Trace of Fever
Page 31
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Whether she wanted him to or not, Trace would be aware of Priss’s use of the hidden garage.
And he would know if she shared the password with anyone else.
“You won’t forget?”
“No.” Priss appeared unconcerned with the simple configuration of letters. “Should be easy enough to remember. So, care to tell me why all these precautions are necessary?”
“That you don’t already know the answer to that just shows how naive you are.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.” Only after Priss had taken two big bites of her biscuit sandwich did Trace pick up her water bottle, open it and hand it to her. “Here you go.”
Distaste curled her lip as she accepted the water. “This is all we’ve got?”
“Yup. Drink up. You need to stay hydrated.” And he needed to get her to Dare’s secure home without risking his friend’s identity or location.
As if water were somehow objectionable, she wrinkled her nose as she dutifully drank.
Though Trace watched her with regret and attentiveness, she didn’t appear to notice. In no time she’d finished off half the bottle—more than enough.
Small as she was, it shouldn’t take long now.
Priss glanced his way. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“In a minute.” Settling his shoulders back against the door, Trace kept his gaze on her, unwilling to break that last small connection. “You go ahead.”
She gave him a funny look, but then, even to his own ears he sounded especially gentle, and remorseful.
“Suit yourself.” Priss finished off her sandwich, and then she finished off the water. After gathering up her wrapper and the empty bottle, she let the cat down onto the floor of the truck, onto a blanket she’d placed there. As she straightened again, she yawned and stretched.
“Comfortable?” Waiting for what would happen left Trace’s every nerve ending sizzling in anticipation.
“I’m fine.” Priss frowned at him. “You know, since we’re just sitting here shooting the bull…”
When she trailed off to yawn again, Trace encouraged her, asking, “What is it?”
For a moment, she fiddled with her seat belt, but then she met his gaze. “I don’t know what to think.”
Hell, she’d put him in such a tailspin, he didn’t know what to think, either. “About what, exactly?”
Priss licked her upper lip, a habit he’d already recognized as a sign of uncertainty. She wanted to ask him about the kiss, about why he’d stopped. He’d bet his life on it.
But instead she asked, “Where are we going?”
“You’ll find out when we get there.”
She let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “So I’m just supposed to go along blindly and see where I end up?”
After drinking that water, she didn’t really have any choice. His stomach knotted with the awful reality. “Trust has to start somewhere, honey, and it’s going to have to start with you trusting me.”
That didn’t sit well with her at all. “Because you don’t trust me, I gather?”
Trace saw her eyes going vague and said softly, “Not even a little.”
She fought the sleepiness sinking in. “Then why did you kiss me?”
Could one small admission hurt at this point? He didn’t know, and he didn’t really care. He looked into her slumberous eyes and said, “I had to taste you.”
Her arms loosened; her hands relaxed on the seat at either side of her hips. She let her head slump back against the seat. “I don’t understand.”
Which part, Trace wondered, the kiss, or this? Watching her fade, he almost hated himself.
It was done, Trace told himself. Necessary but unfortunate. There was no point in second-guessing things, indulging in self-recrimination.
He picked up her wrist, puzzling her. “It’s okay, honey.”
“What is?” She half laughed, then frowned and lifted one limp hand to her head. “What are you talking about?”
While looking at her, wanting her, Trace said, “Don’t fight it.” If she fought it, it’d kill him.
Alarm swept some of the vagueness from her beautiful green eyes—but she couldn’t muster up enough concern to react as she’d probably like to. “It?” Then she looked at the water bottle. “Oh, no.”
“The drug won’t hurt you so don’t get worried about it. You’re just going to sleep, that’s all.”
“I don’t want to sleep!” She struggled to stay awake, her expression filled with deep hurt and awful fear. Damn, damn, damn. He couldn’t take it. “Come here, Priss.” He pulled her closer as he leaned toward her, and he put his mouth to hers. Gently. Softly. A careful eating kiss, thorough and yet reserved.
When he let up, her eyes were closed, but still she whispered, “Why…why did you kiss me again?” In the next instant, she slumped against him, boneless and limp, held back only by the seat belt.
Even though Trace knew she wouldn’t hear him, he put his face in her neck and said in a raw whisper, “Because with you, Priss, once just wasn’t enough.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
HE’D DONE A LOT OF atrocious things in his lifetime. He’d maimed many men, killed more than that, all without this awful, gnawing remorse. The things he did were part of the job, his self-assigned duty to society. He removed the scum, or took them out of commission, without blinking an eye.
