Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [143]
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE SNATCHING THE GIANT cat away from him, Priss held him protectively. With his chin tucked into the longer hair on his chest, Liger continued to purr. Priss looked equal parts alarmed, furious and defensive. “Listen to me,” Trace said. “No, you listen.” It was the darkest, coldest tone he’d heard from her. “If you touch one finger to my cat, I’ll…” She didn’t finish the threat, unable to think of anything dire enough. Rolling his eyes, Trace rose back to his feet and surveyed her apartment. It was clean but ragtag, spare beyond measure, and in no way secure. “I’m trying to make sure the cat stays safe. Anything or anyone that can be used against you is in danger. That’s why I asked you if you were involved with anyone else in any way.” “Oh.” He cut his gaze to her. “What did you think? That I was hitting on you?” Her right shoulder lifted. “You had just seen me all but naked.” God, he didn’t need her to remind him; the image would be forever burned into his brain. “You flaun
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX IT DIDN’T SURPRISE Trace when Priss jumped up to confront him. “What was that about?” Dread left her pale and angry. “Why were you talking about rape? What are you planning? What is he planning?” Trace studied her face. Without makeup, her long hair rumpled and hanging in tangles, she was still so damn sexy that he had to fight to keep his body from reacting. Again. He wanted to protect her, to soothe her, and he wanted to be inside her. Right now. Through the oversize T-shirt she’d worn as a nightgown, he could see the generous swell of her breasts, and even the outline of her soft nipples. From the jut of that stupendous rack, the shirt dropped over a flat belly down to rounded, shapely thighs. She was so small boned, Trace thought, her wrists and ankles fragile, feminine. “Trace,” she warned, as if she had any leverage against him. “Tell me what’s going on.” “All right.” He closed the small space between them. “Seems you and Daddy Dearest have a few things in common.” Sh
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN HE’D DONE A LOT OF atrocious things in his lifetime. He’d maimed many men, killed more than that, all without this awful, gnawing remorse. The things he did were part of the job, his self-assigned duty to society. He removed the scum, or took them out of commission, without blinking an eye. Along the way, he’d occasionally had to manipulate an innocent, always without real harm. But this time, with Priss…an unbearable churning of guilt, regret and anger left him keyed up and furious. What was it about Priscilla Patterson that turned him inside out like this? More than most, he understood the need for a clear head, for uncompromised dedication to seeing the job through. Murray and his ilk, his associates and admirers, were a waste of humanity at best, a threat to unprotected people at worst. After what had happened to his sister, no way in hell could Trace let any of them slide. He’d see them all in hell before he quit. But with Priss in his arms, her damned oversize cat s
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT THE MINUTE MOLLY AND Priss disappeared inside, Trace cursed. He actually wanted to hit something, but a tree would break his knuckles, he didn’t want to put another dent in the truck, and Dare would hit back. Chris Chapey, Dare’s longtime best friend and personal assistant, approached with the enormous cat draped over one shoulder so that he could keep an eye on the trailing dogs. The bottom half of Liger filled his arms, and the long tail hung down to the hem of Chris’s shorts. Without even thinking about it, Trace started petting the cat. After a few hours in the truck together, he and Liger had an understanding of sorts. Dare watched him, but said only, “That cat is a beast.” “He’s an armful, that’s for sure.” Chris hefted him a little higher, and got a sweet meow in return. Both dogs barked in excitement, but quieted when Liger gave them a level stare. Chris laughed at that.