Page 76 of Without a Trace

---

Not a peck. Not a tease.

A real kiss.

Hard. Deep. Possessive.

His hand curled around my jaw. Mouth pressed into mine like he’d earned it. Like he already owned it.

I leaned into it.

And Trace moved.

Fast.

Explosive.

Shoving the coffee table out of the way so hard it slammed against the wall, shattering.

Zeke stepped back just in time to avoid Trace’s fist.

“Trace!” Lena screamed.

“Fucking outside,” Trace growled, voice dark and guttural.

Alden jumped to his feet. “Don’t—!”

But it was too late.

Trace grabbed Zeke by the collar, shoved him backward through the doorway, out onto the porch, into the night.

Trace

The door slammed behind us.

I didn’t hesitate.

Zeke barely caught his footing before I shoved him again, harder this time. “You fucking touch her again—”

He laughed.

Fucking laughed.

“Careful, Trace,” he said, adjusting his shirt like I hadn’t just tried to knock the smug off his face. “You’re showing your cards.”

“She’s not a game.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, glancing back at the house. “The way she’s playing all of you? Shit. She kissed me like she meant it.”

I lunged.

Fist cocked.

But Alden was there—shoving between us, palm flat against my chest.

“Stop,” Alden barked. “Not here. Not like this.”

Zeke’s smile sharpened. “Aww. The babysitter still has a leash on you?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Alden growled. “This isn’t about you.”

---