Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [90]
Just in case, he waited a minute more, and then pulled into the apartment parking lot. If the coast was clear and no one had followed Jackson, he would shower off the blood and then go to her.
He could hardly wait to get her close, to touch her, taste her…to get her under him.
If fate dealt him a winning hand, tonight would be the night.
BLOOD PUMPING HOT AND FAST, Helene waited just inside the entry doors of Trace’s hotel. After finding Priss’s apartment empty, she decided she would not waste the night. They thought they were so clever, but they had underestimated her.
Even through the rain, she had a clear view of the parking lot. Trace, always so cautious, furtively checked everything and everyone—but he didn’t see her, she made sure of that.
As she waited, he left the car, turned up his jacket collar and, ignoring the rain, pulled out his cell phone to put in a call.
When he started in, she ducked to the side of the foyer, partially behind a tall plastic plant, not really hiding, but not exactly making herself noticeable, either.
She had hoped that Trace would have Priscilla with him, and to that end, she’d brought plenty of her special formula with her, enough to make them both pay, enough that they would finally understand what she could and would do.
Unfortunately, Trace entered alone, speaking intently into the phone.
To Murray? She couldn’t hear what he said, but she didn’t think so. The usual curt deference reserved for Murray wasn’t in evidence. In fact, he almost—but not quite—smiled. No, he spoke to someone else, someone friendlier than Murray.
From his fair hair to his broad shoulders and down that strong back to his powerful thighs, Helene’s gaze went over him.
She shivered.
Having Trace defenseless against her, even dependent upon her, would be better, much better, than playing with Priss.
Almost as if he felt her heated interest, Trace suddenly stopped—and oh, so slowly turned to face her.
Their gazes clashed, held.
Something dangerous, something ultimately deadly shone in his mesmerizing hazel eyes. She breathed harder, her stomach tightening, her sex growing damp.
She’d wanted him from day one, but he’d always treated her with contempt. Tonight, he would do as she wanted. He’d have no choice.
“Hello, Trace.”
He dropped the hand holding the phone, keeping it lax at his side. “Helene. What are you doing here? Where’s Priscilla?”
Gliding up to him, feeling the taut pull of her nipples and the burning rush of lust, she smiled. “You tell me.”
“You were supposed to be with her.” His brows, so much darker than his light blond hair, pinched down, but his voice remained neutral. “You damned lunatic. I know you didn’t finish with her so quickly, so what did you do? Kill her?”
Strange, but he didn’t seem overly alarmed by the possibility. But then, maybe he had known Priss wouldn’t be there when she arrived. “I never even got to see her. Her apartment was empty.”
“Where is she?”
Shrugging, Helene trailed a fingernail down his damp chest. “I assumed you swept her away.”
Catching her wrist in a bruising hold, Trace tossed her off him. “Keep your stories straight. I was with Murray.”
“So where is she then, hmm?”
“No idea, but I know where I’m going.” He dropped the cell into his jacket pocket and turned his back on her, striding away.
Rushing to keep up with him, Hell asked, “To bed? That’s perfect for me.”
“Go fuck yourself.” He kept walking. “That’s the only way you’ll get laid, because I’m sure as hell not touching you.”
No one should ever underestimate this man. He was cagey, slicker, and maybe more cruel than even Murray. His reflexes impressed her, and his body combined with his confidence left her desperate to experience him.
She kept a safe distance.
Without looking at her, he said, “Go away, Helene.”
“When I came specifically to see you? Not a chance.”
Over his shoulder, he pinned her with his sharp gaze. “How’d you know where I was staying?”
“Murray doesn’t keep secrets from me.