JACE (Lane Brothers Book 3) (5 page)

“Was. She
was
getting married. Now she isn’t. Unless you count me already talking to the justice of the peace and making arrangements for next week,” I snarl, feeling that tightening in my chest again.

You do not believe in love, Jace, remember? Just belonging. Just. Belonging.

I keep telling myself that and maybe I’ll actually believe it sometime in the next twenty years, I think with a snort and an internal eye roll.

“Bro, take it from me, man. A woman needs to have her choices.”

That makes me grunt out a laugh.

“Pardon me? Did you just spout that shit after the way you got your girl, Wyatt? Far as I can recall, you drugged her while she slept, tied her to your bed, and kept her prisoner in Gardner’s house for days before she took a shine to you. Oh! And did you forget your plan B, asshole?” I goad, liking the way the tables have suddenly turned.

“Ellie wanted a baby, too!”

“Huh, true. And yet you didn’t exactly ask before you tried to impregnate her, did you?”

“You little bastard.”

“Asshole.”

“Idiot.”

“Moron.”

“Okay! Look, I just want to say a few things that I feel I should say as your big brother. First, women want and need to have their choices. That’s just true and you know it, so don’t go thinking you can just marry Trace without her agreement. And I wanted to say congrats, man. I always liked Trace and it bummed me out when you broke things off with her. Just…be careful, yeah? You’ve got a lot going on right now and you can’t afford a distraction.”

“Trace is not a distraction,” I say, leaving my room and taking the stairs two at a time.

I have the overwhelming urge to see my girl right now.

“Bro, that is not true and you know it. It’s one of the reasons your fool mind decided to let Tracy go. You’ve seen Miah lately, right? The man is so wrapped up in the love bubble, it’ll take a nuclear explosion to wake him up, and he’s gone rogue, hunting that Grimes guy. Love is a distraction.”

“I do not love Tracy.”

“Tell that to someone with less intelligence than me, asshole. Now stop running down the stairs before Ma catches—”

“Are you trying to break your neck?! Stop running and get in here, Jace. Mama has some good news.”

I disconnect the call to the sound of Wyatt’s laughter and see Ma’s grinning face, wondering what I just got myself into by involving the old bat in my business.

Somehow those restraints are looking mighty fine just about now as I follow her into the living room to see Pop sitting there, grinning just as broadly.

“Please tell me you and Trace will at least give this old woman a few grandkids and undo the damage Miah and Clari did.”

Ma’s grinning and rubbing her hands together like an evil crone while Pop looks on, obviously enjoying the show that is the Jude Lane project.

“Pop. Trace and I aren’t even together yet, and I still have a lot of shi—stuff to do concerning the mess the family is in. A little time wouldn’t go amiss here, old man.”

Pop smiles and shrugs casually, waving my words away.

“With Judy here on the case, you’re bound to get your girl. The family shit is just another cog in this wheel that you and your brothers will sort out in time.”

Well, looks like Ma and her greedy paws will be getting another grandkid soon. Really, who am I to deny her what she wants when she’s going to all this trouble to help me get Tracy back.

“Tell me, you old dictator.”

“Ooooh! She’s coming to dinner tonight, Jace! I can’t wait to see her again after so long. And—George! Come and help me prepare a menu and get a room ready for our girl.”

“Ma. Trace will be sleeping with me,” I cut in when she reaches the door in her frenzy.

“But—”

“That’s final, Ma. Tracy will be in my room, in my bed, and I don’t want you putting any other ideas in her head,” I warn, ignoring Pop’s chuckle and Ma’s frown.

“Fine, but I expect a grandbaby soon if I’m to convince the girl that fast that you aren’t a little shit, Jason Lane,” she huffs, throwing her hands in the air when Pop starts guffawing.

“Really, George, the doctor doesn’t want you getting so overexcited.”

“Stop complaining, woman, and go start on your menu while I talk to our kid. He’ll need a few tips on how to tame a wild filly, and I’m just the man to do that.” He winks.

Ma blushes and leaves the room giggling, her titters and the saucy wink she throws him making my stomach turn violently.

“Gross, Pop.”

“Hmm, you wanted her gone so you can go see your woman? Well she’s occupied, jackass. I’ll see you later.”

I’m out the door and speeding down the drive moments later, trying to scrub my brain of thoughts of Pop and Ma…in that way.

Trace

When a good plan comes together it’s the same as winning that carnival teddy bear that no one could nab. I feel great right now after a call from Jude Lane that I wasn’t expecting at all.

And that makes me laugh giddily because who in their right mind would ever expect Jason Lane to get his mommy to hook a girl for him? Not me, and certainly not after the way he watched me from that diner all afternoon while I tried and failed to keep track of the conversation between Ronny and Paulie.

I expected something a little more…forceful from my Jace than to run home and get his mom involved. I have to say that I’m a bit disappointed that he didn’t just go caveman on me and strap me to his freaking bed.

You gotta admit that would have been way hot.

And it would have given me a quick excuse to jump the guy like a sex-starved spinster, which is what I am if you really add up all the years I’ve been on this dry spell.

