Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [49]
She closed her eyes as a great well of hurt pulled at her, making it difficult to interact, even though she really liked everyone.
Chris was genuine, and hilariously witty. Matt was all serious business over the task of improving upon her very humdrum appearance.
And Molly, well, Molly sensed her upset and tried to put her at ease, to make her more comfortable. But the truth was, Trace had touched her, kissed her and then he’d drugged her. His remorse meant nothing, not when on the heels of apologizing, he’d dropped her off among strangers and then left her.
Where the hell was he?
Even in her agitation, Priss concentrated on not crossing her arms or shifting her feet too much. She didn’t want to bump her hands into anything and maybe ruin her pretty French manicure, or mar the sexy red polish on her toes.
It felt very new to be spiffed up like this, and if it wasn’t for her need to get closer to Murray, she’d never have allowed it. But Murray had ordered it, and if she refused, she’d give herself away and possibly miss the opportunity to destroy him.
That she wouldn’t do.
Since the makeover took place in Dare’s family room in front of a small audience, it was doubly awkward. The family room connected from the kitchen, and that meant Trace or Dare could come upon them at any minute, too.
But they didn’t.
Dare’s house was enormous, and beautiful, and masculine. Molly told her that she hadn’t changed a thing after moving in, except to put away her belongings and turn one of the rooms into an office for her personal use.
Chris Chapey, Dare’s personal assistant and, she gathered, a very close friend, did a good job at keeping everything well organized. Chris was a funny guy with sinful good looks, a great body, a wicked sense of humor and edgy sarcasm. He kept Dare’s home running smoothly.
But personally, his tastes tended toward grunge chic. He was sloppy, disheveled and half dressed, but somehow on Chris, it worked.
Though it wasn’t overly obvious, Priss figured he was also gay. That helped ease her discomfort with him. Matt, too.
And Molly, well, Molly was so cheerful, so accepting of the bizarre circumstances of Trace showing up with a drugged woman, that Priss couldn’t help but wonder about her.
What had she been through to make everything else seem so ordinary?
Molly came from the kitchen carrying a tray filled with cans of Coke and two glasses with ice. “Priss, would you like a cola? Or something to eat?”
So that someone else could drug her again? Did they all think she was an idiot? She gave Molly a look of disbelief. “We’ve already been through this.”
Molly blushed. “But the Cokes aren’t even opened yet.”
Forgoing the glasses, which Priss assumed were for the ladies, Chris snagged a can for himself.
“Neither was the water before I drank it.”
Matt said, “Priss needs to sit still until I’m finished and until her polish has dried.”
When he’d first arrived, Matt had set up a makeshift salon, unloading everything he’d need, including a vinyl cover on the floor, a special chair with a tray in the front, and a big mirror, in record time. He moved at a frenetic pace and expected her to keep up. “But I’ll take a drink over ice. Thank you.”
Glaring at him through the mirror, Priss said, “If I wanted a drink, I’d have a drink. But I think I’ll be safer sticking with stuff that I’ve bought or prepared myself.”
Molly winced. “I could be your official taster, if you want.”
Chris rolled his eyes over that dramatic offer, and Matt pretended not to hear.
So far she’d noticed that Matt was good at playing deaf, dumb and blind when necessary.
“No, thanks.” Truthfully, she was still too furious to be hungry or thirsty. Where was Trace? What was he up to? How dare he do this to her?
Sure, he’d introduced her to everyone, including Matt, but then, on his way out, he’d told her to “behave,” in the same tone he might have used with an unruly kid.
It almost made her blush to recall her sharp reply of “Bite me.”
Trace hadn’t said anything more;