Two is a Lie(72)

One of those hands touches my knee under the table. I glance at the man attached to it, but Trace keeps his gaze trained on Bree.

“They’re lucky they didn’t come down with the flu.” My breath catches as his fingers slide beneath the skirt of my dress. “They fed and cleaned up after me better than Mom would’ve done.”

Bree laughs. “Mom isn’t very good at the nurturing stuff.”

I love my mother, but I’m not close to her. She’s reserved and introverted, and since she and Dad moved to Florida eight years ago, the distance hasn’t helped. A deeper relationship with my parents would require me to reach out to them more, which I don’t do, because I have Bree.

“It’s nice to see both of you here tonight.” Bree nods at Cole while speaking to Trace. “It must be uncomfortable for you.”

Leave it to my sister to finally address the elephant in the room. But since she thinks Cole and Trace met for the first time a couple weeks ago, she doesn’t know the extent of the bad blood between them.

“When I’m with your sister…” Trace caresses a path up my inner thigh and strokes a finger along the crotch of my panties. “It’s never uncomfortable.”

My thighs clench together, trapping his hand. He seems perfectly at ease fingering me under the table while talking to Bree. Meanwhile, I’m so tense I probably look constipated as I try to keep my hips from rocking against his touch. My face burns, and I clench my fingers against the tablecloth.

Thankfully, Cole’s still discussing soccer with David and doesn’t look in my direction. If I push Trace’s hand away, it’ll draw attention, so I try to relax and temper my breathing.

“You know, this isn’t their first meal together.” I cough into my fist as Trace presses a firm finger against my clit. “They had breakfast together last week without me.”

“Really?” Bree arches a brow.

“Yeah. I have no idea what they talked about—”

“I told you.” Trace wickedly circles that finger, making my toes curl. “We discussed your health and our impact on it.”

“Hmm.” Bree leans in, studying me closely. “I will say, you never get sick. God, how long has it been? The last time you didn’t feel well enough to dance was…” Her eyes drift to Cole, and her complexion pales.

When he died. That’s the last time I was sick. And it was an ugly sick—inside and out, front to back, and dead all over. I didn’t get out of bed for weeks.

Trace watches Cole talk to David then shifts his intelligent gaze to me. “You might’ve had the flu, but you were already rundown. Physically and emotionally. Your health is more important than anything else going on in your life.”

“I like you.” Angel, who’s been quiet all night, directs her big brown eyes at Trace.

The hand between my legs retreats to my knee, and he scowls at the four-year-old. “That’s good, because I like your aunt.”

“I don’t like him.” She points at Cole and narrows her eyes. “I’m going to rip his spine out.”

Angel just met Cole for the first time tonight. Evidently, she’s quicker at making decisions than I am.

“Angel!” Bree angles toward her daughter, glaring. “I don’t want to ever hear that again.

“So put your fingers in your ears.” Angel blinks, expressionless.

“Oh my God,” Bree mouths to me behind the concealment of her hand.

As laughter bubbles up my throat, Bree shakes her head at me. I guess she doesn’t want me to encourage the little demon. So I arrange my face into a disapproving expression.

Bree pushes Angel’s mostly empty plate toward her. “Finish your dinner.”

My niece stares at her green beans and frowns. “Vegetables are ruining my life.”

I can’t stop my laughter this time, and even Trace smiles.

After dessert, we clear the table, and the men step out on the deck with beers in hand. It’s warm for November. Jacket weather. Maybe I’ll join them while Bree gives Angel a bath. But first, I need to pee.

The three-bedroom house is average-sized, appropriate for Bree and David’s teacher salaries. I amble down the hall, bypassing the main bathroom, since it’s currently occupied by Bree and Angel.

I slip into the master bedroom and use the facilities in the tiny en suite. Hands washed and hair finger-combed, I open the bathroom door to step out. And slam into a hot steel wall with a startled oomph.

Cole pushes his way in, forcing me backward and locking the door behind him.

“What are you doing?” My pulse races at the hungry expression on his face.