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Okay with it? Ha. No, her brain wasn’t. Not really. But her body, yeah, her body would never let her live it down if she ignored what a weekend with Trace offered. But this time, they’d have to be more careful. Not that they weren’t last time, but Joss had arrived nine months later all the same.
Joss.
For a moment, she considered fleeing the tent, then realized how ridiculous she was being. She was a grown woman. A grown independent woman. If she wanted to have sex with a gorgeous man who had a history of making her feel amazing, then why wouldn’t she embrace the opportunity?
“Yes.” A huge weight lifted off her shoulder at the admission. “I’m sorry I protested so much. Seeing you again and feeling attracted to you caught me off guard.”
Rather than looking triumphant, his expression was thoughtful.
“You’re sure about this, Chrissie? You understand I’m not offering anything more than this weekend?”
She nodded. She understood quite well.
“I don’t want anything more than this weekend.” For the second time in her life, she was going to let go and experience a no-strings weekend with Trace.
“Chrissie.” His hands flat against the table, he leaned forward. “You make me want to forget this whole event and sweep you to a hotel where I can have you to myself all weekend.”
“We can’t leave. Agnes and Bud need us.” Not that his words didn’t tempt. They did. But she wouldn’t walk away from pulling the load she’d committed to.
“I know we can’t,” he agreed. “And I wouldn’t leave, but you make me wish we could be alone in a comfortable bed in a comfortable room, with room service available twenty-four-seven so we could take advantage of every single moment.”
She closed her eyes and imagined being locked away for a weekend with Trace, a weekend where they had nothing more to do than to pleasure each other. A weekend that didn’t require more than throwing on a bathrobe to let room service in to deliver sustenance to keep up their energy. A weekend where she had Trace to herself and the rest of the world didn’t exist.
Oh, my.
“So, now what?” she asked, knowing she had to get her imagination under control or she’d be jerking him across the table and demanding some of that attention right this moment.
He laughed. “I take you behind that barely private partition to my semi-comfortable cot and hopefully have my wicked way with you.”
Chrissie swallowed. “Okay.”
Okay. She couldn’t believe she was saying okay. That she was agreeing to going behind a partition with Trace so they could get naked. No, they wouldn’t get naked. They’d satisfy their needs as quietly and stealthily as possible.
That hotel room sounded more and more tempting.
“I know.” He didn’t clarify what he meant. He didn’t have to. He was thinking the same thing she was.
Trace pushed away from the table, stood, and made his way to where she sat. He reached for her hand.
Just as she slid her hand into his, felt the tingles of awareness only he seemed capable of eliciting from her nerve endings, a noise at the entrance of the tent as someone pushed the flap open had them both looking that way.
“Hello?” a female voice called by way of greeting.
“Hi,” Chrissie greeted the woman and little girl coming into the tent as she stood. Disappointment filled her that she and Trace had lost their privacy, but as she looked at the little girl her disappointment quickly turned into concern.
Trace moved forward and stooped to the little girl’s level. “I’d ask what was going on, but I can tell. Does that rash itch as much as it looks like it does?”
The child nodded and scratched at her neck to prove her point.
“Sorry,” the girl’s mother said. “I know it’s late.” She gave her daughter a worried glance. “She didn’t break out until we lay down. I feel guilty for bothering you so late, but she keeps getting worse and I was afraid to wait until morning.”
“It’s okay. That’s what we’re here for,” Trace assured. “Come to the exam area where I can get a better look.”
He flipped a switch on a propane-gas-powered light, causing that area of the tent to brighten significantly so he would be able to examine his patient more efficiently.
“It’s driving me crazy,” the little girl said, scratching her arms. “I itch and itch and itch.”
“Don’t scratch,” her mother reminded her.
