Illicit Temptation (Astoria Royals #3)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Shea

G od, this damn asthma. I struggled to breathe throughout my childhood. Nothing is worse when you’re a kid than not being able to play sports. Da didn’t trust doctors. His breathing problem solution: Suck it up. You’ll grow out of it.

Which I eventually did. But when I was in college, and had a bad attack, the student nurse sent me to the hospital. Tests showed years of untreated attacks left scars on my lungs. They set me up with a regiment of preventive sprays, pills, and a rescue inhaler.

It took two years, but the disease was managed. Only, it’s been suggested all the steroids caused the fibroids in my uterus. Maybe Da knew that and wanted to keep me fertile. I shake that away and put my head down. He wouldn’t do something to hurt me, would he?

“Want a scone, Miss?” A voice above lifts my head.

I reach into my pockets for money, but she places the plate on the table.

“Your friend took care of it. And the tea.”

“Thank you. I’m...catching my breath.” I take in her stare, and find it odd she doesn’t address the fact I can barely breathe. “Um, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I notice a cozy room in the back with folded tables and stacked chairs. It’s dark, but I can see it’s a nice-sized space with wainscotting, a parquet floor, and deep blue paint above the chair rail.

A party room? In a bakery?

“Do you rent out that room?” I point, thinking I could always use a fresh place to throw showers and luncheons.

The woman’s eyes widen, and she...closes the door. “ No.”

I glance around to see any signs mentioning upcoming events here at the bakery. Odd. Oh well, her loss. My clients would kill for a cute place like this and would pay top dollar.

She leaves, and I catch my Lexus screeching a U-turn out front. I swallow, noting the time. Six minutes.

Wow.

I gulp down the rest of my tea and stand to leave.

I bring my cup to the counter. “Thank you.”

“Here.” The bakery lady hands me a heavy white bag.

“Whoa. What’s...this?”

“Pastries for you to take home. Your friend left me a twenty. I can’t be bought, Miss.”

Can’t. Be. Bought.

What on earth? “I’m...not sure what you mean you can’t...be bought. I was inquiring about your room because I...plan parties for—”

“I know who you are.” Her stern attitude throws me.

“What’s the problem here?” Trace’s voice booms into the small space, other customers turning around.

Embarrassment floods me. I don’t take the bag she’s offering and as far as I’m concerned, Trace paid for my tea and left a tip. He can come back and fight for his change.

“Nothing. Can...we go?”

“Of course. Here’s your spray.” He hands it to me and puts an arm around my shoulder.

Gasping, I shake it and spray two pumps. I hold it in while Trace steers me to my car. Within seconds my lungs open, and it’s a whole new world.

“When we get home, I’ll get the shower running for you. I want you to sit in there and just breathe.” Trace holds my hand as we drive home.

“Okay,” I squeak out.

His face looks taut like he’s got more to say. But he keeps quiet. We pull into my courtyard beyond the gate, and he cuts the ignition.

I open my door, but he’s already there, helping me. “I’m fine.”

He ignores me and keeps one hand on my waist. The sound of the gate closing behind me, something I’ve heard hundreds of times, hits differently.

We didn’t get very far on the run, but I’m sweating from the anxiety and the megawatt heat setting in the Lexus. I unzip my jacket and as I slide it off my shoulders, Trace stands there with his eyes on my skin.

Ramrod straight, he steps back. “I’ll leave you alone.”

“Wait,” I mutter, shucking the jacket. “Thank you. I’m sorry for locking you in your bedroom. God, had I been out there alone and this happened, with no phone, I’d have—”

“I’d have hunted you down, princess.” He stands over me. “Anywhere, anytime.”

“Have you protected women before?” I hate thinking he’s just an impossible flirt with all his female clients.

“Take your shower, princess.” He ignores my question and moves aside so I can climb the stairs.

My chest feels tight again, and I’m not sure if it’s because of Trace or the asthma.

Inside my bedroom, I ignore the broken French door handle and creep toward the bathroom. Heat seers my back and I spin around. Trace stands there, having stayed right behind me.

I push a hand through my messy bun, bringing all my hair down. “That woman at the bakery...”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, princess.” He tugs my hand and brings me into the bathroom where he runs the shower until steam envelops me.

“Wait.”

“Sit.” He points to the cedar bench next to the vanity .

A scent hits me. “Is that...”

“Eucalyptus,” he says.

“My shower steamers?”

“Aye.” He got a good look around my bathroom while I was struggling to breathe. But he meant well, and it wasn’t like I was on the floor passed out.

I take a seat and lean against the tiled wall, slipping off my shoes. The steam opens my lungs again and my heart rate slows.

“That woman at the bakery told me she knew who I was,” I say while Trace bends down and begins to help me remove my shoes. “What did she mean? This is a small town. I want people to know me. Word of mouth is still a very powerful marketing tool. But the way she talked to me.”

“She gave me a standoffish vibe, too. I don’t think she knew you for your party planning.” Trace peels off my socks and massages my feet. Christ, that feels good.

“Can it be because of my brothers?”

“I don’t know. But if there was any other place I could have left you, I would have. I even considered taking the chance to order a cab. But I didn’t trust how quickly they would have reached us. I only trust myself, I knew I’d get here and back to the bakery to pick you up in a few minutes.” He looks down, and next, his hands are running up my calf. “Perhaps that was wrong of me.”

“Wrong of you?” I want to keep him talking so his hands stay on me.

“To make all of these assumptions.”

“You were acting on instinct,” I whisper. “I’m sure you did what you had to do in the military. But have you ever had to...kill someone for a client?”

“Not working for the private security contractor,” he answers quickly. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t second guess the need to take someone out. Anyone ...for you. ”

I scoff. “I’m not in danger here. The rude woman aside who, for all I know, attended an event I hosted and didn’t like the food.”

“I’m not worried about her,” he mutters.

“Who are you worried about?”

He looks up at me with his stunning golden eyes that steal my breath all over again.