Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [83]
He did not sound sorry, not in the least.
“Didn’t mean to stare.”
He’d been staring? She should kill him. She really should. But…she might need him for protection. And Trace probably wouldn’t like it if she offed one of his operatives.
“Naked woman and all.” Jackson gestured lamely. “It’s instinct, ya know? Guy’s gotta look.”
Priss tried to gather herself, but it wasn’t easy. Molly hadn’t exaggerated: Jackson was drop-dead gorgeous, now shirtless, and outrageously cocky and outspoken.
Hoping to bury the topic of her nakedness, she asked, “Where are we going?”
“My place, I reckon.” He pressed a palm to his fly and winced. “I need some ice.”
Still feeling very exposed—she wore only a man’s dark T-shirt—Priss looked around the interior of the car. “I don’t suppose you have a jacket?”
“In this heat?” He shook his head, but offered his hat with gallant fanfare. “That help?”
She took it and dropped it into her lap. “Please tell me you’re staying somewhere private.”
“Nope.” He glanced at her, his gaze dipping to her chest before darting away again. “Above a bar, actually.”
Groaning, Priss dropped back in her seat. Worse and worse.
“Where’d you learn to fight?” Before she could answer, he asked, “Does Trace know about your violent tendencies?”
Scenery passed in a blur. Car lights lit the interior, then faded away. It started to rain.
Priss swallowed back her embarrassment and shrugged. “I blackened his eye.”
“That son-of-a-bitch.” Jackson chuckled. “He could have warned me.”
“How am I going to get into your place dressed like this?”
“Want me to carry you again?”
Priss drew back, ready to slug him, but he subdued her with a charming grin. “Hold up, little girl. I was just teasing.”
“Little girl?” Killing him seemed more appealing by the second. At the very least, it’d give her something to do besides feel exposed and vulnerable.
“Now don’t go all feminist on me.” He slowed to turn a corner. “You’re what? Five-two?”
“Five-four.”
“’Bout a hundred pounds?”
Her teeth clicked together. “More than that.”
“Didn’t feel like it.”
Again she drew back to punch him, but he only laughed at her, robbing her of any real anger. She ended up swatting his shoulder, and he didn’t even seem to feel it.
“Don’t bludgeon me, sweetheart. Whatever the exact measurements, you gotta admit you’re small.”
Petite would be a more polite term, not that she’d debate it with him. “I’m not a girl.”
“Grown woman, huh?” His sensual gaze flashed over her, leaving her fidgeting. “Fine, I’ll take your word for it.”
“Like you even have to.” The man had seen every inch of her, from every angle. She covered her face again.
“Yeah,” he commiserated, “I did get the vantage point on that, didn’t I?”
“Shut up.”
He turned onto a different street. “I can take you up the back way. Later tonight, Trace’ll probably come by for you.”
“You think?” Trace had told her that he wasn’t likely to see her again tonight.
“Sure. Whatever his plans, he hadn’t counted on this.” Jackson cocked a brow and his grin went crooked. “Can’t say as he’ll be thrilled to know I took you from the shower, but damned if I’m not looking forward to telling him.”
So Trace felt like he had a claim? Worked for her. “You enjoy annoying him?”
“Yeah. It’s fair.” He pulled his car into the parking lot for a busy bar, but drove around the back.
“This reminds me of the place I was staying.”
“Yeah, except that I’m a guy and you’re…not, and neither place is appropriate for you.” He parked the car, got out and came around to her door to play at being a gentleman. “Let’s go.”
Priss noticed several couples loitering around in plain view. “In front of them?”
“Drunks and hoochies. Don’t worry about it.”
Eyes narrowing, she tucked in her chin. “Hoochies?”
With a roll of his eyes he caught her arm and hauled her out. “Don’t go getting offended on behalf of the female populace. Most of the women that hang out here have hit on me—aggressively—without knowing shit about me, and at least half of them were married. So yeah, they’re not exactly paragons of society.”
Still