I have to admit to being a little nervous, and who can blame me? The Lanes—the good ones, at least—are like the freaking Christmas card family with all their love and affection and…and it’s as magnetic as it is scary.

The last time I saw Jude and the others, we were celebrating Wyatt’s birthday as if he were the Second Coming or something, and the outpouring of pure love and joy they all showed, the way they treated his birthday as if it were one of the top ten best things to ever happen in the world was pretty amazing, if I do say so myself.

Now I’m going back, and with three extras and a baby to show me exactly how dysfunctional my family is. Know what my mom and dad got me for my birthday besides a huge party with four hundred guests I don’t even like?

Mom got me a gift card—admittedly, her version carries a few thousand dollars’ worth of credit. Dad sent me a wedding catalogue and a ring that was supposed to be my wedding ring or engagement ring or whatever he was saying after I stopped listening.

I have to go to dinner with people I don’t relate to, and who turned their backs on me when Jace was done with me. How I should remain objective and keep to the mission is beyond me when all I really want to do is kick a few of them in the balls and throw a few punches to even the score.

I’m still standing in front of my closet trying to decide what to wear when the doorbell rings.

My heart starts tripping because not even a minute after the chime, I pick up the sound of the lock clicking and the scrape of the wooden door as it creeks open.

Only one person would be intrusive enough to ring the bell and not wait for me to open it.

“What the heck are you doing in my house, Jace?” I ask, not even bothering to turn and look at him as I survey the poor choice of wardrobe I brought along on this trip.

Stupid sensibility gets me every time.

“I’m here to pick you up for dinner, babe,” he drawls and I can just imagine that cocky smirk and his stance as he leans against the door, ankles and arms folded in that nonchalant way that used to be cute but just pisses me off now.

“Dinner. Oh brother, give me strength. It’s four in the afternoon, you fool, and your mother said dinner is at seven. Besides, my question was ‘what are you doing in my house,’ and let me amend, ‘without an invitation’.”

The damn black dress that looks like one Margaret Thatcher would wear keeps goading me and I finally rip it off the hanger with an internal screech of outrage and a foot stomp.

Yeah, Jace, just go ahead and chuckle your fool head off, why don’t you? Idiot.

“Babe, you’ve been sending me invitations since the moment you looked at me. No, don’t deny it, because one thing we do not do with each other is lie. You know you want me,” he drawls, grinning at my scowl when I toss the dress to the bed and stand with my hands planted on my hips and my foot tapping.

“I also want to swim in the Amazon River and skydive over Mount Fuji, but we can’t always get what we want. Sometimes those things are bad for us and have the potential to spread disease,” I answer sweetly, giving him a look as I pass him at the door and hit the kitchen.

My answer isn’t as scathing as it should be, but I blame that on the guilt I keep feeling about being such a big fat liar right now.

“Babe—”

“Oh would you just stop with the babe shit already! I’m not a pig. My name is Tracy. Not
babe
. Not
Trace
. Not anything that may sound like it. T-R-A-C-Y. Got that, sucker?”

He’s laughing even as he holds his hands up in surrender and pouts.

“Got it. Tracy. So, dinner, huh? You missed Ma, yeah?”

“No, I just didn’t want to be rude when she called and invited me. Besides, I liked Wyatt the few times we actually spoke, and I heard he got married and had a baby.”

Like that didn’t send an arrow of gut-ripping pain through me just thinking that if Jace had actually kept his word and married me, we’d have at least one kid right now.

I still think about things like that, and I hate that instead of being the first to have the next generation of Lanes, I get to be the bitter hag who’s personal friends with the green-eyed monster and drinks tea with the chick at least once a week.

“And Wyatt likes you. Along with every other member of my family, Tracy. They all love you, and Wyatt’s wife, Ellie, is dying to meet you. She’s keeping Alex up an hour later just to meet you.”

Big whoop!

So maybe that makes me feel all special and stuff now, but I’m sure I’ll get over it.

“Fine. Your family likes me, and we’re all just great and happy. I’m having dinner with the Lanes and then I’m getting the hell out of Dodge now that my wedding plans are finalized. Great. Thanks for stopping by. I’ll see you all at seven.”

Please do not walk out that door and leave me with the raging lust that started the minute you walked through the door
. I keep my back to him as I go for the refrigerator and whatever the hell is cold in there.

I’m needy here and I want him as much as I hate him, and to top it all off, my nipples are hard in this heat and my panties are not saveable anymore.

Jace is just…he’s magnetic. Those blue eyes and all that overly shaggy hair that flops across his forehead just does it for me. Along with the way he keeps looking at me as if he’d like nothing more than to devour me, all while slowly licking his lips.

I want him so badly right now that it’s an actual ache not to throw myself at him and demand he kiss me and finish what he started last night when he had his hand down my pants and his finger so close to my entrance. I still clench just thinking about it.

I remember every hot, sweaty, southern night with Jace Lane, and the memories only make this waiting that much harder. He used to kiss me for hours, playing our mouths together in a slick, wet glide that I felt all the way to my sex and womb.

He used to lick at my mouth and suck at my tongue as if it were the only thing in the world he craved before venturing lower to make love to every inch of my breast and my aching nipples.

