Debra Webb - In His Touch Box Set (Here To Stay, Up Close, Tempting Trace, Basic Instincts) (35 page)

“When did you decide that?” he asked, obviously more than a little shocked.

Abby chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. “Sometime between midnight and four this morning.”

“And us, what did you decide about us?”

“That depends on you.” Abby shoved a handful of hair behind her ear and skirted her desk to stand directly in front of him. “If you want a church wedding, that’ll take some time. But if a justice of the peace will do, then I suppose we can tie the knot right away.”

Another of those breath-stealing smiles spread across his handsome face. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

“Absolutely.” Abby slid her arms around his neck, loving the sweet way he looked at her. “You made me fall in love with you, Matthew. As determined as I was not to, I fell in love with you and that Podunk little town of yours. The least you can do is marry me.”

The hesitancy was back in his eyes. “I know your career is important to you and I respect that. But you have to understand that I want kids.”

Abby grinned mischievously. “I think I’m finally ready.”

“Well, in that case,”—he lowered his head, his lips almost touching hers—“the answer is yes.”

Matthew kissed her, the fingers of his right hand threading into her hair, the cast on his left arm pressing her body more firmly into his.

Abby drew back a fraction of an inch. “Take me home,” she whispered against his lips.

“There’s a flight in five hours,” he said between kisses. “I’m new in town, do you have any suggestions on how we can pass the time?”

“Oh, yes,” Abby breathed. “I know exactly what to do. How about we get started on baby number one?”

Matthew nuzzled her neck. “How long does it take to get to your place?” His hand caressed her breast and dropped to her waist. “I wouldn’t want our first child conceived in a cab.”

Abby pulled out of his intimate embrace, grabbed her purse and then took his hands in hers and gently tugged him toward the bank of elevators. “Fifteen minutes.”

One of those killer smiles tilted his lips. “Good. We can warm up on the way.”

TEMPTING TRACE

Debra Webb

Chapter One

Fallen stars
...

Claire Carson wondered what it would be like to be one, and gave silent thanks that her own career in television seemed so secure. She stopped pacing long enough to look out at the panoramic view from her office window, noting downtown Nashville’s rush hour traffic moving along at its usual snail’s pace ten stories below.

She had dreamed all her adult life of hosting her own talk show, and she’d finally made it to WCMB. Claire still felt a flush of personal pride every time she thought of how far she’d come—and how fast. But she’d never anticipated having a guilty conscience at this stage in her career.

Reminding herself that success had its price didn’t seem to assuage the growing doubts that nagged at her.

Rubbing her throbbing temples with her fingertips, Claire paced across the room once more. Why should she be faulted or feel guilty that Trace Walker found her presentation of his scandalous past less than flattering?

“It just isn’t fair,” she muttered. She didn’t have to feel badly for doing her job to the best of her ability. Was it her fault that fate had dealt Trace Walker, former country music superstar, such a lousy hand?

No, it certainly was not.

Claire merely presented the facts of his story—as she had a number of others—in a whatever-happened-to series on fallen stars. The tremendous response to the segments had propelled her weekly talk show,
Nashville’s Heart Beat
, to number one in the ratings for the last four weeks in a row. Claire hadn’t intended harm to anyone, much less Trace Walker. However, in his case, the old saying that the truth hurts was unfortunately true.

She grabbed her purse and headed for the door. It was Friday night and she had a party to go to. She had no intention of being late for her own show’s celebration just because today’s episode didn’t sit well with some washed-up county music star.

Her determined exit came to an abrupt halt as a tall man stopped at the door to her office. Not just any man either, Claire realized with an abrupt sense of dread.

There, in the doorway—blocking her exit—stood Trace Walker. The man’s timing couldn’t have been worse, as could be said for her luck at the moment.

During the strained hesitation before either of them spoke, Claire noted several things about her unwanted guest. More than a decade had gone by yet the passage of time had only served to turn boyish good looks into heart-stopping handsomeness. Trace wore his raven black hair shorter than he had way back when, but there was no mistaking those startling blue eyes for which he had been so famous.

