Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [58]
All three men looked up.
As if in slow motion, Dare set aside the knife he’d been using to cut chicken salad sandwiches into quarters.
Chris pushed back from the computer and let loose with a low whistle.
Trace stared. Damn, he’d known she was a looker, no disguise could hide that. But he hadn’t realized…
Matt beamed. “Stunning, am I right?”
“Well, say something, guys.” Molly slid in around the two of them and came forward, grinning. She carried a bag of products that Priss would use to re-create her current look. “Doesn’t she look fantastic?”
“Yeah, she does.” Dare pulled Molly in close, kissed her and whispered something in her ear. She looked at Trace and laughed.
Chris saluted his friend. “Great work.” And then to Priss, “You can copy it?”
“I’m not an idiot. It’s a little makeup and some hair product. Easy-peesy.”
Trace barely followed the conversation. Priss’s long hair had been trimmed and shaped so that now it somehow fluffed around her face, looking like she’d just come from a little bedroom activity. The subtle red coloring showed more, and looked sexier.
Green eyes that had always been direct now looked sultry and suggestive, even while she awaited his verdict on the results. Her lashes looked longer, her lips more lush—and none of it was obvious.
She looked good enough to tempt a saint, and it dawned on Trace that Murray, who was nowhere near sainthood, would think so, too.
Furious at the situation, at the overriding conflict of what he had to do versus what he wanted to do, Trace drew a tight breath. “Yeah. Fantastic.”
Propping her hands on her hips, her attitude unaltered by her beauty, Priss glared. “So why do you sound so disgusted, then?”
Dare pulled Molly closer to his side. “You look very nice, Priss. It’s just that Trace isn’t a man who likes to share, but he’s currently not in a position to deny others.”
Trace continued to stare at her, and he saw her dawning understanding. She gave a peek back at Matt, aware of him as a trusted friend but not a part of the inner circle. Hell, Priss didn’t know what that inner circle protected, and still she went along.
“Got it. Well, it’s not Trace’s problem. Maybe he should recall that.” She turned to look at the wall clock. “Shouldn’t we be hitting the road?”
The woman looked like living, breathing sex, but she talked like a businesswoman. Trace hated it. All of it.
Dare indicated the array of food. “I fixed lunch. You have to be getting hungry.”
Matt went straight for the grub, but Priss declined. “No, thanks.”
Trace scowled. “Enough already. You need to eat.” Hell, she hadn’t had anything, not even a drink of water, since her breakfast sandwich early that morning.
The makeup and tousled hair lent a whole new air to her expression of sarcasm. “I’m nothing if not a fast learner.”
Bemused, Dare picked up a sandwich, took a bite and then offered her the rest. “Safe enough?”
“You guys are tricky, so I’ll pass.”
“For the love of…” Trace let that sentiment trail off. Seeing her so hot, so sexy, had done enough to destroy his calm. “Don’t push me, Priss.”
“Or you’ll do what? Dope me?”
Matt glanced up, then deliberately away, whistling softly to himself.
Trace took one hard step toward her—and his cell phone rang. Scowling, he retrieved it from his pocket, looked at the number and then at Matt. “Out.”
Matt grabbed two more sandwiches and his drink and headed to the family room. Chris caught Molly’s arm and urged her from her seat. “We’ll go with him.”
Rolling her eyes, Molly went along, but said to Dare, “I’ll expect an update.”
He just nodded. The dynamics of their relationship amazed Trace. Apparently Dare confided everything in his wife.
Must be nice to be that secure with a woman.
He eyed Priss, who stood still in front of him, in no way considering his possible need for privacy.
Trace answered the phone. “Miller.”
“How’s it going, Trace? Is Priss cooperating with the stylist?”
“It’s fine. And yeah, she is.” Truthfully, she’d done her best to bully Matt, but luckily he wasn’t a pushover.
“Got a report on the results?