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“Always.”
“So … I may assume that this new assignment won’t cause you any trouble, whether little Priscilla is truly an innocent or not.”
“No trouble at all.”
“Excellent.” Murray’s words reeked of arrogance. “Keep me informed.”
“Of course.” Even as Trace closed the phone, he heard Murray’s humorless laughter, and it left him on edge.
The sick bastard was up to something—but what? And how much damage would it do to Priss?
CHAPTER SIX
IT DIDN’T SURPRISE Trace when Priss jumped up to confront him. “What was that about?” Dread left her pale and angry. “Why were you talking about rape? What are you planning? What is he planning?”
Trace studied her face. Without makeup, her long hair rumpled and hanging in tangles, she was still so damn sexy that he had to fight to keep his body from reacting.
Again.
He wanted to protect her, to soothe her, and he wanted to be inside her. Right now.
Through the oversize T-shirt she’d worn as a nightgown, he could see the generous swell of her breasts, and even the outline of her soft nipples. From the jut of that stupendous rack, the shirt dropped over a flat belly down to rounded, shapely thighs. She was so small boned, Trace thought, her wrists and ankles fragile, feminine.
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