Page 8 of The Foreman
She wasn’t sure anymore if the real danger was back in the city, or standing behind her at the foot of the stairs. all the muscle, authority, dominance and control she couldn’t stopcraving. Trace didn’t just command a room. He bent it to his will.God help her, some reckless part of her wanted to be bent too.
She’d never been good at safe. And Trace McRae wasn’t just danger—he was the storm that followed it. The kind that made you ache to stand in the path and dare it to strike.
And as she climbed the stairs, her backside still stinging from his palm, Macy realized one terrifying truth: she may want and need protection from whatever or whoever was out there trying to destroy her life. But here in this ranch house with Trace, she didn’t want to be safe anymore.
TRACE
Trace stood at the foot of the stairs, arms folded across his chest, jaw locked, and body coiled tight with tension that had nothing to do with the storm hammering the windows. He’d watched Macy climb the steps to the guest room ten minutes ago, her spine straight, her feet silent on the wood, that damn sway in her hips still messing with his head. And he hadn’t moved since.
That woman was going to be the death of him.
He hadn’t wanted this. Hell, he’d told Reed no before the man even finished explaining. But the second he saw her, sopping wet, sassy as hell, her chin lifted like she wasn’t two steps from falling apart, Trace knew he was screwed.
Because it wasn’t just unfinished business with Macy Dane. It was heat and chaos, the memory of a firestorm he’d never managed to extinguish. Even after all this time, the spark she carried still smoldered under his skin, ready to flare up andconsume every inch of reason he had left. He’d buried it. Locked it down. Told himself he was done.
But the truth twisted inside him now, undeniable.Macy Dane had never stopped being dangerous. And deep down, he didn’t want her to.
She’d always been his personal brand of catnip. Mouthy, disobedient, smart as a whip, and just vulnerable enough to make a man think twice before turning his back. And now she was under his roof, under his protection, and worse... completely under his control.
He pushed off the newel post, moving to the security panel tucked inside a narrow cabinet by the front door. His fingers flew across the interface, double-checking the perimeter settings and external sensors. Rain still beat hard against the windows, but the sensors were clear. Fence line intact. No movement beyond the gate.
He quickly reviewed the camera footage, more for form than anything else. His system was monitored by Silver Spur and if there'd been a problem, he'd have known long before he arrived.He thumbed the secure line on his phone and hit Jesse Bryant’s number.
Jesse answered on the second ring. “You do know it’s past midnight, right?”
“Status update.”
“You mean about the fugitive brat you’ve got holed up at your place?” Jesse drawled.
"Reed Malone's got a big mouth and for the record he was pretty insistent about getting his way on it."
“Yeah, yeah, we all heard. He gave me the heads up to be ready to assist. You do know Keely and the others are all atwitter.”
Trace grunted. “Just what I need. Anything I actually need to know about?”
“Quiet so far. No flags on known assets or corporate goons in the area. But I’ll keep an eye out. You think it’s serious?”
“I think she’s not lying.”
There was a long pause. Then, “Well, hell. That’s almost romantic, coming from you.”
Trace growled.
Jesse chuckled. “Okay, okay. Just tell me one thing, where’s she sleeping?”
Trace finally answered. "The fucking guest room."
"For how long?"
Trace growled again.
More laughter. “That’s what I thought. Night, cowboy.”
He hung up with a muttered curse and looked up toward the second-floor landing.
Where was she sleeping? Guest room? Yes. Probably. For now, but the image that filled his brain unbidden was of Macy kneeling in front of him, on her knees, hands behind her back and her mouth full of his cock. Her body naked and her submission complete. His cock hardened even more at the thought.
He shook his head and cursed under his breath.
