Trace of Fever
Page 73

“You won’t be able to ignore me for long.” As quickly as she could while still trying to be furtive, Helene reached out to him with the needle, intending to stick him in the shoulder.
Trace turned too fast for her to dodge him. One hand on her throat, the other clamped onto her arm, he slammed her up against the wall.
Her pulse raced.
Staring into her eyes, so commanding, so much fury, he squeezed her arm until she winced—and dropped the needle.
“You conniving bitch.” He crushed it beneath his boot heel, leaving a damp spot in the carpet. “You were going to drug me?”
“Yes.” Staring at his mouth, Hell licked her lips and leaned toward him. “I have a special elixir just for you, Trace.”
Revulsion hardened his expression even more and he put space between them. “What special elixir?”
After flexing her hand to bring circulation back to her arm, Hell braced both hands behind her. The pose was innocent, unthreatening. “Murray wanted a concoction, an aphrodisiac, that’d make the women more pliable, more…agreeable to the sexual side of things.”
“Because a comatose woman can’t argue?”
“She can’t. But Murray wanted the women awake and anxious to meet their fates. Titillating, don’t you think?”
“I think you’re overselling.” His narrowed gaze sharpened. “Something like that doesn’t exist.”
“It most definitely does—now.” It wasn’t often that she got to brag on her skills. “My serum makes the blood sing and sets the body on fire. And almost by accident, I’ve found that it works particularly well on men.” She moved up against him. “One dose and you’ll be so hard, so throbbing, you’ll be begging me for relief. So how about we go inside and get started?”
“Not happening.” He pushed away from her as if she were a vile thing. “Go home. Go to Murray.”
“I can’t.” Truthfully, she preferred his resistance. If he conceded to her wishes, if he gave in, he wouldn’t be nearly as desirable. She’d been chased, and she’d been dominated. Sometimes, though, she preferred the chasing—or dominating. “I want you, Trace.”
“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not. Stay the f**k away from me.” Clearly repulsed, he turned to his door.
Quick as she could, Hell freed the needle and in one motion swung her arm up and around, stabbing it hard into his muscled backside.
As much from reflex, as outrage, Trace backhanded her. The blow sent her sprawling to the floor, her legs in inelegant display and her face stinging. She tasted blood on her lip, and that, too, inflamed her.
Trace didn’t realize it yet, but it was too late for him.
Appalled, outraged, he stared at her in incomprehension. “What did you do?”
She licked her bloody lip. “I sealed your fate.”
He jerked the needle free, staring at it until it slipped out of his hand. Voice already slurring, he asked, “What the hell did you do?”
Helene forced herself back up to her feet. She straightened her skirt, smoothed her blouse.
She’d been struck before, of course, but never quite like that; Murray had never wanted to bruise her face.
Trace was the most powerful man she’d ever encountered. She worked her jaw and winced. It wasn’t broken, but she’d have one hell of a bruise come morning, and probably a fat lip, too. It’d be tough explaining to Murray, but she’d figure out something.
And as soon as possible, she’d make Trace pay for the inconvenience.
She smiled. “Come on, big boy. Inside, before you drop here in the hallway and someone calls the police. None of us wants that to happen.”
Because his thoughts were already muddling, he didn’t fight her as she led him into the room, but he ground out, “I’ll kill you for this.”
Cooing to him, Helene said, “I know you’ll try.” She closed and locked the door. “But not before I’ve had my way with every inch of your delicious body.”
He slumped back to the wall and slowly slid down to the carpeted floor.
“Don’t worry, baby.” Watching him, Helene peeled off her jacket and dropped it over a chair. “You’re going to be wide-awake and very aware of everything I do to you, every kiss and touch, every lick and suck, everything. It’s only for a half hour or so that you’re going to be helpless and I need that time to get you all secured and situated.” She stepped over him.
Trace made one last feeble attempt to retrieve his cell phone from his pocket.
She laughed. “Now who do you think to call?”
More succinctly than she’d expected, he said, “No one.”
And he closed the phone.
Smiling, feeling indulgent with his continued refusal to accept his fate—the fate she’d give him—Helene took the phone and put it out of his reach. “Oh, Trace.” She touched his jaw. “This is going to be so much fun. For me.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE HORROR OF WHAT they’d just overheard left Jackson and Priss staring at each other. It was Priss who reacted first.
“Why are you standing there?” She shoved Jackson hard. “You heard everything. That bitch is going to molest him!”
Looking a little sick, Jackson whispered, “Yeah.” He looked away. “Or worse.”
Her stomach cramped and her eyes burned. She covered her mouth. “God only knows what she’s capable of.”