Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1) (21 page)

Awkward.

Yeah, that was definitely the word to
describe what Marissa was feeling as she sat at Trace’s breakfast bar, watching
him stare back at her. Until recent events, it wasn’t often that the two of
them were alone together. Most of the time, she at least had Courtney to run
interference, which had always been Marissa’s saving grace, because even though
she wasn’t uncomfortable around Trace, she was still incredibly aware of the
man.

No Courtney today.

No
anyone
today, in fact.

Relief had surfaced for a brief second
when Z had walked through the door, but unfortunately he hadn’t stayed long,
and now Marissa didn’t know what she was supposed to do. As much as she tried
to relax, it was still disconcerting to be at Trace’s place. Alone with him.

“So…” Okay, so she had absolutely no idea
what to say, but she felt like something needed to be said.

“So
what
?”

Blurting the first thing that came to
mind, Marissa answered with, “So, y’all agree no more safe houses for me then?”

She asked the question with as much
positivity as she could, injecting a whole lot of smile in the words because
even she had to admit the topic wasn’t a fun one. Then again, she’d readily
discuss pretty much anything if it meant she didn’t have to think about Trace
with other women.

The thought had never sat well with her.

So now, at least maybe they could get the
topic back on neutral ground.

“Not if I have a say in the matter,” he
mumbled beneath his breath.

Marissa stared at him, her smile faltering
slightly. She never quite knew how to take Trace’s comments. Was he speaking
from a purely business point of view or… Yeah, she probably shouldn’t go there.

“Do you? Have a say in the matter, that is?”

Aside from it being her suggestion when it
had come down to relocating her to the first safe house, Marissa hadn’t had
much say in the matter. But she knew Trace had quite a bit of sway with the
family, especially when it came to business. He knew his stuff.

Trace cocked his head and smiled, the
dimple in his left cheek flashing with his crooked grin. “I’d like to think
so.”

Something about the gleam in Trace’s eyes
told her there might be an innuendo in there somewhere. She had to pretend that
she hadn’t noticed, though, because at this point, business was the only safe
subject.

“Well, if
I
have a say in the matter,” she told him, wrapping her hands
around her coffee mug and staring into the inky black liquid, “I’d prefer to
avoid them as much as possible.”

There was silence for a moment, and
Marissa was about to excuse herself back to the bedroom, where she could hide
away from the man with the million-megawatt smile.

“If I recall correctly, it was your
decision to go to the safe house in the first place, right?” Trace asked, and
the sound of his voice interrupting the eerie silence caught Marissa off guard.
Luckily, she recovered easily.

“Yes, it was.” At the time, she’d been
scared out of her mind and completely oblivious to who might possibly want to
hurt her, so yes, she’d jumped on the safe house bandwagon rather quickly. “But
oddly enough, I didn’t have much say in anything after that.”

“It was always for your own good,
Marissa,” Trace added, his voice calm, soothing.

Biting her lip, she kept from adding
anything more.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” Trace’s
raspy voice interrupted her thoughts a moment later.

Marissa looked up to see intense gray eyes—although
they were more white than gray—staring back at her. “Just thinking about when
it all started,” she lied. She was actually thinking about what it would be
like to kiss Trace, to feel his strong arms wrapped around her again, only with
a little more intimacy mixed in.

Not that she could tell him that.

“You were at the mall that day, right?”
Trace asked, pushing to his full height and walking to the coffeepot. He
proceeded to refill her cup and returned it to her.

Marissa watched him, took in the way he
moved. For a man with so much power, he didn’t seem to expend any more energy
than he had to. Every movement seemed to be predetermined, using stealth and an
immense amount of masculine grace.

The guy made her blood turn to fire in her
veins. Shaking off the thought, she opted to answer him. “Yeah. Court and I
went shopping. She went to try something on. That’s when he grabbed me,” she
told him when she realized she was still staring.

Marissa remembered the terrifying series
of events as though they had happened yesterday and not nearly one year ago. It
had started out as an absolutely uneventful trip to the mall, so much like many
other trips, but then drastically different all at the same time.

