With nothing left to say, she made her way down the hall and to the second bedroom.
Going straight to her suitcase—which he’d sat on the king-sized bed—Emma unzipped it and grabbed the pair of yoga pants and a tank she used as pajamas, some clean panties, and her toothbrush.
A shower. That’s what she needed. A nice, hot,longshower.
After locking herself away in the bathroom, she stripped down, got the water as hot as she could stand it, and stepped inside a shower the size of Texas. She’d barely closed the frosted door when the damn broke loose, and her tears began to pour.
Emma cried for Jake and Mac. She cried for what almost happened to Derek and Grant. To their families.
She cried for what she’d been forced to endure and for what Trace had been forced to do.
By the time she was all out of tears, Emma was hit with a level of exhaustion unlike any she’d ever felt. Moving woodenly, she washed her body and hair, nearly stumbling out of the shower when she was finished.
Only halfway dry, she was barely able to keep her swollen eyes open as she made her way out of the bathroom in search of the bed. Closing her suitcase with the thought of unpacking it in the morning, Emma sat in on the floor at the foot of the bed.
Pulling down the covers, she crawled underneath them and laid down. She fell asleep the second her head hit the plush pillow.
Hours later—she wasn’t sure how long she’d been out—Emma woke in a state of confusion. Blinking to adjust her eyesight in the dark room, it took her a second to remember where she was...and why.
Head pounding from her earlier crying jag, she knew she needed some ibuprofen, or she’d never fall back to sleep. Something she forgot to pack.
After an unsuccessful search in the bathroom—one that resulted in the very surprising find of a brand-new box of condoms—Emma prayed Trace was asleep as she tiptoed out of the bedroom and into the hall. His bedroom door was closed, which was a good sign, so she quickly made her way past it and into the kitchen.
Shadows lurked around her, the unfamiliar space awkward. So much so, it took her a few tries before she finally found the switch connected to the kitchen’s recessed lighting.
After another lengthy search through the multitude of cabinets, Emma found what she’d been looking for. Filling a glass with water, she stood by the sink as she downed two of the small, brown pills.
Topping off the glass again, she glanced at the microwave and saw the time was twelve forty-two. She’d slept half the day and into the night.
Feeling wide-awake now, Emma decided to take a closer look around. Having been such an emotional basket case when they first arrived, she’d barely given the place a second glance.
With light illuminating from the kitchen and the soft glow of the midnight moon shining through the back windows, she could finally appreciate the beauty of the rustic space.
A large, stone fireplace was the focal point of the room. It’s natural-edged mantel was thick and masculine, while the delicate silk flowers and vase at its corner added a feminine touch.
Pictures of wildlife and outdoorsy landscapes adorned the walls, and in the center of the room were two matching leather couches. One faced the back yard, while the other face the front.
Deciding it might be nice to sit for a spell and enjoy the peace and quiet, Emma started toward the couches. Rounding the corner of the one facing the back, she nearly screamed when she realized Trace was already there.
Stretched out on his back, he had one arm resting over his eyes and the other across his stomach. His very bare, veryrippedstomach.
Lord have mercy.
Emma knew she should walk away, but her feet felt planted to the rug beneath them. Feeling a bit like a voyeur, she took advantage of the moment and simply stood there, watching him sleep.
He’d taken his boots off, and his socked feet were crossed at the ankles. His long, muscular legs were still covered in the jeans he’d worn all day, but his shirt—thank you God—was in a pile on the floor next to him.
She thought of the box of condoms tucked away in that drawer, but then shook her head—and the inappropriate thought—away. Trace may be stuck with her for a day or two, and the man may be built like a Greek God, but there was no waythatwas going to happen.
But boy, if it did...
Pushing the ridiculous thoughts out of her dirty mind, Emma watched as Trace’s sculpted chest moved up and down in slow, even breaths. Without the barrier of his shirt, she could finally see more of the tattoos that always peeked out from beneath his sleeves.
The one traveling down the length of his right arm actually started at the top of his shoulder. It looked like some sort of tribal design, and it’s detailing was absolutely beautiful.
Due to its positioning across his face, Emma couldn’t see all of the ink covering his left bicep, she could tell it was some sort of military design.
The image of him in her bedroom pointing his gun at her attacker flew through her mind. He’d been ready to shoot the man the second he’d grabbed her.