Trace of Fever
Page 33
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“But our little Priscilla is too private to bare herself for the full works, eh?” He chuckled. “How novel.”
In this instance, Trace could speak truthfully. “For her lifestyle, a neat trim might not be de rigueur.”
“Being lower-middle class, you mean?” He said it with a sneer, as if lack of wealth reflected on her character.
Trace stared at the far wall of the dimly lit garage. “I got the impression she lives on a tight budget.”
Murray’s voice went chilly. “It occurs to me that this report means you must have seen her naked.”
“No.” Not yet. But if Murray had his way…
“No?” He sounded surprised, and terse with annoyance. “Then how would you know?”
The image of Priss in the revealing clothes again came to the forefront of Trace’s mind. Not that it was ever tucked too far away. Since first seeing her mostly bare, he’d been far too aware of her and her body. “It was hard to miss with the skimpy panties that Twyla chose for her.”
“Ah. You don’t say.”
Definitely terse. Trace continued to talk as if he had no interest in the situation other than the tasks assigned him. “She wasn’t at all comfortable modeling the clothes.”
“Shy?”
“Mostly just modest, I think.” And a real fury when the mood struck her. “I’d say she’s the real deal. Innocent, I mean. Like I said, a country bumpkin.”
He could hear Murray breathing, the sick bastard, but he said nothing. He just waited.
Finally Murray said, “There’s a certain charm to her lack of sophistication, isn’t there?”
Yeah. A whole lot of charm. Trace forced himself to focus. “That’s what I told Twyla.”
“What, exactly?”
“That it was your decision to make, not mine.” Deference to Murray didn’t come easy for Trace, but he managed. “I know you said to get her done head to toes, but if you liked the idea of her being natural, then I didn’t want to change things. She can always be waxed, but the reverse isn’t true.”
Tension built, sending Trace’s thoughts toward exit plans that’d keep Priss safe—and then Murray laughed.
“Ah, you are always thinking ahead, aren’t you, Trace? Always putting my interests first.”
Always considering ways to kill you. Trace pushed out an angry breath. “You don’t pay me to make decisions for you, Murray.”
“No, but I have a feeling that if I did, you’d excel at that, too. You have an uncanny knack for knowing my mind. There’s definitely room in my organization for a man of your unique skills to advance up the ladder.”
Back teeth locked together, Trace said, “Thank you.”
Done with the frivolous conversation, Murray returned to business. “I look forward to my lunch with Priscilla. Naturally I’ll want you to be there.”
Thank God. As long as he was close, he could ensure her safety. “All right.” Again, Trace said nothing else. Verbosity was not a trait Murray admired in others.
“Tonight, I may have some added duties for you.”
“Anything I need to know about ahead of time?” If it involved participating in the abuse necessary to corral women like cattle, Trace knew that he’d have to advance his plans against Murray.
He’d kill him and damn the consequences before he’d further damage an already traumatized woman.
“Our buyer might need a little…education on the proper way to handle a deal.” Amused by the possibilities, Murray chortled. “The ignorant f**k is trying to dicker with me over the price of the merchandise, after we’d already negotiated the details.”
Trace remained silent. It turned his stomach that Murray truly thought of human beings as no more than a product to progress his wealth. But at the same time, relief that the task could be handled guilt-free eased the tension in his muscles. Hell, he’d take pleasure in demolishing anyone involved in Murray’s business.
“You can handle that, can’t you, Trace?”
“Yeah, I can handle it.” But he’d need a safe place to stash Priss, just in case this was a diversion.
Murray continued with smooth intent. “And if I need him shot to impress the other buyers?”
Trace shrugged. “I’ll shoot him.” Then he added, “But I can impress the others without wasting a bullet, if you’d prefer that.”
“Good man.” As always, with the confirmation of imminent violence, Murray returned to his good humor. “I’ll see you at seven, then.” And with that, he disconnected the call.
In the silence that followed, Trace heard Priss’s deep breathing. He didn’t want to look at her, to acknowledge what he’d done to her, but he couldn’t stop himself.
While he’d spoken to Murray, she’d shifted a little and now she slumped toward him with her head in an awkward position.
Ignoring Liger’s eerie stare of accusation, Trace reached past Priss and released her seat belt.
As she tumbled toward him, he eased her head down to rest against his thigh. Her long ponytail bunched in his lap, and Trace smoothed it out. In the darkness of the garage, he couldn’t see the red highlights in her amazing hair, only the deep browns.
Visually examining every inch of her, Trace noted that her smooth, soft skin looked very pale, her long lashes left shadows on her cheeks, and her lips were slightly parted.
