A Trace of Love

Back Cover

A Trace of Love

A Short Story by Danielle Ravencraft

Ophelia Martinez has a chance encounter with internationally famous rock-star, Trace Curtis. To Ophelia, Trace will always be the charming boy she met in high school. They share one night together in which Trace falls in love with Ophelia. But Ophelia knows she can’t continue to live in the past, at least not with the secret that haunts her present.

A Trace of Love © 2011 by Danielle Ravencraft

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or events, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

A MuseItHOT Publication

MuseItUp Publishing

14878 James, Pierrefonds, Quebec, Canada, H9H 1P5

http://www.museituppublishing.com

Cover Art © 2011 by Suzannah Safi

Edited by Carrie RO

Copyedited by Valerie Haley

Layout and Book Production by Lea Schizas

eBook ISBN: 978-1-927085-38-7

First eBook Edition * August 2011

Production by MuseItUp Publishing

A Trace of Love

Danielle Ravencraft

MuseitHOT, division of

MuseItUp Publishing

www.museituppublishing.com

WARNING:  A Trace of Love contains graphic sexual content, adult language, use of alcoholic beverages, strong declarations of passion, and other adult content.

Dedication

I dedicate this book to my mom, Rosa, for always supporting my dreams, and to my boyfriend, Timothy.

Acknowledgements

I’d like to thank my best friends, Anastasia Pergakis and Charlene Wilson, for all their help. To my editor, Carrie, and to my publisher, Lea Schizas, for giving my writing a home.

A TRACE OF LOVE

Ophelia sat in her favorite spot in the entire world; the little bar in the very back of The House of Blues. Usually The House of Blues featured local bands; everything from Soul to Bluegrass. She couldn’t say why she loved it there. It wasn’t the music or the booze or the way reality seemed to evaporate in the dim lighting. But it was, nonetheless, her heaven.

Today was one of those rare occasions when the venue starred an international band, which meant The House of Blues was packed to the brim. The concert ended and the throngs of fans made their way to the exit. The bartender winked and handed her another beer. He knew Ophelia by name and always let her linger until they locked up.

Ophelia blinked as the lights brightened. Plastic cups, spilled beverages, straws, napkins, glow sticks, promotional fliers and the occasional bra littered the floor. A smile inched across her lips. Molten Silk put on a good show.

Other than the bartender, bouncer, stage crew and broom boy, The House of Blues was empty and eerily silent. The guys worked quickly, ignoring Ophelia as she nursed the last sip of her drink. The worst part of the day approached; the part where she would have to go home to an empty apartment.

Laughter broke the silence as five men walked out on stage, holding bottles of something alcoholic. “Oi! Is the bar still open?” one of them shouted. The bartender nodded. “Bring us a round over here, mate!”

Ophelia ducked her head, watching the men from the corner of her eye. They were Molten Silk, the band. They looked different in normal lighting, like regular people in ridiculous Goth costumes, but she was positive it was really them. Heat rushed to her face and she looked away.

“I’m goin’ for a smoke,” said an unmistakable voice. Ophelia didn’t want to turn around and stare, but she couldn’t help peeking over her shoulder. Trace Curtis, the lead singer, headed for the door with a cigarette bobbing between his lips, lighter ready in his hand. She held her breath as he passed by, just inches behind her. She knew him back when he was Mathew Curtis, the heart-throb teen that played guitar for the lunch ladies. She didn’t know why Mathew changed his name after his debut album went platinum.

Trace paused at the door. He turned around and glanced at Ophelia. She looked away, hoping he didn’t notice her staring.
It’s not like it matters
, she thought.
He’s just going to keep right on walking out the door.

“Do I know you?”

Ophelia jumped. She turned and came face to face with Trace Curtis. A small bout of panic took her mind. Should she tell him they went to high school together? She doubted it would help. They were just as much strangers in high school as they were in adulthood and it would be best to keep it that way. She shook her head.

He leaned against the bar counter. “Are you sure?”

Ophelia smiled. “I think I would remember if we met before.”

Trace wet his lips. “Have a drink with me?”

She looked at her empty beer bottle. What harm could another beer do? “Sure.”

Grinning, Trace snapped his fingers and ordered two more beers. He took a seat and looked Ophelia over, letting his eyes linger just long enough to make her blush. “I could swear I’ve seen you before.”

She shrugged. “Maybe you have. I come here every weekend.” But Trace didn’t look convinced.

“Oi, Trace! We’re going bar hopping, mate! Come on.”

Well, that’s the end of that
, thought Ophelia.

But Trace didn’t move, except to wave his band mates away. “You guys go ahead; I’ll meet you back at the hotel later.”

The guys made cat-calls aimed at Ophelia, her cheeks burned scarlet.

“Sorry about them,” Trace mumbled, scowling at his friends as they left. He reached for his beer at the same time Ophelia reached for hers. A tiny shock of static passed between their fingers. Ophelia jumped and glanced at Trace. He scoffed and then moved his fingers so they glided over hers. His skin was warm and callused from years of playing guitar. His pale blue eyes studied her face.

