Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [57]
Cautious, Priss watched him. “Which part?”
“You’re from Ohio.”
Her eyes darkened. “What else?”
“I verified your age.”
“And?”
He wasn’t ready to tell her everything he’d learned, not yet. “You do own an adult store. It earns enough to sustain you, but you’re never going to be financially comfortable.”
“My idea of comfort probably differs from yours.”
“Your employee, Gary Deaton, is in his early forties. He has a minor criminal record, and a big-time case for you.”
Her eyes went wider.
“You officially took over running the place about six months ago. Three months ago, it became yours.” Because her mother had died. Trace shook his head. He didn’t want to get into a big discussion on her mother, yet. “That’s all.”
Relief washed over her. “That’s all? Good grief, isn’t that enough?”
Not by a long shot. He softened his tone. “What did you think I’d find?”
“Too many things for us to go into now. Matt’s returning. And I really don’t want my hair ruined just because you chose a warped time for deep discussions.” More anxious than not, Priss stood. “One more thing, though.”
Trace stood, too. “Yes?”
Matt opened the door and tapped his foot.
“I don’t give a fig what Murray thinks about it. No one is seeing me naked, not for any reason.”
Trace touched her jaw, smoothed his thumb over her chin. “Not even me?”
On a sigh of pure exasperation, Matt shut the door again.
“Not if you have hot wax with you, no.” Priss met his gaze without flinching. “Otherwise…I might be willing.”
He tried to hide his surprise—and his pleasure. “Is that right?”
She shrugged. “Let’s just say I understand what motivates you, so I can maybe get beyond it.”
Not kissing her proved impossible. It was tricky, but Trace managed to bend close without losing his good eye on the edges of silver foil. He brushed his mouth over hers, felt her warm breath, the softness of her lips, and had to force himself to draw away.
“Don’t worry about any of that. I…” Damn. He shook his head. “I convinced Murray that you weren’t the type to allow it.”
“Not the type?”
“I believe I used the term country bumpkin. I said you’d revolt, and he agreed to leave you au natural. You can thank me now.”
Priss snorted. “It’s humiliating, knowing you discussed that with him, with Matt and probably with your buddies Chris and Dare, too.”
He cupped his hands around her neck. “I know, and I am sorry. But surely it’s better than the alternative of—”
She smashed a hand over his mouth. “I’d have hurried along my plans to kill Murray before letting anyone invade my privacy that way.”
“You are not killing anyone.” Regardless of solid motivations.
“That’s not for you to decide.”
It was, but she hadn’t accepted it yet. Trace caught her wrist, kissed her palm and lowered her hand. “Dare and I agree that you can leave here fully conscious. Just know that until everything is resolved—”
“Everything, meaning what?”
He ignored her interruption. “—you’ll be watched. Forget privacy, Priss, because you won’t have any. Until I’m satisfied that you won’t throw a wrench into my plans, you’re going to have a tail 24/7.”
For reasons Trace couldn’t understand, she smiled at him. “Fine by me.” She patted his chest. “Just don’t plan on being satisfied anytime soon.”
She stepped around him to pick up her cat, opened the door, and said into the room, “Hairdresser, I’m ready. Let’s get this over with.”
TWO HOURS FELT LIKE TEN as Trace paced the kitchen, waiting for Priss’s unveiling. Chris and Dare were with him, but Molly had gone along with Priss and Matt.
He glanced at his watch again. “Can’t you hurry Matt along?”
Busy at the computer, Chris made a face. “For the umpteenth time, no. He’s creating art, or so he says. Leave him to it.”
“I’m going to be late.”
“You’ve got plenty of time,” Dare told Trace as he finished making sandwiches. “Even if you hit traffic, which you shouldn’t, you’ll get back with a couple of hours to spare.”
“I’ll have to get Priss settled before I take off.”
“Jackson’s on hold. He’ll be ready when you are.”
From the doorway, Priss asked,