Harlequin Romantic Suspense April 2021 Karen Whiddon (best fiction books to read TXT) 📖

laughing every now and then, and her head now rested on Trace’s shoulder. If she fell asleep, he’d just carry her into the other room. There was no sense in tempting fate by having her sleep in his bed all night...no matter how much he wanted her to.

* * *

Connie felt a peace she hadn’t experienced for a while as she lay against Trace. It was nice knowing that they could hang out in his bed and have the interaction not be sexual. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such a meaningful relationship with a member of the opposite sex. One where there were no expectations. Instead, there was a friendship. Well...more than that. There was someone who wasn’t her sister or Trinity that she could call on when needed.

“Thanks again for being here for me these last couple of days,” she said.

Trace had turned the volume down on the television, and the only other sound was the subtle hum of the air conditioner.

“I’m glad I could be here for you.”

He leaned forward, forcing Connie to lift her head, adjusted the pillow behind him and scooted down until he was lying on his back. Then he opened his arm to her.

“Come here.”

Connie hesitated for only a second, then eased down and rested her head on his broad chest. Her body ached some, and the scrape on her stomach stung a little, but it felt good to be in his arms. He wore a navy blue T-shirt that hugged his muscular body and blue lounging pants. He might as well have been naked, though, because her body was on high alert being so close to him.

Man, he smells amazing. His signature scent, a woodsy, citrus fragrance that would forever remind her of him, surrounded her like a gentle breeze on a summer day.

Trace held her close to his side. “Relax, sweetheart. I can feel how tense you are. Nothing is going to happen between us unless you want it to. So try to loosen up.”

He went back to watching television while Connie did exactly what he suggested. His tenderness was like a soothing balm to her tattered nerves, working its way deep into her soul, while the steady beat of his heart comforted her in a way she hadn’t experienced in like...forever. The tension from moments ago—gone. Even though she was exhausted enough to sleep a week, Connie still couldn’t seem to shut down her brain.

“Tell me about your family,” she said suddenly.

Trace turned toward her slightly and she lifted up, but he kept her in place with a large hand on her hip.

“Where you going?” he asked.

“Nowhere. I thought maybe I was getting too heavy and you needed to move.”

His deep chuckle rattled inside his chest. “Sweetheart, as tiny as you are, no one could ever accuse you of being too heavy.”

Connie didn’t tell him that her father used to call her Tiny when she was a kid. It was funny that she hadn’t thought about that in years. She’d been a daddy’s girl until she was around eight, but then everything had changed as her parents’ relationship started deteriorating.

It didn’t take a psychologist for Connie to know that the broken bond between her and her father had a lot to do with her hesitance to trust and allow herself to depend on men. But the more time she spent with Trace, he was showing her that all men weren’t the same in that regard. Some could be trusted and counted on to be there when you needed them.

“What do you want to know about my family?” Trace asked.

“Anything you want to share. Maybe tell me how it was, growing up with so many kids in the house.”

“It’s only four of us, even though with my sister it felt more like eight. She’s three years younger than me and was always getting into something. Which was probably good because she kept my dad on his toes. After my mother died, I remember how lost he seemed. He used to say that Mom was the backbone of the family.”

“How did she die?”

“A blood clot in her lungs.”

Connie’s heart thudded against her chest. “Oh, my God. Trace, I am so sorry. That had to be awful.”

“Yeah...but it was a long time ago. I was seven when she died. Old enough to remember her, but not old enough to remember many details. Like how she wore her hair, or what her favorite color was, or what she smelled like. What I do remember is that my dad had to work a lot to keep the household going. My oldest brother pitched in with raising us, but we all had to do our part.”

Still cradled in his arm, Connie glanced up at him. She was awed by the man Trace had become, despite losing his mother at such a young age. And the fact that he was sharing something so personal about his life only added to her attraction to him.

“Since you enjoy cooking, was that one of your responsibilities?”

Trace smiled. “Actually, I do remember my mother calling me her sous-chef, even though I didn’t know what it meant back then. I always wondered if she knew that she was going to die young. She taught each of us different chores, everything from cooking to laundry. After she died, it was like we each were responsible for taking care of things in those areas. Except for my sister.” He chuckled. “She was still young, which is probably why she was a wild child growing up.”

Connie yawned, exhaustion seeping in even deeper. “You’ll have to share some of her shenanigans one day.”

“I will. Hopefully, you’ll get to meet all of them in the near future.”

“I look forward to it.” She had already met one of his brothers, Langston, the FBI agent, who had stopped by the office a few months ago to drop off something for Trace.

“Now, what about you? Tell me about your family.”

“Not much to tell. Erica and I are real