In this instance, Trace could speak truthfully. “For her lifestyle, a neat trim might not be de rigueur.”
“Being lower-middle class, you mean?” He said it with a sneer, as if lack of wealth reflected on her character.
Trace stared at the far wall of the dimly lit garage. “I got the impression she lives on a tight budget.”
Murray’s voice went chilly. “It occurs to me that this report means you must have seen her naked.”
“No.” Not yet. But if Murray had his way…
“No?” He sounded surprised, and terse with annoyance. “Then how would you know?”
The image of Priss in the revealing clothes again came to the forefront of Trace’s mind. Not that it was ever tucked too far away. Since first seeing her mostly bare, he’d been far too aware of her and her body. “It was hard to miss with the skimpy panties that Twyla chose for her.”
“Ah. You don’t say.”
Definitely terse. Trace continued to talk as if he had no interest in the situation other than the tasks assigned him. “She wasn’t at all comfortable modeling the clothes.”
“Shy?”
“Mostly just modest, I think.” And a real fury when the mood struck her. “I’d say she’s the real deal. Innocent, I mean. Like I said, a country bumpkin.”
He could hear Murray breathing, the sick bastard, but he said nothing. He just waited.
Finally Murray said, “There’s a certain charm to her lack of sophistication, isn’t there?”
Yeah. A whole lot of charm. Trace forced himself to focus. “That’s what I told Twyla.”
“What, exactly?”
“That it was your decision to make, not mine.” Deference to Murray didn’t come easy for Trace, but he managed. “I know you said to get her done head to toes, but if you liked the idea of her being natural, then I didn’t want to change things. She can always be waxed, but the reverse isn’t true.”
Tension built, sending Trace’s thoughts toward exit plans that’d keep Priss safe—and then Murray laughed.
“Ah, you are always thinking ahead, aren’t you, Trace? Always putting my interests first.”
Always considering ways to kill you. Trace pushed out an angry breath. “You don’t pay me to make decisions for you, Murray.”
“No, but I have a feeling that if I did, you’d excel at that, too. You have an uncanny knack for knowing my mind. There’s definitely room in my organization for a man of your unique skills to advance up the ladder.”
Back teeth locked together, Trace said, “Thank you.”
Done with the frivolous conversation, Murray returned to business. “I look forward to my lunch with Priscilla. Naturally I’ll want you to be there.”
Thank God. As long as he was close, he could ensure her safety. “All right.” Again, Trace said nothing else. Verbosity was not a trait Murray admired in others.
“Tonight, I may have some added duties for you.”
“Anything I need to know about ahead of time?” If it involved participating in the abuse necessary to corral women like cattle, Trace knew that he’d have to advance his plans against Murray.
He’d kill him and damn the consequences before he’d further damage an already traumatized woman.
“Our buyer might need a little…education on the proper way to handle a deal.” Amused by the possibilities, Murray chortled. “The ignorant f**k is trying to dicker with me over the price of the merchandise, after we’d already negotiated the details.”
Trace remained silent. It turned his stomach that Murray truly thought of human beings as no more than a product to progress his wealth. But at the same time, relief that the task could be handled guilt-free eased the tension in his muscles. Hell, he’d take pleasure in demolishing anyone involved in Murray’s business.
“You can handle that, can’t you, Trace?”
“Yeah, I can handle it.” But he’d need a safe place to stash Priss, just in case this was a diversion.
Murray continued with smooth intent. “And if I need him shot to impress the other buyers?”
Trace shrugged. “I’ll shoot him.” Then he added, “But I can impress the others without wasting a bullet, if you’d prefer that.”
“Good man.” As always, with the confirmation of imminent violence, Murray returned to his good humor. “I’ll see you at seven, then.” And with that, he disconnected the call.
In the silence that followed, Trace heard Priss’s deep breathing. He didn’t want to look at her, to acknowledge what he’d done to her, but he couldn’t stop himself.
While he’d spoken to Murray, she’d shifted a little and now she slumped toward him with her head in an awkward position.
Ignoring Liger’s eerie stare of accusation, Trace reached past Priss and released her seat belt.
As she tumbled toward him, he eased her head down to rest against his thigh. Her long ponytail bunched in his lap, and Trace smoothed it out. In the darkness of the garage, he couldn’t see the red highlights in her amazing hair, only the deep browns.
Visually examining every inch of her, Trace noted that her smooth, soft skin looked very pale, her long lashes left shadows on her cheeks, and her lips were slightly parted.
