Page 27 of The Foreman
Play stations lined the outer ring, each one equipped with specialized rigs, while the central command hub above the lounge gleamed with discreet surveillance feeds, secured terminals, and biometric access panels. It was still the most seductive place she'd ever known, and the most dangerous.
Trace led her inside and up to the second floor where the secure safe rooms and private play rooms were located. Hekeyed them in, then nodded toward a hallway. "Room at the end. It has an attached bath with a great shower and the towels are in the wall cabinet. I’ll grab clothes from storage."
Macy took a step toward the hallway, then turned back with a raised brow. "Still have cameras in the bedrooms here? Or did the dungeon go soft while I was gone?"
Trace’s mouth quirked. "Not unless I flip the switch."
"Good. Wouldn't want an audience while I wash off the reminder of exactly how thoroughly you ruined me."
His jaw flexed, heat flashing in his eyes. She grinned, victorious, and sauntered down the hall with a sway in her hips.
"I wouldn't waste too much time with that. I'm not through with you yet."
When she emerged twenty minutes later, damp hair curling around her shoulders and dressed in leggings and a faded Silver Spur t-shirt knotted at the waist, Trace was waiting in the main room. Jeans. Black tee. Gun holstered. And a look that made her thighs press together without conscious thought.
"Feel better?"
"Cleaner," she said, sauntering toward him. "But now I’m bored."
"That sounds like a threat."
"Or a challenge. Depends on how brave you’re feeling."
He stepped closer. "Is that right?"
"Mmhmm. Maybe I want to test what happens when the cowboy finally snaps."
Trace’s gaze darkened. "Careful, Macy. You may not like the consequences."
A throb of a heated ache bloomed deep in her core. The look in his eyes made it clear he wasn’t bluffing. If she was honest, a part of her didn’t want him to. Her breath hitched. Her fingers curled against her thighs, nails biting into skin she couldn’t seemto keep still. Every nerve felt stretched taut, like her body had already leapt ahead of her mind.
She licked her lips. "Define 'may not like,' cowboy. Because I’m feeling pretty damn curious."She tilted her head. "See, that’s the thing. I think I will."
He moved fast. One hand curled around her wrist, the other pressed flat against the small of her back as he walked her backward toward the wall.
"You want me to snap? To stop holding back and show you what it means to belong to me?"
She grinned, heart pounding in her chest. The heat in his voice licked across her skin, making her pulse race. "You keep talking like that, McRae, and I might enjoy this more than I should."
His grip tightened. "Strip."
Her breath caught.
"Now, Macy."
She obeyed, her breath catching at the quiet authority in his voice. A spark lit behind her ribs—equal parts fear, want, and something far more reckless. The air thickened around her as she moved,
Slowly, she pulled the knot free at her waist and lifted the shirt over her head. The cool air in the room prickled across her skin. Her nipples tightened. Trace’s gaze devoured her.
She shimmied out of the leggings and let them drop.
He stepped into her space, close enough that the heat of his body wrapped around her like a living flame. With a firm grip, he raised her arms above her head and pinned her wrists to the wall, his body pressing hers into the unyielding surface. One hand held her captive, the other slid down the curve of her throat, lingering just long enough to feel the rapid pulse fluttering beneath her skin before trailing lower—slow, deliberate, and possessive.
"You really want to test me, darlin'?"
She trembled, her breath shallow, spine bowing slightly under the weight of sensation gathering deep in her core. Not fear, never fear, but the sharp, delicious edge of anticipation. Arousal curled low and insistent, thrumming through every nerve ending like a promise waiting to be claimed.
"I want you to stop pretending we’re not both halfway to combusting," she teased, voice low and taunting, the edge of a grin curling her lips. Inside, Macy’s pulse thundered. Shefelt like a current of electricity was dancing beneath her skin, every inch of that skin humming with dangerous possibility. If Trace didn’t touch her soon, she might spontaneously combust for real.
