Trace of Fever
Page 75

She was still barefoot and hardly dressed appropriately, but this time, Priss didn’t give a single thought to their audience. She cared only about reaching Trace.
For his part, Jackson was as cautious as ever, and even knowing it was necessary, it drove her nuts because it slowed them down. In her mind she kept imagining what Hell might be doing to Trace, and how Trace might react.
Jackson was right; he wouldn’t like it. That much she knew.
But if Helene truly had a drug that’d make him more agreeable… No, she wouldn’t think about that right now. She couldn’t.
Not that long ago she’d left her home, entrusting her business to nasty old Gary Deaton so she could pursue her need for revenge. She’d expected to come up against danger, rejection, abuse.
But never, not once, had she considered anything that had transpired so far.
She definitely hadn’t considered falling in love at light speed with a man opposed to all her plans.
Yet…she had.
She’d fallen hook, line and sinker, irrevocably, head over heels, madly, impossibly in love.
“Drive faster,” she ordered Jackson, and then ignored his grumbling reply.
The question was, now that she’d accepted the truth, what should she do about it?
Or would she get a chance to do anything at all?
TIED UP WITH HIS ARMS behind his back, his pants below his knees, his legs parted, Trace finally regained use of his limbs. Unfortunately, Hell had secured him tightly to keep him in that exact position.
Propped upright against a heating unit on the wall, Hell used an exposed pipe to secure his wrists. It kept him in an awkward sitting position. He tried moving his arms, but realized she’d fastened them together with handcuffs.
Using the same nylon restraints he favored, maybe taken from his own stash, she’d bound each of his ankles to heavy bedroom furniture, one to the bed, one to a nightstand that was screwed to the wall. When he tried to twist, he realized he had a raging hard-on.
Trace looked down at himself, then dropped his head back in loathing. God, he hurt. A deep, sexual hurt.
As if he’d indulged in hours of foreplay, his entire body throbbed with the need to ejaculate.
Helene stepped over him, one stiletto-clad foot at the outside of each of his knees. She’d unbuttoned her blouse to expose her br**sts, and had hiked up her skirt to the top of her thighs.
The bawdy stance showed her lack of panties and her long bare legs. “Finally regained your wits, I see. I figured a guy in your superb shape would recover quicker, and you did.”
Trace stared at her, his hatred palpable. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He gasped as she leaned down and teased one finger along his rigid shaft. His back bowed, his breath hissing in.
“Nice. Very, very nice.” Positioning herself on her knees between his thighs, Helene licked her lips and bent to brush her cheek along his dick.
“Stop it!” Trace tried to rebel, to reject her, but he couldn’t move more than a few inches either way. “You sicken me, Helene.”
“And yet—” she held him in her soft, hot hand “—you’re so hard for me.”
“Hard from whatever you had in that needle. Not for you. Never for you.”
She smiled and, still holding him in one hand, stroked her nails over his bare chest. “I have a thing for hairy chests. How did you know?”
“Stop this.” He hoped he sounded calmer than he felt. Even though she only held him, her hand still, her fingers not too tight, he felt on the verge of exploding. “Helene, listen to me…”
“I can’t wait to taste you, Trace. All of you. I want you to come in my mouth. What do you think about that?”
Succinct, to the point, Trace said, “I’ll kill you.”
Smiling, Hell stroked her fingernails along the inside of his knee. “Murray won’t like that.”
“He won’t like you sucking my cock, either.”
“So maybe we won’t tell him about that.” She leaned down and licked the inside of his thigh.
At the touch of her hot, moist tongue, Trace almost lost it. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his teeth and thought about Priss.
Helene ended the lick just short of his testicles. “You know, if Murray found out about any of this, he would take it out on both of us.” Using her thumb, she teased the head of his cock.
It was maddening, and Trace knew if she didn’t stop, he’d come. And then he heard a sound, faint but distinct.
Someone had just entered the connecting room.
Damn, damn, damn.
Had Jackson left Priss alone? Was that exactly what Helene had wanted? Maybe she’d had someone follow Jackson after all and knew that Priss would be vulnerable—
Helene lifted her head. “Did you hear something?”
Trace was relieved to see her looking genuinely surprised by the possible intrusion. “Yeah, I did. It was me complaining.” He spoke loud enough to cover up any more telltale noise from the other room. “Stop and think, Helene. If you do this, Murray will find out—”
“Shhh.” Putting a finger to his lips, she cocked her head to listen. “Be quiet.” She stood and went to the table for his gun.
No. “First you think to rape me, and now you plan to shoot someone?” Attention divided by his bodily needs and his compulsion to keep others safe, Trace’s voice sounded more raw than usual. “You said it yourself that we don’t want the police involved. But if you fire that gun, no way in hell will you keep them away.”