Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [55]
For a woman set on murdering her father, she looked mighty happy.
Liger was the only one to notice Trace’s entrance. The big cat jumped down from the windowsill and started his way. Chris and Dare crowded in behind Trace.
And still Trace stood there in the open doorway, frozen with some anomalous, churning emotion.
Yeah, Matt was more than able to handle Priss. The son-of-a-bitch had just picked her up off her feet. Again.
And again, Priss held on to him.
Near his ear, Chris said, “Yeah, uh, this might be a good time to remind you that Matt is gay.”
“Somehow,” Trace told him, “that’s not mattering to me much right now.”
Dare said, “You never know when to quit, do you, Chris?”
As Matt twirled her around, Priss laughed without reserve, and Trace wanted her so damn bad that he couldn’t see straight.
Only when Liger hunkered down in front of him did Trace draw his gaze away from Priss. The cat’s ponderous backside twitched and shifted left and right as he prepared to leap up into Trace’s arms, whether Trace wanted to hold him or not.
But he did. He needed an ally right about now.
Trace opened his arms.
Chris and Dare backed up.
In one agile leap, the cat came up to Trace’s chest, and that finally grabbed Priss’s attention.
Huffing from her exertion, her face flushed and her expression happy, she looked toward the door—and went still.
Dare pushed past Trace and went to the wall unit to turn down the music.
Into the silence, Chris asked, “Everyone having fun?”
“God, Chris,” Dare said. “Trace is going to kill you if you don’t shut up.”
“Really?” Priss struck a pose of annoyance, one hip cocked out, her arms crossed, her chin elevated. “And here Molly and Chris assured Matt that you weren’t the type to cause bodily harm.”
“They must have been jesting.” Trace was well used to Chris’s warped sense of humor, so Chris wasn’t in any danger. But Matt… Trace zeroed in on him. In a tone more lethal for the quietness of it, he asked, “What are you doing?”
“Harmless dancing?” Matt replied in a nervous question, unsure of the right answer.
Priss suddenly stepped in front of Matt, which left Matt bemused. “Don’t act snarky with him, Trace. I asked him to dance with me. We had some time to kill before this crud comes out of my hair. And you were nowhere to be found.”
Matt pulled her aside, earning a glare from Trace. He quickly held up his hands, palms out, to prove he wasn’t touching her. “Speaking of time, we can go wash your hair right now, if everyone will just excuse us.”
“I need a minute with Priss first.” Trace eyed her militant stance, and had to fight a smile. She had a backbone of steel. He liked that. “Alone.”
“Only a minute,” Matt admonished. “Any longer, and her hair could be ruined.”
Trace looked around the room at their audience.
“Yeah, right.” Chris opened the back door with a flourish. “Privacy beckons from beyond. Knock yourself out.”
Patience personified, Trace watched Priss as she tried to think of some reason to refuse. In the end, she stormed past him, the dogs hot on her heels. With a salute to the others, he carried out the cat and closed the door behind them.
The dogs continued on down the hill, all the way to the lake. Tai waded in and lapped at the water. Sargie sprawled out on the sun-warmed grass and watched her.
Arms folded, foil glinting in the sunshine, Priss stared after them. Silence reigned for half a minute, then she said, “Heck of a shiner you’ve got there.”
Again his mouth quirked with a grin. “It’ll probably look worse in a few more hours.” One thing about Priss, she would always amuse him. “You took me by surprise so it was a direct shot.”
Subdued, she hung her head. “Pure reaction to realizing I’d been drugged. Sorry.”
Pure reaction? Meaning she was trained enough to react by instinct? Every hour he learned something new about her. If she was trained, that would be a good thing. Not that she could possibly have enough instruction to deflect the likes of Murray. “I’m fine, Priss. Don’t worry about