Debra Webb - In His Touch Box Set (Here To Stay, Up Close, Tempting Trace, Basic Instincts) (46 page)

Trace wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. Something in her eyes drew him, held him. She placed the picture back on her desk. Her questioning gaze searched his. “Were you leaving?”

The disappointment in her eyes was almost his undoing. He nodded, knowing that his answer would turn that disappointment to hurt. “I thought it would be best.”

“I don’t suppose it ever occurred to you to consider what I might think was best?”

Trace stared at the floor for a time before he answered. “This can’t work. You don’t understand.”

“Make me understand.” Claire slid her arms around his waist and leaned her cheek against his chest. “I want to understand everything about you.”

Trace closed his eyes and allowed her words to echo inside him—to touch a chord he’d never allowed anyone to touch before. His whole body ached to keep her close—to never let go. To let her love him the way he knew she wanted to. Claire had shown him in no uncertain terms how much she was prepared to give. But he could never give her enough in return.

How could he make her understand something he didn’t fully understand himself? He just couldn’t give away that much of himself again.

Still, she clung to him, reluctant to give up. Fighting a losing battle, Trace finally wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin against her silky hair. Her soft body molded to his in all the right places.
A perfect fit
. She was all he wanted and everything he couldn’t have. He summoned the years of loneliness to mind. The pain, the loss. In that brief span of time before he allowed himself to speak, he recalled every ugly detail.

“I can’t be what you want me to be, Claire.” He drew back to look into her eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t,” she said simply, then tiptoed and pressed her lips to his.

Trace tried to resist. He reached for the pain... searched his brain for the worst memory stored there, but all thought ceased when she slipped her hands under his shirt and touched his bare skin. All the willpower in the universe would have been useless against a need this strong.

And then Claire asked him the one thing he couldn’t have denied her had his survival of the next minute depended solely on that one answer.

“Stay with me tonight. Please.”

He was a goner.

They tore off the clothes Trace had so quietly and carefully pulled on only minutes earlier, leaving a trail from one end of the hall to the other. By the time they reached Claire’s bed again, the only thing that stood between them was the scrap of yellow silk she wore. He pulled the sash free and it puddled at their feet.

God, she was so beautiful. The hint of jasmine that lingered behind her ears and at the base of her throat tantalized him. The sensation of touching her skin took his breath away. How had he lived the last ten years and not known this kind of desire, this kind of need? This kind of fulfillment.

Every touch, every kiss pulled him more deeply into a free fall of emotions he’d never before experienced. Feelings he couldn’t name. Wouldn’t name.

She touched him. Stroked his length.

He needed to be inside her now.

They fell onto her bed together, Claire’s arms around him, her lips tormenting his body. Her fevered words demanding more. And he intended to give her his all.

With the next beat of his heart, Trace drove himself completely into the fire he couldn’t resist. Snug and hot, Claire met his thrust. She cried out his name, urging him to a frantic pace. Breathless and half crazy with need, he rushed to take her where she wanted to go. Protection surfaced briefly in his thoughts, but it was too late for that now—he couldn’t stop. Her every upward thrust pushed him closer to the brink. When her tightening, began, he almost exploded. Her soft, urgent cries of pleasure, coupled with the way her body tensed around him, squeezing rhythmically, sent him over the edge.

In that moment, when the ultimate physical satisfaction overtook him, Trace knew he was lost.

Chapter Seven

The night had grayed into dawn when Claire awoke. Pinks and reds were streaking across the room from her east window. Fingers of light and shadow stretched across the sheets tangled around them.

Claire smiled at the man sleeping beside her. He held her tightly, possessively. The strength of his embrace filled her with a sense of well-being. Memories of their lovemaking warmed her heart and stirred her desire for more of him. How had she taken the plunge so fast?

She had fallen head over hills in love with Trace Walker. Truth be told, she’d probably always been a little in love with Trace—like every other teenage American girl a decade ago. He’d touched something deep inside her then... and now he owned her heart. She sighed. It really wouldn’t be so bad if he loved her back. Though she knew he had strong feelings for her, they weren’t the kind she felt for him.

