Trace of Fever
Page 42

“Don’t be so available, emotionally or physically.”
“Way too much excess of both,” Chris agreed.
Matt put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Instead of you working so hard, let Trace work a little.”
Hmm… Could she make him work a little? Did she want him to? Yeah, she did.
“Baloney.” Molly glared at both men. “That’s bad advice, so don’t listen to them, Priss.”
“No?”
Molly shook her head. “I never played those games with Dare. I always tried to tell him what I was thinking and feeling. Well, once I trusted him, I did. And I pretty much had no choice but to trust him from the get-go.”
Fascinated, Priss opened her mouth to ask about Molly’s personal situation, but Molly cut her off.
“And now we’re married.”
Interesting. But what if she never trusted Trace? What if he never trusted her?
Chris snorted. “Apples and oranges, Molly. Trace and Dare are two very different men.”
Priss wanted to expound on that. They were different, but they also shared similarities that spoke volumes. They were each capable, cautious, dangerous, rock hard and edgy. They stayed highly attuned to their surroundings, and to everyone around them.
If she shared what she’d noticed, Priss thought she might be able to get some dialogue going, and maybe trick Molly or Chris into giving away some deets—like where the guys worked, or who hired them.
What Trace wanted with Murray.
But even if Molly and Chris didn’t understand the necessity for secrecy, she did, and there was the chance that Matt was an outsider.
Meeting his gaze in the mirror, Priss asked him, “How much do you really know?”
He said quickly, “I know nothing.” Using the end of a comb pick, he separated another section of her hair, keeping all his concentration on his chore. “Not a single thing. And I want to keep it that way. God forbid one of those two decides I’m a security liability.”
His reaction intrigued Priss. “Because they would do…what exactly?”
Chris snorted. “Nothing.” And then to Matt, “Don’t talk stupid.”
“Yeah,” Molly complained. “You’re going to give Priss the wrong impression.”
“Worse than my initial impression with my very sleepy ride here? Not likely.” Given what Matt said, Priss knew he was aware of something. Maybe not the whole scope of what Dare and Trace did, not the particulars, but he knew enough that he didn’t want to be involved.
Smart guy.
Before she could really question him, Matt announced, “All done with your hair. Now, it only makes sense to get the waxing out of the way before we start on your makeup—”
Her flesh crawled and her stomach knotted. “No.”
“—because I don’t want to do your makeup until after your hair is styled, so—”
“No. No waxing.” Priss shook her foil-filled head. On this, she could not relent. “Forget it.”
“And,” Matt said, emphasizing the word dramatically, “it’s my understanding that Trace has less time than anticipated, so we shouldn’t dawdle.”
“I said no!”
Matt waved off her protests. “Molly, is there a more private room we can use?”
Straightening in her cozy, padded chair, Molly looked from Matt to Priss and back again. “Um…I suppose the—”
“Hairdresser—” Priss spoke through her teeth, deliberately insulting, her temper frayed and her volume elevated “—you’re not listening to me. There will be no waxing.”
The sleeping dogs lifted their heads, alert to the new tension in the room. Liger gave her a wide-eyed stare.
Molly cleared her throat, but didn’t move.
Eyes downcast and brows raised, Chris slipped across the room and out the door to the back. He closed the door quietly behind him.
Priss just knew he was slinking off to tell Trace about her refusal, but so what? Yes, she understood that this was part of Murray’s game to test her, and she knew Murray wouldn’t be pleased, that he might even be done toying with her, if she disobeyed a single command.
But in this, she didn’t care.
Staring at that closed door, she muttered, “So Chris knows where Trace is, but he wasn’t going to tell me? What a complete butthead.”
Matt stood his ground. “At the very least we have to do your eyebrows, legs and underarms.”
Incredulous that he hadn’t yet let it go, Priss swiveled around to face Matt. “I can damn well groom myself.”
Rolling his eyes, Matt put his hands on his hips. “You do not want to be an unrefined girl. And I do not want to do half the job. It makes no sense to be so beautifully polished in parts, but to remain so…bohemian in other ways.”
Mortification tightened her chest. “Come at me with hot wax.” Priss stared right into his eyes, her voice soft, deadly. “I dare you. Really, I do. Try it, and let’s see what happens.”
His expression looked comical. “You’re threatening me?”
“I’m telling you that you’ll be wearing hot wax if you don’t let it go.”
He threw up his arms. “Fine. Be that way. Go about like a troglodyte, like a…an ape. See if I care.”
“Thank you.” Troglodyte? Sheesh. With that settled, Priss’s tension eased enough that she could breathe freely again. She stood, checked her fingernails and her toenails and declared herself dry. “Looks nice,” she said while admiring her hands.