Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [135]
“You’ve been even more pampered than me, haven’t you?”
Liger brushed his teeth over her knee, gave her one of his sweet meows and then fell to his back again, stretching out and closing his eyes.
Matt popped up over the end of the dock. “He’s really taken over running the place.”
“I can see that.” Liger got attention from everyone, sat where he wanted, slept when he felt like it, and enjoyed playing with Sargie and Tai. While she and Trace traveled, Chris insisted on keeping the cat. Liger didn’t need constant supervision, but Chris had gotten close to him, and vice versa.
With Liger now resting, Priss pulled off her cover-up.
Matt whistled. “Nice suit.”
She looked down at herself. The suit was pretty basic; beige with no adornment, not an itty-bitty bikini but not overly modest, either. It was almost the exact color as her skin, so it didn’t clash with anything, but the material was thick enough to conceal all things vital. “It’s the first one I’ve ever owned. It looks okay?”
Chris swam over to the dock, too. Crossing his forearms over the end, he surveyed her. “Trace hasn’t seen it yet, has he?”
She shook her head, and tried not to sound sour when she said, “He’s out and about somewhere.” She flapped a hand. “Don’t know where, and I don’t know when he’ll be back.”
Matt dunked his head, then came up for air. His bleached hair stood in wet, spiky disarray, but as always, he looked good. “I’m surprised anyone could separate you two.” He swiped water from his face. “It’s been what? A couple of months together now, right? All of it nonstop clinginess.”
Dropping her towel and cover-up on a chair, Priss pretended annoyance. “Why are you here again?”
He preened theatrically. “Molly liked what I did with your hair so much that I do hers now, too. Dare even added a regular salon room in the basement for me. Makes it pretty easy to work and it saves Molly from having to suffer through the crowds and incompetence in town.”
Priss was willing to bet that Dare enjoyed knowing Molly was safe. They all trusted Matt, as far as it went, and he did do fabulous work.
Chris still hung off the end of the dock looking all too serious. “So.” He splashed Priss with a cupped hand. “What exactly are you doing down here?”
“I’m getting ready to swim with you guys.”
“No, I meant with Trace.” He glanced past her up the hill toward the house, then back again. “If that suit is supposed to push him over the edge, I’m guessing it’ll work.”
Priss doubted anyone or anything could push Trace anywhere that he didn’t intend to go. “I needed a suit, so I bought one.” She sat on the end of the dock next to Chris and let her feet dangle in the water. “And why do you always attribute ridiculous childish emotions to everything I do?”
He shook his head. “Just wondering why you haven’t yet told Trace how you feel.”
“How do you know I haven’t?”
Matt laughed. “Your baleful expressions of discontent?”
Chris just stared at her, waiting.
Fine, why not be honest? “I don’t know how he feels, that’s why.”
“That’s so lame.” Chris splashed her again, harder this time, so that the water hit her in the face. “Who says the guy has to spill his guts first?”
Her temper sparked. “I’ve spilled plenty of guts for him! I confided in him about my mother long before he’d tell me anything. Do you know how long it took him to even admit—”
Matt said, “La, la, la…” and wisely dunked his head under the water again.
“—that he was undercover?”
“You know why,” Chris told her.
It annoyed Priss that she’d forgotten to be cautious. Obviously Matt was a welcome, trusted friend, but he wasn’t in on the business, and she knew better than to mention anything about it. “In the beginning, sure.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t need him to tell me.” She looked out across the water. “I’ve figured it all out.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“He took off again today, all hush-hush, and still didn’t trust me enough to say where he had to go.”
Matt resurfaced. “Sorry.” He gasped for air. “Can’t hold my breath any longer.”
“No problem,” Priss told him. Maybe she’d catch Chris