And he would know if she shared the password with anyone else.
“You won’t forget?”
“No.” Priss appeared unconcerned with the simple configuration of letters. “Should be easy enough to remember. So, care to tell me why all these precautions are necessary?”
“That you don’t already know the answer to that just shows how naive you are.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.” Only after Priss had taken two big bites of her biscuit sandwich did Trace pick up her water bottle, open it and hand it to her. “Here you go.”
Distaste curled her lip as she accepted the water. “This is all we’ve got?”
“Yup. Drink up. You need to stay hydrated.” And he needed to get her to Dare’s secure home without risking his friend’s identity or location.
As if water were somehow objectionable, she wrinkled her nose as she dutifully drank.
Though Trace watched her with regret and attentiveness, she didn’t appear to notice. In no time she’d finished off half the bottle—more than enough.
Small as she was, it shouldn’t take long now.
Priss glanced his way. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“In a minute.” Settling his shoulders back against the door, Trace kept his gaze on her, unwilling to break that last small connection. “You go ahead.”
She gave him a funny look, but then, even to his own ears he sounded especially gentle, and remorseful.
“Suit yourself.” Priss finished off her sandwich, and then she finished off the water. After gathering up her wrapper and the empty bottle, she let the cat down onto the floor of the truck, onto a blanket she’d placed there. As she straightened again, she yawned and stretched.
“Comfortable?” Waiting for what would happen left Trace’s every nerve ending sizzling in anticipation.
“I’m fine.” Priss frowned at him. “You know, since we’re just sitting here shooting the bull…”
When she trailed off to yawn again, Trace encouraged her, asking, “What is it?”
For a moment, she fiddled with her seat belt, but then she met his gaze. “I don’t know what to think.”
Hell, she’d put him in such a tailspin, he didn’t know what to think, either. “About what, exactly?”
Priss licked her upper lip, a habit he’d already recognized as a sign of uncertainty. She wanted to ask him about the kiss, about why he’d stopped. He’d bet his life on it.
But instead she asked, “Where are we going?”
“You’ll find out when we get there.”
She let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “So I’m just supposed to go along blindly and see where I end up?”
After drinking that water, she didn’t really have any choice. His stomach knotted with the awful reality. “Trust has to start somewhere, honey, and it’s going to have to start with you trusting me.”
That didn’t sit well with her at all. “Because you don’t trust me, I gather?”
Trace saw her eyes going vague and said softly, “Not even a little.”
She fought the sleepiness sinking in. “Then why did you kiss me?”
Could one small admission hurt at this point? He didn’t know, and he didn’t really care. He looked into her slumberous eyes and said, “I had to taste you.”
Her arms loosened; her hands relaxed on the seat at either side of her hips. She let her head slump back against the seat. “I don’t understand.”
Which part, Trace wondered, the kiss, or this? Watching her fade, he almost hated himself.
It was done, Trace told himself. Necessary but unfortunate. There was no point in second-guessing things, indulging in self-recrimination.
He picked up her wrist, puzzling her. “It’s okay, honey.”
“What is?” She half laughed, then frowned and lifted one limp hand to her head. “What are you talking about?”
While looking at her, wanting her, Trace said, “Don’t fight it.” If she fought it, it’d kill him.
Alarm swept some of the vagueness from her beautiful green eyes—but she couldn’t muster up enough concern to react as she’d probably like to. “It?” Then she looked at the water bottle. “Oh, no.”
“The drug won’t hurt you so don’t get worried about it. You’re just going to sleep, that’s all.”
“I don’t want to sleep!” She struggled to stay awake, her expression filled with deep hurt and awful fear. Damn, damn, damn. He couldn’t take it. “Come here, Priss.” He pulled her closer as he leaned toward her, and he put his mouth to hers. Gently. Softly. A careful eating kiss, thorough and yet reserved.
When he let up, her eyes were closed, but still she whispered, “Why…why did you kiss me again?” In the next instant, she slumped against him, boneless and limp, held back only by the seat belt.
Even though Trace knew she wouldn’t hear him, he put his face in her neck and said in a raw whisper, “Because with you, Priss, once just wasn’t enough.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
HE’D DONE A LOT OF atrocious things in his lifetime. He’d maimed many men, killed more than that, all without this awful, gnawing remorse. The things he did were part of the job, his self-assigned duty to society. He removed the scum, or took them out of commission, without blinking an eye.