She couldn’t even remember what they’d
been shopping for. Maybe nothing, but either way, they’d ended up in one of the
big department stores rummaging through the clothing racks, seeking a sale. She’d
been flipping through the clothes when a man had approached. At the time, she
had thought nothing of it.
 

He was a normal-looking guy, not good-looking,
not bad-looking. Just average. Nondescript, even. He hadn’t seemed creepy or
stalkerish, but Marissa had avoided him all the same, continuing on her quest for
whatever. When he had gotten too close, she’d decided to move on to another
rack of clothes when he’d pulled one of the shirts from the same rack and held
it up. He’d then proceeded to ask a question, something about the color and
whether Marissa thought his wife would like it. She remembered that the last
words had trailed off, making it so that she couldn’t understand him.

That’s when he had moved closer once more.
Looking back, she figured he’d done so in order to repeat his question, and
when he had, he’d put a gun against her side. From that moment onward, he’d been
in full control.

Thank God Courtney had come out of the
dressing room when she had. That day, more than any other, it had been in Marissa’s
favor that her best friend wasn’t just a pretty face around Sniper 1. The woman
had been trained with the best of them, and she had killer skills that seemed
to kick in at the slightest provocation.

Luckily, that day Courtney had brought her
A
game.

Before the asshole could get Marissa out
of the mall and into his vehicle, Courtney had disarmed him. Of course, they’d
attracted a lot of attention, including that of the mall cops, who’d hurriedly
come on the scene in their attempt to take over.

But somewhere in the melee, the man had gotten
away, so the team hadn’t had a chance to interrogate him. To this day he hadn’t
reappeared, but no one believed he was the person behind all of the attempts.
They figured he was hired muscle. Definitely didn’t make Marissa sleep better
at night knowing he was still out there.

“You’ve been in what? Four safe houses now?”

Marissa was curious as to where Trace was
going with this or if the man was just making small talk. She knew without
question that he knew exactly how many safe houses she’d been in, where she’d
been located, and for how long. The Trexlers and the Kogans were a close-knit
bunch, and family was family. Regardless of whether they were related by blood
or not, they looked out for one another.

“Five,” she told him, staring down at her coffee
mug.

Five safe houses, five different states,
all within a twelve-month period. She’d had numerous bodyguards—Sniper 1 agents
who had drawn the short stick, obviously. The thought of going back to another
safe house, being locked away while everyone else tried to uncover whatever it
was that these people could possibly want from her… It didn’t warm her heart
any.

She felt Trace’s presence before she
actually realized he had moved. Marissa was suddenly overwhelmed by his
towering frame and the insanely delicious scent of the man as he came to stand
beside her. Without thinking, she turned and looked up at him.

He was close.

So close she could see the vibrant charcoal
specks in his exotic eyes, see the dark stubble that lined his jaw, his chin,
and his upper lip. The man was so beautiful Marissa was pretty sure her heart
skipped a beat as she admired all of the finely chiseled angles of his too-handsome
face.

He was also standing way too close for
comfort, which explained why she was holding her breath.

He seemed to be studying her, his gaze gliding
over her face.

“We’ll find him,” Trace finally said, his
voice low, reassuring.

Sexy
.

She wanted to believe him, wanted to hold
him to that, but she knew better. If anyone was going to find this man, draw
him out, and end this nightmare, it was going to have to be her. She couldn’t
see any other way.

Marissa’s eyes suddenly filled and she
fought the tears that threatened. She wished like hell he could keep that
promise, but she’d been told that before by her own father. Until they found
whomever was after her and figured out exactly what they wanted, she wasn’t
going to trust anyone’s word. Not even Trace’s.

His warm finger curled beneath her chin,
forcing her to look up at him again, and Marissa couldn’t suppress the shiver
that danced down her spine.

“I’m serious. I don’t make promises I
can’t keep.”

No, he didn’t. But this one, she wasn’t so
sure he had the ability to keep.

Knowing that saying anything wouldn’t make
this situation any better, Marissa nodded her understanding. Her breath hitched
in her throat when Trace glanced down at her lips, then back up to her eyes.
There was a violent eruption in her belly, one that made her hands shake, her
heart palpitate, and her mouth go completely and utterly dry.

It had absolutely nothing to do with fear.
 

