Lori Foster - Trace of Fever

Jaw tight, Priss nodded. “Immeasurably, yes.”

He took another drink. “I don’t remember her.”

Of course he didn’t. Theirs hadn’t been a true relationship by any stretch. He’d used her mother for financial gain, and only by the turn of fate had her mother escaped with her life intact.

Deliberately, Priss relaxed her muscles. “I understand. It was a long time ago.”

“I won’t give you a dime, you know.” He swirled the drink, clinking the ice cubes again while smiling at her. “If you’re here for money, you’re wasting your time.”

As if she’d take anything from him—other than his black heart. “Please, you misunderstand. I don’t want or expect anything from you. It’s just that, with my mother gone, I’m alone now.”

Murray’s eyes glinted, and they went over her again. “No other relatives? No husband or at least a boyfriend?”

“No, sir. That’s why I wanted to meet you. And …” She tried for shyness. “That is, if you were interested, I thought we could get to know each other.” She rushed to add, “No obligation at all, I swear. It’s just … you’re the only family I have left now.”

That request pushed Hell over the edge. “Don’t be pathetic.” Moving to stand in front of Priss, she put her hands on her hips and thrust her breasts forward. “Why should Murray believe you’re family? How could he possibly be related to a homely little bitch like you?”

Trace snorted, and Murray laughed.

“What?” After an evil glare at Trace, Hell whipped around to face Murray. Her arms went stiff at her sides, her hands knotted. “You see a family resemblance?”

“Not at all. But despite the absurd clothing, she’s far from homely.” He gave Trace a man-to-man look. “What do you say, Trace?”

“Sexy.”

Grinning, Murray lifted his drink as if in toast. “There. You see, Hell?”

She snatched up a paperweight from Murray’s desk. “She won’t be so sexy when I finish with her.”

Jesus, Priss thought, stunned by the violent intention. Was now the moment when she should run? But no, once again, Trace stepped in front of her. He even managed to catch the projectile when Hell let out a screech and threw it.

Not at all affronted by her outburst, Murray laughed aloud, then jerked Hell around to face him. “You are such a jealous bitch, Helene, and usually it amuses me.” His laughter died and his gaze hardened. “But not now.”

Taking that warning to heart, Hell retreated.

In a milder tone now, Murray said, “This is business.” He tweaked Hell’s chin. “And you should know better than to ever interfere with business.”

For whatever reason, that appeased Hell. She even gave a lazy smile. “I see.”

“Business?” Priss asked. Could it really be that easy to get in his inner circle?

Holding out a hand toward her, Murray snapped his fingers, but not understanding, Priss waffled.

Trace took her purse from her and handed it to the big man. He dumped the contents onto his thick mahogany desk, picked up her wallet and searched through it.

Frowning, he asked, “No ID?”

Trace had been right about the driver’s license. His boldness blew her away. “I, uh, only recently moved here. From North Carolina, I mean. That’s where my mother and I lived.”

“If you didn’t drive, then how’d you get here?”

“Bus?”

“You’re asking me?”

Priss realized how she’d said that, and rephrased her answer. “I didn’t know if you meant here, as in your office, or here, Ohio. Either way, I took the bus.”

Murray’s eyes narrowed. “Where are you staying?”

Her brain scrambled, but with Trace’s warning in mind she came up with a lie. “I’m in a hotel.” She named the location, which was a good five miles from where she’d actually rented an apartment.

Hell picked up a photo. “Your mother?”

“Yes.”

She smirked. “I see why Murray left her.”

Oh, soon, Priss thought. Very soon she would make Hell pay for that insult. “My mother never blamed him. She said she knew it was a brief affair and hadn’t expected anything more.” Transferring her attention back to Murray—in time to see him studying her calves—Priss said, “That’s why she never contacted you about me. She knew you hadn’t been involved enough to want responsibility for a child.”

He laughed. “Is that what she told you?”

“Yes. That you were a powerful, accomplished man, and that she couldn’t burden you, knowing your preferences.”

“She was protective of you.”

“Yes.”

“And she was right.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

Priss saw that they were twice the size of Trace’s arms, to match Murray’s thick neck and colossal back. But put to the test, Priss would place her bet on Trace every time. He had a quiet but lethal edge to him that instilled confidence in his ability. He might not be savage like Murray, but he would be effective.

Probably why Murray had hired him.

Behind his goatee, Murray’s lips curled in a smirk. “I never wanted a child, but you’re here now, aren’t you?”

Priss took that as a rhetorical question and kept her mouth shut.

Taking her arm, Murray pulled her, not gently but without overt hostility, from the chair. Not giving her much choice, he turned her in a circle, inspecting her from every angle. “I’ve made up my mind.”

“About?” she asked hopefully.

“We’ll get acquainted over lunch.”

Still recovering from that sudden spin, Priss said, “Oh! Yes. Lunch would be great.” I could kill you over lunch. There’d probably be plenty of time.

“But not just yet.”

Confused, Priss said, “What?”

Murray surveyed her with a critical eye—and disdain of her person. “You’re not exactly a fashion plate, now, are you? If I’m to be seen with you in public, we need to do some … adjustments.”

“Adjustments?”

“Surely you realize that more flattering clothes are required, along with a makeover of sorts.” Before she could protest, Murray said, “My treat of course.” And then with a smarmy smile, he continued, “It’s the least I can do.”

Sounding bored, Trace asked, “Want me to take care of it?”

Murray nodded. “Yes, that will work. Take her shopping for a new wardrobe, and then make an appointment at the salon. Total do-over, Trace. Hair, makeup, waxing …” He gave a salacious smile. “Whatever she needs.”

Priss tried not to look as appalled as she felt.

Trace continued to look bored. “No problem.”

By way of dismissal, Murray said, “On your way out, stop by Alice’s desk and set the lunch appointment on my calendar.”

“Do you have a specific date in mind?”

Still holding Priss’s arm and giving her that very non-paternal appraisal, Murray shrugged. “Whenever I’m free after she’s had the work done.”

“Got it.”

Priss gaped at the autocratic management of her life. No one had even bothered to consult her. “Shopping?” She tried to sound appreciative. “That’s so … generous of you, but really, I don’t need—”

Hell loomed near again. “Do you realize what an important man Murray is? Do you realize his stature in society? He can’t be seen with you when you look so—” she searched for a word, and settled on the not-so-insulting “—common.”

“Oh, but …” But Priss really wanted to deck Helene. Just one good palm shot to the nose, hard enough to leave her a bloody mess, but not hard enough to drive her cartilage into her brain. Priss forced a nervous smile. “It’s just that I didn’t want to impose.”

Hell made a rude sound. She scooped up the contents of Priss’s purse and dumped it all in her arms. “You imposed the minute you showed up here claiming a relationship. Accept Murray’s generosity. You need it.”