done this was beyond him. Hell, just the thought of Phoebe had always affected him the same way and it didn’t make him want to run out and commit hara-kiri.
Since she didn’t seem to be in any hurry to stop staring at him, Trace decided to return the favor, and what he saw caused his mouth to curve into an unholy grin.
Her sundress lay hiked up around her waist, revealing a tiny scrap of lace he supposed passed for panties. Though he’d always been a sucker for her long sable hair, it looked a little ragged at the moment with bits of grass sticking out and a rather large leaf tangled at the side. On top of that, one of her shoes must have flown south during their tumble, because only a single, lethal-looking high heel graced her arched foot.
It was enough to make a man drool. She was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen and color-coordinated to boot. Shoes, dress and underwear all in a glaring shade of pink that he could honestly say was his new favorite color. He wondered what she’d do if he told her that he could see London, France and every little bit of her underpants. Little definitely being the key word here.
Unfortunately, though not unexpectedly, Phoebe seemed to catch herself making calf eyes and pulled up short, retreating behind a stone wall of composure with a dash of indifference thrown in for good measure, in case he hadn’t taken the hint. Trace narrowed his eyes. It had been nine years. He was a full-grown man. Her denial of their attraction shouldn’t matter. Yet, he felt as if he were back on campus following her around like a puppy dog begging for a date because he was so damn crazy about her he couldn’t stay away.
The same old frustrations from the past, the ones demanding he force a response from her, raged through his body. He was not the only one affected here. Before he walked away, Phoebe Devereaux was going to admit what she had only once in the past, and then ruined by never speaking to him again. That she wanted him and wanted him bad. Though, Trace decided with a smile, he might not make her say it in those exact words.
He knew from personal experience the only way past Phoebe’s reserve involved annoying the heck out of her until she got screaming mad, and then man, oh, man, would he get a response. Despite the turmoil twisting his insides, he felt a surprising spark of excitement. Damn, this was going to be fun….
Trace crossed his arms and purposely put on his most cocky expression, which just so happened to be the one that had always riled her up the most. “Not that I mind the view, but maybe you should pull down your dress. Unless, of course, you want to pick up where we left off now that you know it’s me.” It was almost too easy, he thought wickedly.
Phoebe’s forehead wrinkled and she glanced down at herself. A strangled noise rushed past her lips before she scrambled to her feet, the whole while brushing down the front of her dress. “Oh, please,” she finally said, with a dramatic look heavenward. “As if I would ever want to pick up anything with you.” Her voice was a little too shaky to achieve the disdainful tone Trace knew she was going for.
“Hey—” he raised his hands “—you were the one wiggling around down there like you were doing the horizontal lambada. Not me.” He shook his head. “No sir, no matter how I begged, nothing could keep you still.”
She stiffened, bringing his attention back to the long, firm limbs he’d so intimately held only moments before. The same ones he remembered from nine years ago and had felt like heaven wrapped around his waist, around his back, his shoulders, his neck….
Aw, hell. His pants were never going to lie flat.
“Poor Trace. I see you’re still delusional. How sad.” She sniffed and turned away, clearly dismissing him as she presumably began to search for her missing shoe.
Trace scowled. Like hell would she blow him off that easily. “While you, it seems, have changed quite a bit. If memory serves correctly, you never used to wear underpants. Not that I’m complaining. They’re quite nice. You have excellent taste.”
She whipped her head back around to gape at him, her mouth hanging open.
Score one for the home team. He’d stunned Phoebe Devereaux silent. Now to really piss her off. “Why, Phoebe, I can think of only one other time I made you speechless. And here, I’m not even touching you….” He shook his head but couldn’t contain the wide smile that spread across his face at the direct hit.
Of course, she didn’t stay silent for long. In his experience, she never had. Not with him anyway. It had always been a source of amazement to him that the same painfully shy woman who could barely make small talk with the other students, became a screaming virago at the least of his taunts. The dichotomy of her behavior had been the biggest turn-on of his life. It had gotten to the point that by his senior year, she’d say one mean or argumentative thing and his favorite body part would pop up like one of those plastic thermometers on a turkey. For a while there, he’d been afraid that he’d never be able to get an erection without having a whopping argument first.
Phoebe narrowed her eyes. “Crude egomaniacs tend to have that effect on me. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She started to lift her cute little nose in the air, but he spoke before she could turn away again.
“You don’t have to explain, Phoebe. I know exactly how I affect you.” He purposely made his voice low and suggestive. “But, I was thinking about our night together. You remember, Phoebe, right? The night when we—”
“It was nothing.” She actually growled and he could just make out the telltale flush on her cheeks.
“Bull.” Not one of the most original comebacks but he was riding the edge here and deserved a little slack.
She waved her hand. “We had some fun. Well, at least you did, anyway. It wasn’t a big deal.”
Trace merely crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow. Why argue something so patently false? Besides, if he opened his mouth, he might do something stupid. Like tell her exactly how much that night had meant to him.
She rolled her eyes then pretended great interest in her fingernails which, in this light, he knew doggone well she could barely see. “All right,” she said grudgingly, “it was pleasant.”
His other eyebrow joined the first and they both crept higher.
Phoebe clenched her jaw and fisted her hands at her sides. “Fine, I really enjoyed myself.”
Since she was doing so good on her own, Trace still said nothing, and she bit out, “Okay. I had as much fun as you, if not more. The heavens moved, the earth shook.” She smiled sweetly. “But if you recall, I got over it.” While steam all but poured from his ears, she shrugged, no longer meeting his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re making such a big deal over this. For that matter, I’m shocked you even remember.”
He cursed. “Oh, I remember all right….” As if he could forget.
Twenty-one years old and in love for the first time in his life, Trace had held her in his arms and watched her come.
He’d slid into the hot, delicate flesh between her legs until her beautiful thighs had begun to quiver on either side of his hips and she’d exploded in release. Though she’d never told him, Trace had known that she was a virgin. Phoebe had willingly given him a gift no other would have, and at that moment, he’d felt as if it had been his first time, too. There was no way in hell he’d let her brush off that night as unimportant. On a physical level alone it had been one for the history books even if she had completely rejected him the next day.
Phoebe scoffed.