With his finger still wrapped beneath her
chin, Marissa found herself leaning forward. Was he pulling her closer, or was
she the one closing the gap between them? She had no idea, but oh, holy hell,
she wanted to feel his lips on hers. It was a fantasy she’d had since she was a
teenager, one that had never come to fruition.

The next thing she knew, Trace was even
closer, his lips hovering directly over hers, his breath—the sweet scent of
mint—fanning her face. If she moved just a millimeter, she’d fulfill every
teenage fantasy, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Her body was frozen in place,
her brain misfiring from the heady scent of this man, the warmth of his touch.
Her stomach plummeted to her toes, gravity not caring one iota that its sole job
was to keep her grounded.

“Fuck,” Trace whispered, but then he was
gone. The intoxicating scent receded, the world came back into focus, and the
warmth dissipated, leaving her cold.

He hadn’t kissed her. But he had wanted
to. She knew that much.

Thank God he had more willpower than she
did because if it had been up to Marissa, they’d be tearing one another’s
clothes off at that point, forgetting everything that was going on around them,
and finally,
finally
, giving in to
the attraction that had been pulsing between them for years.

“I need to…” Trace paced away from her. “I’m
sorry, Marissa… Fucking
hell
.” And
with that, Trace disappeared, leaving Marissa to stare at her coffee cup as she
tried to catch her breath.

Yeah, if they ever made it to that point—the
point where he did finally put his mouth on her—she had no doubt that they’d be
incinerated by the passion that sparked between them.

The question was, how long was he going to
be able to hold out?

Because Marissa was ready to stop avoiding
what she
wanted.
And what she wanted was Trace Kogan.

One
fucking
hour.

Trace paced the floor in his bedroom while
he tried to regain some measure of control. Marissa hadn’t even been in his
house for one fucking hour, and he’d damn near incinerated the invisible wall,
that precariously brittle barrier that was between them for a reason. The wall
that needed to remain between them if either of them were to survive.

Fuck.

The way she’d leaned into him, the way her
breath had hitched, increasing in tempo as he’d contemplated pressing his lips
to hers. She’d pulled him right under her spell, and he had been hard-pressed
to do the right thing.

His brain and his body were obviously not
on the same page when it came to what was right and what was wrong, because
covering Marissa’s body with his own seemed like the most natural thing in the
world to do.

Coward.

That was exactly what he was, wearing down
the hardwood in his bedroom while he tried to come up with a plan to keep her
at a safe distance while she was under his protection.

She was here for the duration. They
weren’t going anywhere, because that was the goal: keep her safe, out of sight,
and pray like hell someone would come lurking in the shadows for her so they
could nail the asshole and end this nightmare she seemed to be mixed up in. It
was their safest option. If they could keep her hidden, the bastard would be
drawn out in his quest to find her. He would have no choice.

A knock on his bedroom door pulled him up
short. He stared at it, not sure what the hell he was supposed to do. It had to
be Marissa. No one else was there, and Z wouldn’t hesitate to slam through the
door just because he felt like it.

“Yeah?” he called out, not wanting to open
the door for fear of seeing her.

“I’ve got my laptop,” she said, her words
muffled through the wooden barrier.

Shit.

Moving to the door, he steeled himself to
see her again. With a cloak of professionalism falling into place, Trace pulled
open the door. Without looking directly into her eyes, he took the laptop from
her hand and started back toward his bed and stopped short.

Other
way, dumb ass.
Not
toward
the bed
.

Fucking shit.

He damn sure didn’t want Marissa Trexler
in
his
bedroom, on
his
bed, with him...
Shit.
What kind of idiot was he?

Spinning on his heel, he turned back,
urging her out of his bedroom with his body. Once they were safely in the hall,
he pulled the door shut and moved past her and into the living area. Placing
the laptop on the bar, he went to work, thankful for something to take his mind
off all the ways he wanted to kiss her, touch her, taste her, make love to her…

Not
fucking helping.

Focus. That was key.

Trace would admit, he wasn’t the same sort
of computer genius that Dominic or Austin was, but he could hold his own when
it came to hacking and scrambling. After all, he’d learned from the best of
them. For now, this would have to do.