Claire didn’t like what she saw in his scathing gaze at the moment, but like it or not, there was no way of escaping the imminent confrontation. His intimidating frame stood between her and the only avenue of flight. Trace Walker would have his say and she could do absolutely nothing about it except listen.

“Claire Carson.”

It wasn’t a question. She squared her shoulders, swallowed back the anxiety tightening her throat and looked him straight in the eye, much the way she did the television camera when she received her on-air cue.

“Yes, I’m Claire Carson. What can I do for you?” She stuck out her hand and smiled automatically, a firmly entrenched surface convention of the business.

“You can start by apologizing for the segment you did this morning,” he said stiffly, determinedly. He neither smiled, nor shook her outstretched hand.

His words, or maybe the fact that he stared at her so intently seemed to stoke his blazing anger. Claire eyed him cautiously, but kept her building trepidation at his tall, dark and furious presence carefully concealed.

“Mr. Walker, I presume?” Refusing to be intimidated any further, she delivered the innocent-sounding question with years of practiced neutrality.

“You know damn well who I am.”

A number of alarming possibilities suddenly flashed through her mind as she realized the only help available in WCMB’s building at this hour would be the security guard on the first floor—nine stories below her office. A security guard who was undoubtedly long past retirement age and lacking the physical ability to tackle a man as capable looking as the one standing before her at the moment. If this big guy got out of hand, she’d be on her own.

Oh, hell.

“Excuse me, Mr. Walker, but it is after hours. How exactly did you get past security?” Somewhere she’d seen this very scenario in a movie.
Unsuspecting female all alone in office building with crazed maniac seeking vengeance.
Panic crawled all the way up her spine, making her scalp tingle.

“I do still have a fan or two,” he said with a distinct edge of sarcasm.

Great. The security guard liked country music. Too late to do anything about that now. Maybe she could disarm the situation by remaining calm.

“I was just on my way out.” Claire indicated the door Walker currently blocked. “I’m not sure what you could possibly expect from me at this point. The show has aired and was, from all accounts, quite well received.”

“You know what I want.” Low and deceptively composed, his demanding tone reflected the fierce determination in his eyes.

He seemed closer somehow, though she felt certain he hadn’t moved. She wet her lips and forced herself to ignore the tension radiating from his rigid body. “Mr. Walker, I believe you’ve made your objections to my program quite clear. I see no need for further discussion. My producer has conveyed the station’s sincerest apologies for any inconvenience you may have experienced—”

“Do you really think I’m here because I’ve simply been inconvenienced?”

Pain flickered in his intense gaze, so quickly replaced by an explosion of anger that Claire thought she’d only imagined it. His handsome features seemed carved in stone, unyielding. Arrogance and self-righteousness seethed just beneath the anger. She could see it. She could feel it. He glared down at her as if a talk show host were a lower life form. Something he no doubt considered himself a cut or two above.

“No one likes to hear negative things said about themselves, Mr. Walker, but it’s all part of being famous. You should remember that from your glory days.” Clutching her purse, Claire crossed her arms over her chest. There was something about arrogant men that seriously grated on her nerves. And this man, handsome though he might be, was the most arrogant man she’d ever met. The outright fit his representative had pitched in her producer’s office was unconscionable. Well, she knew how to handle guys like him.

“Surely you realize that the buzz generated by your story will fade soon enough. In the meantime, I suggest that you not take it so personally.”

“You drag up the most painful event in my life, toss in even more painful innuendoes and you expect me not to take it personally?” he roared, low and calm no more. A muscle jumped in his jaw as he visibly struggled to contain his reaction.

Claire moistened her lips again and hugged her soft purse a little more tightly to her chest. The hard bulge of the metal cylinder containing pepper spray provided a little comfort. “Mr. Walker, I only recounted the facts—nothing more.”

“What you called facts, Miss Carson,” he braced his hands on his lean hips, “were inaccurate and misleading.”

“There are always two sides to every story,” Claire began, an idea gaining momentum as she spoke. “I’m sure our television audience would love to hear your version.”

