Justice for Miranda Page 10

  “All right, silly,” Jun chuckled at her, “let’s get this guy’s wing set up and then we’ll let him get some rest.”

  Chapter 8

  Too much of a good thing... every time she’d heard the words, she’d always laughed. How could you possibly get too much of a good thing?

  She was beginning to realize there were a lot of things she didn’t know.

  This forced homestay was beginning to feel like being under house arrest. Jokingly, she’d told her friends, both on and off the job, that if she ever had to go under house arrest, she’d be completely fine. Curling up on the sofa, watching episodes of Law & Order or CSI? Sign her up!

  But the reality was crazy different.

  Want something to eat at two in the morning? There are no quick runs to Stripes for late night tacos. No runs to Buc-ee’s for sugared nuts and coffee with a ton of cream.

  Nope, there was the watchdog at her heels and periodic drive-bys by local law enforcement.

  And even though she loved Trace and had for years, having him there, constantly watching her… worrying about her…

  Well, it was driving her insane.

  She had to be to find his presence irritating.

  The hardest part was that he seemed to feel the same way.

  They spent most of the day either avoiding each other or just trying not to do something to irk the other.

  And at night they would make love but every night he became more and more tender and gentle with her. Almost as if he was afraid that she might scratch.

  When Conor ended up on their doorstep with news, she almost planted a kiss on his mouth.

  Almost.

  The problem was compounded by the fact that he’d brought food.

  Outside food.

  Food that didn’t start and end in her kitchen.

  “God, I love you!”

  Conor winced and skirted past Trace. “Are you trying to get me killed?”

  Snatching the bag from his hands she tossed a thank you over her shoulder and a, “Sorry, not sorry, don’t care.”

  Trace locked the door and followed Conor to the counter, taking a seat between them.

  Miranda didn’t wait for the testosterone to settle before taking a bite of the burrito she’d fished out of the bag and used her elbow to move the bag toward Trace.

  He shook his head and she shrugged.

  “I just came from the District Attorney’s office. Hayden and her partner were there. The trial’s been moved up. It starts in two days.”

  The black beans and guacamole in her mouth turned to dust.

  “Why the move?” Trace’s expression was dark. “What kind of game are they trying to pull?”

  Conor shook his head. “Nothing that we can figure. Apparently, the guys figured out that they’re being watched. Blame it on one of the rookies for being a little too eager. He was sure the guys were picking up a huge shipment of drugs and pulled them over. Only to find out they were picking up a load of flour for their aunt’s bakery.

  Miranda swallowed the bite and cleared her throat. “What happened after that?”

  “Their attorney,” Conor shook his head, “she’s good. Really good. Jake did some looking and she’s from Miami. Big firm with a reputation for being sharks. And she… well, she smelled blood in the water. They’re ready to go to trial and petitioned the court for a speedy trial.”

  She looked at Trace before she looked back at Conor. “No problem here. We’re ready. Documentation. The statement we have from the youngest boy says that you had the right to a search which provided us with the deer.”

  Conor nodded. “When you came to get her, that’s when you saw the baggy and gave us the right to arrest them and do the search of the truck as well. We got the drugs and guns because of their own actions. I can only guess that they’re going to go for some kind of straight-forward defense, put their lack of previous charges on the judge’s mercy.”

  Miranda set the burrito down and picked up a napkin to wipe her hands even though she’d only touched the foil wrapping.

  She just needed something to keep her hands busy.

  “So, it’s almost over?”

  Trace looked at her, turning toward her in his chair he seemed torn. What about, she didn’t know.

  And that bugged her.

  A lot.

  Conor answered her after the silence. “It seems so. If they haven’t come after the deer or tried to intimidate you, I doubt they’re going to do anything.”

  “Yeah,” she smiled even though it took a bit of effort, “once the trial starts there’s going to be too many eyes on them. So, we’ll all get a chance to relax soon.”

  Maybe it was her own frustrations or maybe it was just reading too much into things, but the sigh she heard from Trace’s lips cut deep.

  The rest of Conor’s visit was a blur to her, she was happy to hear his news but once it was said, she felt antsy.

  Nervous.

  Ready to crawl out of her skin.

  It was like waiting for something awesome like Christmas. You get to that last week and all she wanted to do was get up in the middle of the night and shake presents. She’d gotten so good at it that her parents packed everything in balled up newspaper to silence the sounds of what was in the box.

  Well, she couldn’t shake anything at the moment besides her knee and to avoid Trace’s knowing look, she got up and cleaned… her already spotless house.

  Spotless, because Trace was there.

  All the time.

  By the time Conor left she couldn’t help the pent-up exhale of relief and then the blush that crept over her cheeks. “So, two days.”

  Trace nodded. “Two days.”

  Two days wasn’t fast enough. Not for Miranda.

  Trace was beginning to wonder what he’d done to earn her silence.

  Okay, so he’d been a little picky at times.

  Living in his own place meant he liked things where he liked things and he’d had it that way for years.