Ophelia bit her lip, suppressing a laugh.
Oh, Mathew, you’re still just as smooth as ever; touching my hand, but keeping your gaze above my neckline.
As if she didn’t know what he was after.

Trace removed his hand and cleared his throat. “So, are you from around here?”

She shrugged, trying not to burst into giggles. “Close enough.”

He glanced away, looking first at the stage and then at the door. Ophelia winced. He was probably getting bored and wished he’d joined his friends. She shouldn’t have felt hurt. She shouldn’t have cared if he left. He was just one guy. But at the same time, he wasn’t. He was Mathew, her old high school crush. And she expected him to be the same cocky dick. But he wasn’t. He was standing next to her shuffling his feet and blushing at the awkward silence like an average Joe.

At the same time, Trace and Ophelia mumbled what they both thought. “You want to get out of here?”

They blinked at each other and Trace chuckled, his voice as lovely and carefree as a child’s. Ophelia laughed and felt herself relax, instantly at ease in Trace’s company.

Trace wet his lips. “Coffee?”

Ophelia wrinkled her nose, but then smiled and tried not to blush. “I was thinking more along the lines of…a hotel?”

Trace cocked one eyebrow and did that thing men do when they really want to smile, but don’t want to admit they’ve been caught; he forced himself to frown and shrug. Ophelia giggled.

“Sure,” he said. He helped her off the barstool and opened the door.
Impressive
, she thought,
a rock star with manners.

Outside, Trace waved for a taxi. Ophelia rolled her eyes and continued walking down the street. “Hey, where are you going?”

“Us city girls walk to the Holiday Inn,” she grinned and gestured with her head. “Besides, it’s just down the block.”

He jogged a few steps to catch up and positioned himself between her and the street, walking the edge of the sidewalk. She scoffed and wavered to the right to give him more room. “Do you usually walk alone at this hour?”

She shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

“Do you think it’s safe?”

She grinned and faced him, walking backward. “I’ve lived here my whole life. I know this place like the back of my hand.”

“That doesn’t make it safe.” But Trace was grinning, his voice light.

“It’s okay. I have a big, tough rock star to defend me.”

Trace cocked an eyebrow and scoffed. “You know, I used to live near here when I was a kid”

She nodded. “You moved after your father passed away, I know.”

Trace furrowed his brow. “How did you know?”

Ophelia faced forward and bit the inside of her cheek
. Damn, I almost stuck my foot in my mouth
. “I read about it. I’m sorry.”

Trace sighed. “Nah, it’s fine. I guess I still forget my life is plastered all over the Internet these days.”

Ophelia nodded.

“So,” his voice became playful again. “That big, tough guy you were talking about before, do I know him?”

Ophelia laughed as they neared the hotel. They purchased a room and raced each other up the stairs. Ophelia won, but she was certain Trace let her. She didn’t care. She gasped for air and laughed so hard her sides hurt. But her bubbly mood subsided when Trace opened the door.

The room had two beds. Ophelia couldn’t bring herself to ask for one without turning bright red. Trace, much to her surprise, did the gentlemanly thing and asked for two. But Ophelia wasn’t dumb. You don’t rent a hotel room with a rock star to sleep in separate beds unless…unless Trace was one of those guys who refused to literally sleep with his groupies.
Is that how he sees me, as a groupie?
He recognized her face, but didn’t remember her enough to make the connection. She reminded herself it was better that way.

Ophelia swallowed her doubt and entered the room. She sat on the edge of the bed nearest the window. Trace glanced around the plain room and opened the mini refrigerator to survey its contents. “Want a drink?”

She shook her head. Trace took a beer for himself and sat on the edge of the other bed, directly in front of her. Without meaning to, she blurted out, “I’d rather do this sober.”

Trace glanced at the drink and then at her. He wet his lips. “What exactly are we doing?”

She glanced at her hands, folding them in her lap, and whispered. “You know.”

Trace set his beer on the counter, unopened. “Nothing has to happen tonight if you don’t want it to.”

Ophelia winced and hoped she wouldn’t sound pathetic. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Who says I’m leaving? We can just talk, get to know each other a little,” he shrugged.

Ophelia narrowed her eyes. He must be joking. “I don’t understand?”

“What’s to understand? You do talk to people, don’t you?” His tone was light, still teasing her.

Ophelia scowled. “Why are you doing this?”

Trace blinked in confusion. When he spoke, his voice was no longer playful, but deep and serious. “Why am I doing
what
?”

Ophelia looked him straight in the eyes. “Why, Trace Curtis, lead singer of Molten Silk, are you sitting here talking to
me
when you could be with any girl in world?”

He was very still for a long time, staring at her through narrow eyes. Just when she thought he might recognize her, he said, “Is that all I am to you? A famous name?”

Ophelia sighed, her heart breaking at the new direction the night headed. “Trace, we’re strangers. We don’t mean anything to each other.”

“Maybe I meant to change that. Maybe I wanted to mean something to you,” he mumbled.

Ophelia stared, momentarily shocked. Trace sighed and stood. “I should go.”

Ophelia shot to her feet, grabbed Trace’s shirt with both hands, and yanked him toward her, planting her lips on his mouth.