Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [54]
“Guaranteed.” Especially if he made her stunning, as he’d promised. She couldn’t wait to see Trace’s reaction to that.
Matt took one of Priss’s hands, one of Molly’s, and the next thing she knew, they were all three dancing as the dogs bounded around them, barking in excitement. Liger watched with little interest.
And Priss had a blast.
CHAPTER NINE
TRACE FOLLOWED BEHIND Chris as he led the way from his smaller house down closer to the lake, up to Dare’s much larger home. They’d accomplished only a little, but he now knew that Priss’s ID was authentic, and that she lived in Ohio.
“She was seriously ready to blow, Trace. I know pissed when I see it, and that girl was pissed. Big-time.”
Dare flattened his mouth, but couldn’t keep quiet. “You say Matt wanted to wax her?”
“Yeah.” Chris looked back at them. “I think he thought he was supposed to…you know…style her everywhere.”
Trace locked his teeth together. He did not want to have this discussion again. Not with his friends.
“I don’t blame her for complaining.” Dare frowned at Trace. “Hell of a thing to ask a girl to do, especially in a private home instead of a salon.”
Trace stopped dead in his tracks, fed up, pushed over the edge. “She’s not a girl. She’s a grown woman who put herself in this predicament by plotting against Murray.”
Dare and Chris stopped, too, then turned to face him. They both crossed their arms and waited.
“Mutt and Jeff,” Trace muttered over their belligerent, accusing expressions. “How you two can act so much alike, I don’t understand.”
Chris was the first to drop his arms. “We don’t.” And then, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“He’s deflecting,” Dare told Chris, not changing his stance one iota. “Guilt is a son-of-a-bitch, and he’s got it in spades.”
Chris cocked a brow. “Because he wanted her waxed?”
“Hell, no, I don’t want that.”
Chris half smiled. “I see.”
“He’s feeling guilty because it was no doubt Murray’s idea to put Priss through this, and Trace agreed to it, even knowing how Priss was going to feel about it.”
“No, I did not,” Trace told him, so tense that his neck ached. “I’d already told Murray…” Shit, he didn’t want to tell them what he’d said to Murray in order to convince him.
Dare looked at him with disgust. “This ought to be good.”
“Well, it’s not.” In fact, it sucked. “Let’s just say I handled it.”
Dare continued to stare at him. “No waxing?”
“No.”
Chris asked, “Does Priss know how you handled it?”
“No.”
“Then maybe you ought to tell her before she murders Matt.”
Trace started on his way again, this time taking the lead. “She’s five-four and weighs less than one-twenty. Matt can handle himself.”
“Says the man with the black eye.”
Rather than throttle Chris, Trace lengthened his stride. Though he’d needed some space from Priss to put things in perspective, he probably shouldn’t have left her alone with the others. Had she grilled them? Had she exposed his undercover stint to Matt?
No, she wouldn’t do that.
And Trace realized that he did trust Priss, at least a little.
She wouldn’t give him away, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t dig for information. Hell, she’d had over an hour to work on them. In the meantime, he’d used the excuse of doing a rudimentary check on her background, and touching base with Jackson, to regain his bearings.
As he neared the back door of the house, Trace’s pulse quickened. Was Priss still fired up? Would he need to console her? Reason with her?
Even after she decked him, he still looked forward to her every reaction—and then he heard the loud music.
And the laughter.
Chris cleared his throat. “Huh. I guess Matt talked her off the ledge.”
Dare said quietly, “Shut up, Chris.”
Trace tuned them out as he stormed up to the glass door and opened it.
While Molly stood off to the side laughing, both dogs bounding around her, Priss snuggled up against Matt and got twirled right off her feet.
She put her head back and laughed aloud. Her hands clung to Matt’s shoulders.
Her pelvis flattened against his.
Long ropes of hair wrapped in silver foil stuck out around her