She disentangled herself from Trace and eased out of the bed. He made an unintelligible sound and hugged her pillow to his chest, continuing to sleep soundly. Tears burned in her eyes and pain tightened her chest at his sheer beauty; his relaxed, unguarded sleep.

Claire slipped on her robe and headed for the kitchen. Coffee would be good right about now. Maybe it would clear this fog from her head, as well. She needed to be thinking clearly when she faced him this morning. Lost in her thoughts, she almost fell when she stumbled over a heap of clothing on the floor. Trace’s clothes. Vivid memories from the previous night flashed through her head. She picked up his jeans and shirt and took them back into her bedroom. She placed them across the end of the bed and tried not to look at him as she backed out of the room once more. She’d never been one to engage in casual sex, but neither was she predisposed to falling in love with a man after their first and only date.

Date?

Technically, it didn’t even count as a date. He’d shown up to demand an explanation for her resignation and... Oh, Lord. Claire sighed as she hastened her step in the direction of the kitchen. She had a sinking feeling that she’d gotten in way over her head last night. Her heart felt entirely too heavy. She couldn’t even think straight when she was around the man. Since he obviously had no desire to pursue a long-term relationship, Claire wasn’t about to let him find out that she’d fallen for him. Fast and hard at that. She would just pretend that everything was cool. C-O-O-L. That would be her middle name this morning. She refused to end up another tally mark on Trace Walker’s bedpost. If he had a bedpost. She felt sure he had a lot of girlfriends. Gabe probably kept count for him in some folder, filed under C for conquests.

Claire sighed again and sagged against the counter as she filled the carafe to make coffee. Had she really been thinking about having Trace’s children that last time they’d made love? After all, they hadn’t used protection that go round. She cringed.
Yes
. She had been fantasizing about what it would be like to have a child of her own—not just any child, mind you. Trace’s child. With coal black hair and startling blue eyes. Claire jumped when the water overflowed into the sink. A child. She couldn’t...

She’d gone way past reality here—way, way past.

Claire poured the water into the reservoir and scooped coffee into the basket. She had to get a grip. He didn’t want children. He didn’t even want her for more than what they shared last night.

She watched the fragrant brew drip into the glass carafe and heaved another heartsick breath. Morris Tate would call her any day now, making an offer she couldn’t possibly refuse. Maybe even requiring that she move to—shudder—New York or Los Angeles. She had to be prepared to make the necessary changes in her life. Pining after a man who had no intention of connecting emotionally with another human being was not in the plan. And bearing offspring certainly wouldn’t be in the contract the network offered.

Enough is enough, Claire chastised herself. She straightened and pounded a tightly clenched fist against the counter. She would just enjoy her time with Trace and hope for the best. That’s all she could do. They had different lives, heading in different directions. She couldn’t expect him to change his, nor could he expect her to change hers.

Right?

Right
.

The delicious smell of fresh coffee filled the kitchen as the first golden rays of sunshine filtered through the window and across the white tile floor. Maybe it would be a good day after all. The sun was shining, birds flitted from limb to limb in the big old oak tree outside her kitchen window. Life goes on, she reminded herself. Even if the going gets rough sometimes and, of course, her heart would never be the same after this.

Claire set her coffee mug on the counter. She poured the steaming black brew into her cup and inhaled a long, deep draw of the wonderful scent.

“Good morning.” Trace’s voice, low and so, so masculine sounded from the kitchen doorway.

She braced herself and turned to greet him. He plowed his hand through his hair and smiled—a smile so beautiful that it took her breath away. He padded, barefoot and wearing only his jeans, across the room. “Coffee smells great.”

“Thanks.” She gave him a smile of her own. “Black? Cream and sugar?”

He propped one lean hip against the counter. “Black.” The heat in those blue eyes warmed her through and through as his gaze traveled over the short robe that covered her, pausing for a time at the aroused points of her breasts. “Did you sleep well?”

“Exceptionally well.” Claire poured his coffee. “Of course, I was physically exhausted.”