  Alone. Like some damn Merit Badge.

  Bachelor Life. Not quite required for Eagle but he’d mastered it all the same.

  And maybe he’d pressed a little, keeping her at home, even when she did more than a little hinting that she wanted to go somewhere… anywhere.

  At this point he’d be lucky if she didn’t throw his duffle in the car the next day when the trial started and they could finally relax.

  He was running out of things to do to try and smooth things over and down to things that gave him a chance to hide from Miranda.

  Yep, he was the big, bad, protector.

  Hiding in the laundry room.

  He’d waited until she was done picking her outfit for court. They’d both be called in on the second day since most of their testimony established the reason for the search that lead to the arrests.

  Once Miranda had headed out to take care of the animals, something she had told him in no uncertain terms that she wanted to do ‘on her own,’ he’d gone and picked up all of the laundry that needed doing.

  He’d done his several times over.

  Shrinkage, he’d realized, was the truth.

  Tugging on his tank top he felt the stretch across his chest and back. If he was going to stay much longer…

  But that was the question. Was he?

  That was a question for a different day.

  After the trial started.

  Closing the top of the dryer he heard the satisfying first tumble of sound and let out a breath. “One more to go.”

  “Trace!”

  Oh, that tone wasn’t good.

  “Trace?” Her voice was clear enough that he knew she was on the main level of the house.

  “In the laundry!”

  “What?”

  Later, he’d reflect that barricading himself in the room had been his first instinct, but it wasn’t what he did. He just braced for the verbal impact.

  She filled the doorway a moment later, one hand on each side of the doorfra
me, something dangling from her fingers. “What are you doing?”

  With no thought for his own safety he answered her with the truth. “Doing your laundry.”

  She rushed down into the split-level room and looked into the empty belly of the washing machine, and then moved over to the dryer, setting her palms on the top and likely feeling the building heat. Turning her back to the machine she gave him a look that didn’t speak, it yelled.

  “You were busy outside and I wanted to help.”

  “Help? Did you separate the colors and fabrics?”

  “I’ve been doing my own laundry for years.”

  “Oh, great! And in your own laundry how many ‘delicates’ do you have? Anything silk or lace?”

  Okay, so the silk or lace part of her question didn’t worry him much, but the thought of exactly what she owned in those two fabrics did make its way into the future curiosity part of his brain.

  “I don’t think anything like that went into the washing machine, at least I didn’t see them.”

  Her mouth opened and then closed, leaving her staring at him in silence.

  “’Randa, what’s going on?”

  Trace saw her instinctual reaction to the nickname he’d taken to using with her when he was confused.

  He watched her shake her head and mutter something under her breath before she spoke. “I didn’t ask you to.”

  “You didn’t have to.” He saw the flinch in her face. “Come on, Miranda, what’s really going on here.”

  Her shoulders drooped a moment later and her fingers flexed into claws before relaxing again. He could see the internal fight that was going on, but he didn’t understand it.

  He did it too, but he’d never done it in front of someone else. So, he waited, hoping that she’d confide in him.

  Miranda paced, hands off and then on her hips, whatever she had in her hand was pink and had straps and it was a struggle to try to focus when he was trying to figure out what that little thing would look like on.

  She said something under her breath and growled, sounding remarkably like he did from time to time.

  She mesmerized him.

  Maybe it was all of the years she’d spent in dance and athletics. Or maybe it was all the outdoor activities that her family had participated in. But when it came right down to it, it didn’t really matter. Miranda’s body was a work of art and he was desperate to get his hands on it, not to mention his mouth. And when it was all said and done, he’d find his release inside of her and feel her own bathe him again and again.

  “I wanted to fight.”

  Okay. That wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear.

  Nor was it what he’d expected to hear.

  “You wanted to fight.”

  “Right.”

  “With me?”

  She looked from one side of the room to the other. “I don’t see anyone else here.”

  “Because I did your laundry?”

  “Yes,” she nodded.

  And then she shook her head.

  “Not really.”

  Trace closed his eyes for a moment, hoping the room would stop spinning.

  “It’s the reason I came down here,” she admitted. “I went to the bedroom needing something to do and my dirty clothes were gone and I knew you’d done it. So, I came down here to fight.”

  He wasn’t sure if he should breathe in or out. He was leaning toward not at all. Passing out and avoiding the fight seemed like a really good idea.

  But she seemed like she was waiting for an answer to a question she hadn’t even asked. “Okay?”

  She lifted her chin and shook her head so her hair fell back from her face. “I don’t know about you,” she sighed and managed to make the sound both playful and petulant, “but I’m done with the fighting.”

  “You are, hmm?” He considered her words and rocked back a little on his heels. “Then what do you suppose we do? Throw down our arms and order pizza?”

  She really seemed to be considering his words, the little minx, but when she tapped a fingertip to her lower lip and it looked like the tip of her tongue chased it across her plump skin, he was done waiting for a resolution.

