Tori Carrington - Branded

“No. No, that’s all. I just wanted to make sure you were still coming, so I don’t have your father get out the good china for nothing.”

Jo didn’t bother telling her that she didn’t have to get out her good anything, that she wasn’t coming over to drink tea out of tiny teacups, but to see how they both were doing. She knew her words would only fall on deaf ears.

“I’m coming. Good night, Mother.”

“Good evening, JoEllen Sue. Sleep well.”

Jo slowly took the cell from her ear and pressed the disconnect button, sitting for long moments staring at the piece of technology that had allowed her mother to follow her all over the world, when all Jo wanted to do was escape.

There was a sound outside the open door. She immediately slid her hand under her pillow, her fingers molding over the cool, hard metal of her M9 Beretta. The instant the shadow appeared, she pulled the gun and held it on the unexpected visitor.

Trace held up his hands and grinned. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think shooting the boss is a good idea.”

Jo blinked once. Then twice. Had the man who’d occupied so many of her thoughts all day just materialized in her doorway? Or was she imagining things? Her gaze flicked down his tall, muscular frame and then back again. She licked her lips. He had to be there. Because her imagination wasn’t nearly this good.

She slid the safety back into place and put the firearm on the bedside table. “Yes, I’d say it rates right up there with sleeping with the boss.”

“Regrets?”

She shook her head. “Merely stating facts.”

Jo met his heated gaze, feeling the same sizzle she’d come to expect every time their eyes met. Damn, but he had an effect on her that she couldn’t cool down with any size bucket of cold water.

Trace glanced around. “Mind if I come in?”

“You own the place.”

“I meant, am I welcome?”

She held his gaze.

He came in and shut the door.

Jo immediately felt the heat ignite into a full-out fire. She got up from the bed and moved toward the bathroom. “Pour yourself a drink if you’d like. Fix one for me while you’re at it.”

“What’ll you have?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

Jo closed the bathroom door behind her and leaned against the smooth wood, surprised to find herself out of breath, as if she’d just run an eight-minute mile rather than walked five feet.

She caught her reflection in the mirror, grimacing at her faded purple high school varsity T-shirt and loose-fitting jeans, her regular bedroom attire. No silky nighties for her.

At least her undergarments were one hundred percent pure Victoria’s Secret. Yes, while even she bucked falling into the traditional roles, she wasn’t without her wicked interest in sexy underwear. A passion that Trace had seemed to appreciate last night.

Of course, she couldn’t exactly walk back into the bedroom in nothing but her bra and panties. Well, she could, but she wasn’t going to. Instead, she stepped to the sink, took out a hair dryer she rarely used, and applied scant makeup that she rarely wore. A citrusy lotion was about as close to perfume as she got.

Minutes later, she stared at her reflection again. Was it her, or did her eyes look a little bit brighter? Her lips a little bit plumper? Her gaze dropped to the front of her shirt, finding her breasts high, her nipples clearly visible. She ran her palms over them and shivered in response, anticipation coursing through her veins.

She hadn’t had an inkling that Trace would show up at her room tonight. In fact, she’d pretty much accepted that if there was going to be a repeat of last night, it would come at her doing. The fact that he appeared to want her as much as she wanted him made her hot in areas she normally didn’t pay a great deal of attention to.

Jo finally exited the bathroom, to find him sitting on the edge of the small sofa, sifting through her selection of CDs.

“Interesting collection.”

She smiled. “Find anything you like?”

He looked at her over his shoulder. “I see a lot I like.”

She was a Southern rock kind of girl, the louder the better. But somehow she got the impression that he wasn’t talking about her taste in music.

He raised a CD case. “Do you mind?”

“Go ahead.”

He fed the disc into the player located under the TV, and within moments strains of the Eagles filled the room. He switched off the television, then sat down on the love seat and held up a glass in her direction.

Jo rounded the coffee table and sat down next to him, accepting his offering. She coughed when she got a mouthful of plain soda. She lifted a brow.

“You told me to get you what I was having,” he stated.

“So I did.”

He stretched his long legs out in front of him, crossing his boots at the ankle. Jo watched the move, appreciating the hard line of his thighs, the way his jeans bunched at his crotch. Damn, but he was a tall glass of sweet tea. She could climb on top of him right now and not want for a single thing for the next six hours.

Instead, she stayed right where she was, allowing her right arm to brush against his left, the only sounds those of the CD and the ice clinking in their glasses.

“Is this a date?” she asked, staring at their reflection in the blank TV screen.

“Date?”

She shifted on the cushion, folding her right foot under her other knee and resting her elbow on the back of the sofa. “Yeah, you know, those things that people go on or schedule in order to talk or eat before they screw.”

His grin was as filthy as her words. “Anyone ever tell you that you have a crude mouth?”

She smiled back. “Just about everybody I come across.”

She rubbed her eyebrow with the pad of her thumb, remarkably satisfied to be sitting there looking at him. Just looking at him.

She’d never been a girl given to mooning over a man. She was either attracted to someone or she wasn’t. And things pretty much escalated after that. Even in high school, she hadn’t been the hand-holding, meandering-down-the-hall-and-staring-up-into-her-beau’s-eyes type. She had too little time on her hands, so she’d figured out pretty quickly that she’d have to learn how to put those same hands to good use with the time she did have.

She glanced at her knee. Of course, there were other reasons for her actions. Mostly, she’d been needed at home. And when she hadn’t been home, she’d been thinking about what she’d have to do when she got there.

“Uh-oh. No filthy words now?” Trace asked.

“Huh?” She looked at him. “Oh.” She offered up a smile. “What, do you want to hear me say the word screw again?”

He chuckled.

“I don’t know what it is with men. You’d think women never used profanity, the way y’all react.”

“Tell me, is it something that you and your girlfriends do frequently?”

“Cuss? Hell yeah.”

Of course, she really didn’t have any girlfriends. She’d learned a long time ago that it was better to fly solo than to face uncomfortable explanations.

“But enough about me,” she said. “I want to hear more about this brother.”

His eyes darkened. “I didn’t realize we were talking about you.”

Jo got the impression that his change in expression had everything to do with her mention of his brother.

She held up her hand. “I don’t need to know all that,” she said. “So what’s say we keep it simple.”

He cleared his throat and reached for his soda. “Fair enough. Just so long as you know that I’m going to be asking a few questions of my own…”

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