As if the reminder had flipped a switch his relaxed expression closed. He focused on the coffee.

Defeat tugged at Claire’s stomach. “I guess we’re not going to talk about it.” Of course they weren’t. He would excuse himself soon and then he’d be gone.

“Now you want to talk?” He offered a stiff smile, not even close to one she knew him capable of flashing.

Be strong. Just go for it
. “Will you tell me about your family and... your wife?”

“Why?”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes now but the fact that he hadn’t turned around and walked out was something. She shrugged, mostly to buy time. “You know everything about me. Why not?”

“What do you want to know?”

His expression remained closed but the idea that he hadn’t said no stunned her. “Anything you want to tell me.” She held her breath, prayed he wouldn’t change his mind. She needed to know... felt desperate to understand what it was about the past that he couldn’t let go. Had he still loved Annette?

Trace was silent for a long time, and Claire wondered if he had changed his mind. Finally he spoke. “My parents were killed when their charted plane crashed on their way to see me perform in New York. But you already know that.” He paused, his focus just beyond her shoulder. “They’d wanted more than anything for me to be a success. But my success cost them their lives. After... that, I was alone—except for Annette. She was my agent’s assistant at the time.”

“There was no one else?” Claire prodded gently, hardly able to tolerate the pain in his voice.

He shook his head, only a slight side-to-side movement, his expression grim. “No one.”

“So you and Annette got married.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “She seemed to idolize me from day one. I guess I needed someone to fill the emptiness. It was okay at first. I was young, twenty-one, I didn’t know any better. I didn’t understand that she was crazy for power and money. She didn’t really care about me, just what my money could buy her.” He rubbed his temple forcefully with the fingers of one shaky hand. “We fought all the time. She was into booze and drugs. Something else I didn’t know until it was too late.”

He closed his eyes for a time, as if the memories were too painful to bear. In that moment she felt his pain all the way to her heart.

When he finally opened his eyes, they were red-rimmed and glazed with frustration. “Nothing I did pleased her. She was hellbent on having it all. She pushed me to make more records, do more performances. She tried her hand at everything from modeling to singing...”

“I remember seeing her picture, she was very beautiful,” Claire whispered.

“Looks can be deceiving.”

Claire silently acknowledged his point. Some inner compulsion urged her to ask her next question in spite of the agony lining his face. “There was speculation that you were driving the night she was killed.”

His look cut her to the bone. “Annette was driving.”

Claire nodded. “I didn’t mean to imply—”

“I know what you meant.” That muscle flexed in his tightly clenched jaw. “I’d just won the Entertainer of the Year Award and we’d both celebrated a little too much. She was drunk and having another one of her little tantrums.” He blew out a breath. “And she always drove too fast. She had dismissed the driver while I was still shaking hands with folks. When she made up her mind, there was no stopping her. It was either go with her or let her go alone.”

“You did the only thing you could,” Claire said gently, trying to ease the guilt she could see written all over his face.

“Maybe... I don’t know.” His face hardened. “You don’t need to know any of this.” He withdrew emotionally, turned on that fierce arrogance that kept everyone around him at arm’s length.

“I want to know everything about you,” she told him bluntly.

Trace stepped back, putting more space between them. He shook his head, his eyes solemn, angry. “It won’t change things.”

Claire advanced the step he’d retreated, still not ready to give up. “Why?” She stood her ground in front of him, maintaining the closeness he wanted to escape. “Because you’ve lost everyone you’ve ever cared about? Even the ones that didn’t really care about you? And somehow it was your fault?”

The raw pain, the bitterness, the anger she saw in his eyes at that moment made her weak with regret. He trembled with the force of the emotions exploding inside him. Instinct told Claire that she’d hit the nail on the head, but it gave her no satisfaction, no comfort.

“Yes.” He glared down at her. “Happy now?”

Claire shook her head. “You can’t believe that.” The ferocity he wore as a shield refused to abate. A wounded warrior, ready to fight to the death for his beliefs, grounded in reality or not.