  After all, he was still in charge.

  “Since you’re so fussy about your lady things,” he saw her brows furrow as she tried to understand where he was going, “I think you should show me the way you like things done.”

  Reaching out he gestured to the open machine. “Well?”

  Her gaze narrowed at his face. “Well… what?”

  “Show me what to do with your delicates.” He could have sworn he saw a muscle tick in her jaw.

  “But you already did the laundry!”

  He gave her a look from head to toe. “Not all of it.”

  And with that statement he reached for the hem of his tank and pulled it off. With a quick crush of the fabric he tossed it into the open washing machine. He gestured to her to take her turn.

  She gave him a quick look from head to toe and then over herself. She was wearing a tank and shorts. He saw the argument coming. “Not fair. We’re even now.”

  “And I think you forgot something.” He smiled at her and tried not to let her know she’d done exactly what he’d expected. “I’m still in charge until this is over. So come on, take your turn.”

  Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, she gave him a snappish look. “Fine.”

  Tugging her hem free of her pants she yanked the tank off and with an unbroken movement tossed it into the washer. The corners of her mouth quirked up. “Two points. Your turn.”

  He reached for the button on the waistband of his pants and twisted it open. The zipper purred down a second before he stepped out of them and added them to the meager pile inside the machine. Her shorts sailed in right after his.

  And this time he muttered. “Two points, Jimenez.”

  “Next one… all air.”

  He turned to look but she hadn’t moved. “Waiting.”

  “Your turn,” she shot back.

  “You’ve got two on.”

  She shrugged. “Following your rules, boss.”

  “I didn’t say we had to even things out.” He shook his head. “Besides, we’re down to underwear. Get rid of both.”

  Miranda didn’t speak to him, but she had his attention when she reached her hand up and twisted open the front clasp with a click.

  She saw it.

  The look in his eyes.

  The hard lines of muscles in his cheeks.

  And when she flickered her gaze down, the impressive rise of his erection stretching the front of his boxers.

  That’s what she wanted.

  It wasn’t the fight.

  Well, it was. At first. But when she’d gotten into the room and seen the way he looked. The pristine white of his tank top against his skin.

  Trace may not have been tanned like some of the other wardens, but it didn’t matter.

  He wasn’t as cut as some of the men either, but that didn’t make a damn bit of difference.

  Trace Carson was everything she admired in the world. A straight-shooter and a rock.

  When she went to the academy to become a warden it had been a testosterone fest. Ninety-five percent of her class were men.

  She wasn’t saying that she didn’t have something to prove in the class. They all did or they wouldn’t have signed up. The other women in the class had been just like her, wanting to make a difference.

  Some of the men liked the toys, the authority, the lone wolf status… and yes, the uniform.

  Sure, the badge didn’t say Texas Ranger or Deputy, but it was metallic and big like everything in Texas that was worth a damn to them.

  But Trace didn’t need to prove a damn thing. And he’d given her the same respect.

  And with that respect… well, that’s when she noticed that he was hot as hell.

  She held the clasp together with a pinch of her finger. It wasn’t enough to close it again, just hold it between her fingers.r />
  “Off.”

  “You know,” she sighed, “there were a few times while we were working together out in the woods that I considered asking you to bend me over the hood of your car.”

  His face was like marble, but she saw the unmistakable twitch of his dick against his boxers.

  She released the clasp and moved her shoulders back just enough for her bra to slide off down to her fingers.

  Miranda didn’t have a mirror in the room, so she wasn’t sure what kind of look was on her face, but she felt a familiar tingle between her legs that said it wouldn’t take more than him pressing his fingers against her clit for her to lose it.

  The instant she heard her bra hit the bottom of the washer she felt his hands on her hips.

  They didn’t stay here.

  Fingers hooked into the narrow straps at her hips and shoved.

  When she felt her panties catch just above her knees she started to reach down.

  “Stay there.”

  Miranda felt his fingers latch onto her hips again and held her against the cool metal of the washing machine. And when he leaned forward the heat of his skin met hers from the backs of her thighs until his cock pressed between her cheeks.

  “So, you’re done fighting, but I think we can still have some great make-up sex.”

  She groaned and lay her forearms down on the top of the machine on either side of the opening and pushed back.

  Miranda felt her body press against his, felt the wet slide of her sex against the length of him. “Hard and quick?” She tried not to make it sound like a request, but inside she was begging. She needed him inside her. Wanted to feel if he needed her just as much.

  A quick rip of sound made her smile. “How big of a box did you buy? You never seem to run out…”

  His thrust cut off her words.

  Another pushed her forward, sending her palms sliding across the slick metal.

  Another pushed even deeper and she tried to move her feet apart, but he trapped them together for a quick moment.

  “Keep them together.”

  Again and again, he sank into her as he held onto her hips.

  The friction he caused sliding into the tight clasp of her pussy drove her crazy. She tried to push back against him and he thrust harder, making her grasp the top edges of the machine.