and pulled her up with him. “Do what you have to do, then come back to bed. We’ll drink our coffee there.”
“I think I need a shower.” The excesses of the night had left her a little sweaty.
Trace hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”
She didn’t understand his quick agreement until she was in the shower, hot water easing the aches of her body. The curtain pulled back and Trace, still naked, handed her a cup of coffee.
She’d touched his body everywhere, tasted him all over and yet, seeing him again, even without the kick of caffeine, left her taut with renewed interest.
She reached for the coffee cup, got about half of it gulped down, then stepped back. “Care to join me?”
Already stepping in, he said, “I was going to insist.” He took the cup from her and set it outside the tub, closed the curtain, and reached for the soap.
“What are you going to do?”
“Bathe you.” He turned her so her back was to his chest, the water sluicing over her breasts. “You hadn’t danced, hadn’t made love. I’m guessing no one has ever pampered you, either.”
The feel of his soap-slick hands sliding down her body made her eyes heavy and her breath shallow. “No.”
“Good.” His erection nudged her backside as he whispered, “Then I can be first at this, too.”
OVER AN HOUR LATER, after they’d run out of energy, Priss curled up against Trace in the bed. She loved how familiar it already felt to be with him like this, her head on his shoulder, his hand curved over her hip.
Staying like this for…oh, forever…would be heavenly. But they both knew reality would soon interfere.
Priss hated to ruin the moment, but it wasn’t in her nature to stew in silence. And after the closeness they’d shared in the last twenty-four hours…well, she felt she deserved a few answers.
A hand on his chest, her leg over his, she tipped her face up to see Trace. “What are you really doing with Murray?”
Though his gaze slanted down at her, he stayed stubbornly silent. After all the tenderness, the intimacy, his lack of trust was almost palpable. Considering she could still taste him, and her heart still pounded with excitement, that should have been insulting.
But for whatever reason, it wasn’t. Trace was who he needed to be in order to keep others safe, to rescue them from horrendous situations. She got it, more now than ever.
“You need me to go first, huh?” Her hand stroking his chest hair, Priss said, “I can understand that.”
When dealing with Murray and his ilk, trust was an elusive thing.
She drew a breath, and burrowed closer to Trace’s heat. The confession she needed to make left her throat feeling raw and her chest tight. But it had to be said.
She sensed Trace’s stillness, maybe even a little dread. He wanted to know her secrets, but he intuitively knew that the truths would be ugly.
“Murray not only raped my mom, he passed her around to his friends and let them all rape her, too. That lasted for about