Page 41 of Illicit Temptation

The woman’s eyes widen, and she...closes the door. “No.”

I glance around to see any signs mentioning upcoming events here at the bakery. Odd. Oh well, her loss. My clients would kill for a cute place like this and would pay top dollar.

She leaves, and I catch my Lexus screeching a U-turn out front. I swallow, noting the time. Six minutes.

Wow.

I gulp down the rest of my tea and stand to leave.

I bring my cup to the counter. “Thank you.”

“Here.” The bakery lady hands me a heavy white bag.

“Whoa. What’s...this?”

“Pastries for you to take home. Your friend left me a twenty. I can’t be bought, Miss.”

Can’t. Be. Bought.

What on earth? “I’m...not sure what you mean you can’t...be bought. I was inquiring about your room because I...plan parties for—”

“I know who you are.” Her stern attitude throws me.

“What’s the problem here?” Trace’s voice booms into the small space, other customers turning around.

Embarrassment floods me. I don’t take the bag she’s offering and as far as I’m concerned, Trace paid for my tea and left a tip. He can come back and fight for his change.

“Nothing. Can...we go?”

“Of course. Here’s your spray.” He hands it to me and puts an arm around my shoulder.

Gasping, I shake it and spray two pumps. I hold it in while Trace steers me to my car. Within seconds my lungs open, and it’s a whole new world.

“When we get home, I’ll get the shower running for you. I want you to sit in there and just breathe.” Trace holds my hand as we drive home.

“Okay,” I squeak out.

His face looks taut like he’s got more to say. But he keepsquiet. We pull into my courtyard beyond the gate, and he cuts the ignition.

I open my door, but he’s already there, helping me. “I’m fine.”

He ignores me and keeps one hand on my waist. The sound of the gate closing behind me, something I’ve heard hundreds of times, hits differently.

We didn’t get very far on the run, but I’m sweating from the anxiety and the megawatt heat setting in the Lexus. I unzip my jacket and as I slide it off my shoulders, Trace stands there with his eyes on my skin.

Ramrod straight, he steps back. “I’ll leave you alone.”

“Wait,” I mutter, shucking the jacket. “Thank you. I’m sorry for locking you in your bedroom. God, had I been out there alone and this happened, with no phone, I’d have—”

“I’d have hunted you down, princess.” He stands over me. “Anywhere, anytime.”

“Have you protected women before?” I hate thinking he’s just an impossible flirt with all his female clients.

“Take your shower, princess.” He ignores my question and moves aside so I can climb the stairs.

My chest feels tight again, and I’m not sure if it’s because of Trace or the asthma.

Inside my bedroom, I ignore the broken French door handle and creep toward the bathroom. Heat seers my back and I spin around. Trace stands there, having stayed right behind me.

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