mind as they slowly floated back to earth. Trace Walker had ruined her for anyone else.
Chapter Nineteen
The moonlight shone through the curtains when Cecilia blinked awake, still tucked into Trace's embrace. Beneath her ear, his heart beat steady and strong. Unable to resist, she feathered her fingers across his perfectly chiseled chest. His abs were made for licking, something she added to her list of activities for when he awakened. But for the moment, she was content to admire without being caught. Trace... complicated things. For starters, it was getting harder and harder to stay suspicious of him when he literally swept her off her feet. Her friends liked him, but most importantly the guys respected him. She'd learned young that the latter was far more important. Her father had been a notorious charmer, but it was only after he left town that she discovered no one really respected him - a lesson she'd taken to heart. Better to be respected than liked. But had she been too prickly in past relationships as a result? If she was honest with herself, probably.
Trace was... different. Far different than any man she'd been with. It simultaneously impressed and terrified her that he was nonplussed by her prickles. Even amused. And maybe he even liked her because of them? But something about him still niggled at her. She shifted to study his face. It was too perfect. High cheekbones, a jaw that even scruff covered was cut. And his eyes. Even in sleep, she knew she'd seen them before. But where? She'd never even been to California, and she doubted he'd ever been to Chicago or New York. In the morning she'd grill him, politely of course. No doubt they'd laugh about it when they figured it out. With a sigh, she pushed her thoughts away. A glass of milk and she'd be right as rain. Quietly, so as not to wake him, she wiggled out of his embrace and slid from the sheets, but before she could turn around, his hand snaked out and caught her wrist. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked, voice still filled with sleep. Even like that, the rough edge to his speech slithered right to her core.
"Kitchen?" He gave a tug, and she fell right onto his chest and into his smoldering gaze. How was it possible for him to steal her breath like that? Her heart galloped as she raked her gaze across his face, settling on his mouth.
He threaded his fingers through her hair, working to loosen the knots. "I don't think so," he said before pulling her down for a searing kiss, then rolling so she was pinned beneath him. "Time for round two."
The next time she woke, the sky shone pink through the curtain. Cecilia stretched and yawned, muscles pleasantly sore. She glanced at the nightstand. One condom left. Who'd have thunk? Obviously not her. She broke into a smile, giddy as she reflected on the last several hours. Stamina, indeed. Pancakes. Pancakes and coffee sounded heavenly. When was the last time she'd cooked a full-on ranch breakfast? Trace would be rising soon, heading back, she could at least cook the man a good breakfast. This time when she wriggled out from his embrace, he didn't wake. She grabbed his shirt from the floor and slipped into it, buttoning it up as she headed to the kitchen. Once Trace was on his way, she'd finish the living room project she'd begun earlier in the week. She'd never been a morning person, but since returning home to Prairie, she'd come to appreciate the stillness and expectation of early morning. Cecilia offered a word of thanks to Dottie for that as she started the coffee, then set about preparing bacon for the oven.
Dottie had insisted she take the opening shift, "So you can have the rest of the day for reinventing yourself." So far, the only reinventing she'd done was the wallpaper in the living room. She was certain it was the same wallpaper her grandmother had grown up with. It certainly stuck to the wall like it was. But, there was something cathartic about pulling up carpet and pulling down wallpaper - destroying something to build it up again, better. There was a metaphor for life in there somewhere. If she were to reinvent herself, what would it look like? Could she make it as a stringer? Did she want to? And if so, where would she live? Chicago was out of