Fifteen minutes later, Trace turned, fully
expecting to see Marissa standing there waiting for him. She wasn’t.

Glancing around the room as though she’d
done some sort of disappearing act, he realized she must’ve gone back to her
bedroom.

Great. Just what he needed.

And who the hell had thought this was a
good idea?

Right. That had been him.

Trace remembered that he’d been the fool
to come up with this brilliant plan. Pure genius he was. He should’ve let one
of her brothers take her to their place, hide her out, and keep her safe. Or
maybe one of his brothers could do it.

The last thought had an unfamiliar
possessiveness coursing through him. He didn’t want to think about Marissa
around his brothers. And he damn sure didn’t want to think about her out of his
sight. She was safer with him.

At least that’s what he told himself.

Knocking on the door to the guest room,
Trace waited for her to answer. When she didn’t, he knocked again but didn’t
wait as he pushed open the door.

Her laptop was almost collateral damage.

Trace nearly swallowed his tongue as he
stood stone still, clutching her laptop to his chest to keep from dropping it,
staring at Marissa, who was…

Holy
mother of…

Marissa Trexler was half-dressed in the
middle of his guest bedroom, her incredible body backlit by the sun gleaming
through the window, making her look like a living, breathing dream come true.

An angel.

He felt like he was in a commercial—one
where the light shined brightly on the sexy, scantily clad woman, enticing the
viewer to buy whatever it was she was selling. And Trace was fully onboard.
Hell, he had his fucking wallet open, his credit cards at the ready.

Fucking
shit
.

Shaking off the haze of lust that had
clouded his vision, Trace mentally envisioned the light receding, disappearing
entirely and leaving him standing in the cold, stark reality of the situation.
And now that he thought about it, yes, maybe saying Marissa was half-dressed
was a little melodramatic.

In her defense, she had on some sort of
black, skintight pants—leggings, he thought they were called—and a pale pink
bra that showcased her amazing tits in the most provocative yet strangely
innocent way. And she was pulling a sweater over her head.

Obviously she was changing clothes, trying
to get more comfortable. A little ironic considering Trace was about as
uncomfortable as he’d ever been in his entire life.

“Trace!” she screamed, pulling him from
his trance.

“Huh?” he mumbled, still unable to pull
his attention away from her beautiful breasts. They were certainly more than a
handful, and through the delicate pale lace of her bra, he could see her
nipples puckered beautifully.

And then she robbed him of his visual
feast when she turned away, yanking the sweater down over her head.

“Are you
done
?” she asked, her tone clipped.

Ogling her? Probably not. But he doubted
that was what she was referring to, so he said, “Yeah. Your computer’s good to
go.”

“I wasn’t talking about the computer,” she
bit out. “I meant are you done eye fucking me from across the room. Don’t you
believe in just a little bit of privacy?”

Okay, so that
was
what she’d been referring to.

Trace set the laptop on the edge of the
dresser and took three steps into the room, coming to stand directly in front
of her. He couldn’t get his brain to work, maybe because his cock seemed to be
doing all of his thinking for him. Letting his eyes rake over her body, from
her delicate ankles to her cute little nose, Trace finally met her gaze again.
“Ever heard of locking the door?”

Marissa glared back at him, but she didn’t
move away. “Ever heard of
putting
a
lock on the door?” Her words were laced with sarcasm.

Glancing behind him, he noticed for the
first time that the door didn’t actually have a lock on it. Huh.

Turning back to face her, he couldn’t
eradicate the grin that formed. He loved the fiery side of Marissa. It made him
want to tie her to the bed and tame her into submission. Make her bend to his
will until she was screaming out his name, begging for mercy in the most erotic,
sensual way.

Definitely not helping.

Rather than tell her all the things he
wanted to do to her, he took a step back. “Next time, answer when I knock.”

“I di—” Marissa clamped her mouth closed
as Trace continued to watch her. “Just get out.”

Without another word, Trace backed out of
the room and into the hallway, giving her one more once-over before he closed
the door. And he didn’t miss the scorching heat that backlit Marissa’s glowing
blue eyes.

As with everything else in his life at the
moment, he had the feeling this was not going to end well.