Claire watched the rage turn to disbelief, then contempt. He shook his head slowly from side to side and then said, “You’d do anything for ratings, wouldn’t you? That’s all that’s important to you. You don’t care who you hurt. You don’t care about anything.”

Taken aback, she blinked. She’d never been accused of deliberately setting out to hurt anyone. His harsh accusation left a bitter taste in her mouth. She loved helping others, not hurting them. The fact of the matter was that she spent a great deal of her spare time on one cause or another. She cared and people responded. That’s why she succeeded beyond her wildest dreams—because of the fans.

Claire had never considered herself special, just lucky to have the gift of being able to connect with people. Her natural ability to bond so completely with her audience still amazed her. And she worked hard to make her show stand out from all the rest. She didn’t do sensational subjects—no cross-dressers or shocking revelations on
Heart Beat
. Just plain down-to-earth issues. Real-life stories of normal people. People her audience cared about. Like Trace Walker.

“Mr. Walker, you’re being completely unreasonable. You don’t even know me. How can you pass such a judgment?”

He laughed—a dry, humorless sound. “You’re a fine one to talk about passing judgment. You all but accused me of killing my own wife.” Rage mingled with the contempt in his blue eyes.

“I did not accuse you of killing your wife. And I wish there were something I could say to satisfy you, but obviously there isn’t.” Claire took one small step closer to the door—to him. “I have an appointment, and I’d like to get there on time. So, if you’ll excuse me...”

He crossed very tanned, very muscular forearms over his broad chest. “I have one final question before you go.”

“Yes?” Claire held her breath—no doubt it would be a doozy.

“Is it true that you’re planning a sequel of sorts to that story?”

Maybe it was the intensity in his eyes... or maybe his nearness. Whatever the cause, she faltered. “Yes,” she answered hesitantly as she retreated one small step.

“That’s all I wanted to know.” That tight muscle in his jaw flexed again as his gaze dropped to below zero on the Fahrenheit scale.

“Good evening, Miss Carson.” He turned and strode away.

Claire let out an unsteady breath. Well, at least that was over. Yet something about the look in his eyes and the determined tone of his voice warned her not to be so sure of herself. Claire had a feeling that her troubles with Trace Walker had only just begun.

~*~

“Action!”

Instantly, Claire smiled the best smile three years and several thousand dollars’ worth of orthodontic work could buy. She tugged on a baseball cap sporting the Opry Mills logo and assumed the rehearsed pose. “Music and shopping for the whole family. Opry Mills, USA!” she finished jubilantly, hoping this would be the last take. Somehow nothing she did today came out right the first time.

“Okay! That’s a wrap!” announced the director. Stagehands and grips swarmed in Claire’s direction to dismantle the set and shut down the lights.

Ron Davies, the WCMB head producer and personal friend of Claire’s, double-timed it down to where she stood in front of the huge Opry Mills backdrop. His faithful assistant followed close on his heels.

“Great job, Claire.” He gave her a friendly pat on the back. “If we can, I’d like to squeeze in that milk commercial this afternoon.”

“That’d be terrific.” Claire tried to remember the rest of her agenda for the week.

“Check with scheduling to make sure there isn’t a conflict, Trish,” Ron said to the young woman at his side. She nodded and made a note on the electronic tablet she carried.

“I hope not.” Claire needed every minute she could squeeze out of this week. “With that commercial out of the way, I wouldn’t have to come back into the studio before the next taping. And believe me, I need the time for research.”

There would be a lot of digging to do. The last few days had been a blur of activity, including a business lunch with an influential producer from NBC. Claire couldn’t prevent the tiny smile that tilted her lips each time she considered the possibility of being selected for a new, nationally syndicated talk show. An opportunity like that didn’t come along every day. Her heart fluttered with the idea.

“Follow-up on the Trace Walker story?”

She nodded. “I still have a lot of gaps to fill in.”

“That segment has caused a hell of a stir. Who would’ve thought?” Ron said with an incredulous shake of his head. “That a twenty-year-old overnight sensation could hold the world’s undivided attention for two solid years and then disappear just as suddenly as he’d appeared.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “What’s more incredible is that after an absence of a decade, the public’s in a frenzy for any information about the man.”