I remember every kiss, caress, and lick he ever gave me. I still dream of him at night. I still think about the way he felt inside me, the way he would go slow or get so wild that the headboard would pound against the wall with his every frenzied thrust, so hard and raw.

It’s all still there in my memory, playing over and over again in a loop that makes me miss the sex, the pleasure…him.

And I hate it! I hate missing him so much that I’m still weak enough to cry some nights and wonder what it was about me that wasn’t enough.

“Tracy?”

I startle and spin away to swipe at the moisture gathering in my eyes, wishing for the hundredth time that I’d never come back here. And then thanking God that I did.

The thing about locking myself away and only focusing on what I need to do to send my father to prison is that I haven’t lived in three years. I eat and sleep and sometimes I laugh at silly stuff, like kittens doing cute things or the way my mom looks in the morning before brushing her hair.

But that’s it, and I think I may have ruined myself here, stored it all for him just to get to this moment. Goddammit! I hate this shit so much. Where’s the hard-nosed FBI profiler who told her boss to go jack a horse?

He’s doing it again; he’s ruining me and changing me and I don’t like it.

“What, Lane? What the hell is it that you really want from me here, huh? Technically speaking, you shouldn’t even be here, and these little ‘chance encounters’ we keep having should be awkward as hell.”

That makes him smile, a tilt of his lips that looks sad and resigned at the same moment.

“And yet it isn’t. Ever ask yourself why that is, Tracy?”

“Sure, lots, and I think I must have hit my head really hard or something to even be talking to you at all.”

He comes closer, doing that sidling thing that hot guys do because they know it’s hot and enthralling and has the power to captivate me despite my resistance.

“Show me where and I’ll kiss it better,” he drawls.

I have to crane my neck to look back up at him, and when I do, he uses the moment to lean down and seal our lips in a soft, slow kiss that makes my toes gouge grooves in the tile.

Kissing him back is as natural as breathing, and I give him the same slow caress, telling myself the whole time that I’m just using him, that he doesn’t matter and I don’t care about anything but the sex.

“God, you still taste so good, Trace.” He groans, going back in, but this time with a hand in my hair so he can control the pressure and angle of the kiss.

The contact is combustible—everything I remember it to be and I have the insane urge to climb his body and start grinding away at him to alleviate the need settling in a hot pool between my thighs.

I want to devour him, conquer him the way he conquered me so that this time, when I leave, he’ll remember me the way I’ve remembered him and suffer, knowing that I will never be his again.

The moaning sound I make when he hoists me up with his hands cradling my ass and settles me on the kitchen island is breathy and needy but I don’t care, not when he pushes me down, his lips still on mine, and starts attacking the zipper running down the side of my dress.

I’m in my panties and bra seconds later with Jace rising above me, his eyes taking it all in as if he’s never seen me like this before.

“You still prefer cotton?”

“Yes.”

That makes him smile and I gasp when he moves down and just dives right in, settling his mouth over my pantie-clad sex. The fabric should dull the sensations; it really should. Instead, I feel it all when he starts licking me, wetting the cotton and driving me insane.

“Jace.”

“Hmm? What, babe? Tell me what you want,” he growls, slipping a finger into the crotch and pulling my panties away with a sigh.

“Please.”

I don’t want to beg, but I can’t stop myself even as my hips start grinding up, searching for contact with his wicked tongue.

“This?”

His tongue flicks over me quickly and retreats, and we both groan low in our throats at the contact.

“More.”

“This?”

He licks again, going lower, deeper, making me writhe with the desperate need brewing inside.

“No! Please. More,” I sob, spearing my hands through his hair to press him exactly where I want him.

The feeling is explosive at the first rough swipe over my clit, and I clench against the urge to come quickly, wanting something more than a quick—

Sex. Just sex, Tracy. No slow and gentle. No buildup.

That snaps me out of the lust-filled fog and I start riding his face with a desperation that overtakes everything and anything I could want.

“Babe, slow down.”

“No. I want—”

“Slow and easy, Trace. Just—”

“Sex. It’s just sex!” I scream as his tongue hits my clit just the right way and I climax with a force that has me arching up and off the table with a yell.

The orgasm hits hard, quick, and I love every second of the feeling. I savor it the way a connoisseur savors wine, feeling it all and just taking the last twitches in with a heartfelt sigh that makes me want to cry.

I come to with Jace standing between my legs, a frown marring his face.

“Just sex, huh?” he snarls, making me suddenly aware that my legs are still spread and my panties are ruined where he ripped them at the crotch.

Scrambling up when he won’t let go of me is hard, but I manage it and even get ahold of my dress before looking up to meet his eyes.

“What else can it really be, Jace? I’m getting married in two months.”

His blank expression tells me everything I need to know. As does the way he drops his hands, wipes his mouth, and steps away as if I just burned him.

“You’re still getting married? After what we just did?”

“Sure, I, uh, it was just sex. Well, technically, it was just you going—”

“I just made love to you!”

Not love. Sex.

“Well…this is awkward. I guess I should skip dinner then,” I mutter, hopping off the counter to scramble back into my dress and the heels I kicked off earlier.