□«»□«»□«»□

Marissa sucked in air, attempting to get
her heartbeat to slow. She’d just witnessed the most intense expression on
Trace’s face, and the confusion that wracked her body was distracting.

She still couldn’t believe that he’d just
waltz in without giving her a chance to answer the door when he announced his
presence by pounding on the wood. She’d been changing clothes when the first
knock had sounded. Obviously he hadn’t heard her when she’d told him to give
her a minute. Instead, he’d stormed right in.

An almost painful heat had engulfed her
entire body when his eyes had trailed over her, stopping to linger on her
breasts before making their way back to her face. Her nipples had hardened
instantly from the intensity that had radiated from his gaze. Yet she hadn’t
been able to do anything but stare at him before, yes, throwing him out. God,
she was an idiot. It had been an opening she’d been waiting for, and still she’d
managed to let the opportunity pass her by.

Exhaling deeply, Marissa shook her head. In
an attempt to remember what she was supposed to be doing, she peered over at
the dresser. Right.

For the life of her, she hadn’t remembered
the reason for Trace’s untimely presence in her room, but now that her
embarrassment was receding somewhat, she noticed what he’d barged in on her for.

Her laptop.

Marissa made a beeline for the dresser.
Work. That’s what she needed to do. Not only would it possibly get her closer
to figuring out the puzzle that was her life but it would also get her mind off
Trace Kogan.

Something had to or she was going to go
stir crazy—ninety minutes into a never-ending purgatory and she felt as though
she were skiing downhill, fast, and the tree at the bottom was coming up on her
quickly. Nothing was going to stop the impending collision, and part of her was
looking forward to it.

However, her self-preservation wasn’t all
that keen on what would surely be a fiery aftermath.

Shaking off the thought, Marissa grabbed
her laptop and settled onto the bed, putting her back to the headboard.

Had she been at home—or rather, a safe
house—she would’ve read a book or curled up on the couch and watched a movie.
Sometimes she would even head out to the local bookstore or
movie
theater
to hang out, to have a little human interaction. But right now,
it seemed her only option was to hide out from the man who made her body burn
with just his eyes.

She needed something much more distracting
than a novel or a romantic comedy. Both of those would offer little reprieve from
the fantasies of Trace that were vying for her immediate attention.

Within minutes, she’d effectively stopped
thinking about Trace as she reviewed some of the comments on her last blog post
and proofread her upcoming post that was scheduled for the following day. It
wasn’t until she was skimming her emails nearly half an hour later that she saw
it.

Crap.

There in her inbox was an email from an
unfamiliar email address. She didn’t have to open the email to see the preview
of the article attached to it. It was the article Douglas had written, one she
had helped him with and remembered all too well. The heading:
Sex, money, drugs: A concoction for murder.
 

Crap. Crap. Crap.

As she stared in horror at the email, a rumble
in her stomach reminded Marissa that she hadn’t eaten breakfast or lunch. She
was starving, she realized as she glanced over at the clock on the bedside
table and noticed it was already nearing three in the afternoon.

Rather than go in search of food, Marissa closed
her laptop with a gentle click, then eased down onto her back and curled up
with the extra pillow on the bed. She pulled the blankets over her because the
fear had chilled her to the bone, exterminating every ounce of heat that had
swamped her after the incident with Trace. Closing her eyes, she prayed for
sleep, something to give her a brief reprieve from everything that was going on.

Unfortunately, her subconscious had other
ideas, drifting back to that horrific day nearly six months ago…

The
knock on the front door startled her, causing her to look up from her book.

As
though her surroundings might offer some answers to the questions that began
running through her mind, Marissa glanced around the small, tastefully
decorated living room of the third safe house she’d been shipped off to in the
last eight and a half months. Surprisingly, she’d spent more time at this one
than any of the others, and perhaps that was why she’d come to like it so much.

The
clock on the wall told her it was midafternoon, as did the sun peeking through
the slats in the white, faux-wood blinds that were closed.

Who
could possibly be at the door? No one was supposed to know where she was, and
surely if her father or brothers had sent an agent to check on her, they
would’ve called well in advance as they usually did.