Molly winced. “I could be your official taster, if you want.”

Chris rolled his eyes over that dramatic offer, and Matt pretended not to hear.

So far she’d noticed that Matt was good at playing deaf, dumb and blind when necessary.

“No, thanks.” Truthfully, she was still too furious to be hungry or thirsty. Where was Trace? What was he up to? How dare he do this to her?

Sure, he’d introduced her to everyone, including Matt, but then, on his way out, he’d told her to “behave,” in the same tone he might have used with an unruly kid.

It almost made her blush to recall her sharp reply of “Bite me.”

Trace hadn’t said anything more; he’d just left her.

That was some time ago. At first she hadn’t thought about it so much, not with Matt giving her orders left and right and playing with her feet and hands. After all, she knew Murray had ordered this, and that Trace had brought her as a means of protecting her.

But now that she had to sit still, her thoughts rioted over Trace, over the things he’d done and the possible reasons why.

Being honest with herself, Priss knew she was as upset with how he’d touched her, and then stopped, as she was with the fact that he’d abused the fragile beginning of her trust by tampering with her drink.

She wanted to believe that, whatever his role with Murray, he had a good reason for doping her. He hadn’t hurt her, and now even the residual effects of the drug were gone. She was wide-awake, alert, and she wanted to see him. If she had to go through this, the least he could do was stay accessible.

With drink orders handled, Molly returned to a plush, padded easy chair to watch in fascination as Priss got the works. Though Chris stayed close, Molly figured he was the plant, there to ensure no one said anything they shouldn’t. He mostly played with the animals, which were all in attendance.

The big, open family room had a deck out back that faced a beautiful lake. Thinking she heard something—a voice maybe—Priss tried to turn that way to look, but Matt maintained a hold on her hair.

“Sit still.”

“Go to hell.” She strained her eyes, and saw nothing but the outdoors.

Where had Trace gone to and what was he doing that was so important he had to ignore her?

Chris laughed, drawing her attention.

That one had mockery down to a fine art, and it made Priss scowl. “What are you snickering about now?”

“You’re damned funny, Priss, that’s all.”

Molly said, “Chris,” in admonishment.

He took a long drink from his Coke, and then grinned at Priss. “You’re blustering enough, but it’s not fooling anyone.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”

Chris saluted her with his soda can. “You’ve got it bad, hon, and it couldn’t be more obvious.”

Afraid he might be right on the money, Priss looked away from him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She wiggled her bare feet, annoyed by the cotton stuffed between her toes. She pretended to admire the red polish.

Matt tortured another length of hair, pulling it taught, painting it in white goo, and then wrapping it in aluminum foil.

She now resembled an alien from space. Matt claimed the procedure would give her hair depth, whatever that meant.

“Chris is right, you know.” He physically repositioned her head so that she faced forward. He wasn’t all that gentle, either. “You’re so lovesick, it’s almost embarrassing to witness.”

Molly frowned at them both. “Leave her alone, you guys. Hasn’t she been through enough?”

What did any of them know about what she’d been through? Even Trace didn’t know, so he couldn’t have shared—except for the “knockout” drink he’d given her, which he’d done on purpose, and which all of them seemed to take in stride.

Besides, the last thing she wanted was pity from anyone. She could deal with anything else but that. “Actually I was thinking that Matt reminds me of Meat Cleaver.”

Chris tucked in his chin. “Who?”

She waved a hand—carefully so that she didn’t mar her manicure. “He’s a popular guy in  p**n  videos. One of our big sellers, actually.”

Chris promptly choked on his Coke.

Matt’s hands, busy only seconds before, now held suspended over her head. Highly affronted, he glared down at her. “I beg your pardon.”

That particular tone tickled her. “Yeah, seriously, you do. He wears his hair just like yours. I think he’s done… Oh, I don’t know, maybe a dozen  p**n os now. He’s a real star.” She winked at him. “Popular with the men and the ladies.”

Matt looked horrified. “I assure you, I would never—”

“I said he looks like you, not that he is you. Shoot, none of the male  p**n  stars are built as good as you are. Definitely not the straight guys.”

“Uh…thank you?”

Priss snickered. “It’s sexism at its best. The women all have enormous boobs, and the guys are boobs.”

Chris sat forward, more interested in this than he was in nail polish. “What do you know about  p**n ography?”

“I know it’s lucrative, because I own an adult store.”

All eyes went round.

Molly sat forward, too. “You do?”

“Yeah. Movies are our biggest seller. And through our catalogue sales, the toys do pretty good, too.”