Debra Webb - In His Touch Box Set (Here To Stay, Up Close, Tempting Trace, Basic Instincts) (49 page)

Claire shivered at the memory of those blue eyes filled with fierce passion, the feel of his hands on her skin... the fiery intensity of his lovemaking. How could Trace not know that he loved her? She had examined over and over in her mind every moment that she and Trace had shared.
She knew he loved her
. She could feel it in his touch; she could see it in his eyes. He just refused to acknowledge the emotion. He’d spent too many years not feeling anything.

But knowing that he loved her proved little comfort in the cold reality of living without him. It had been two weeks since she had seen Trace. He hadn’t even called. He had made a clean break. He’d told Claire right from the beginning that he was the wrong man for her, that he couldn’t offer her anything but what they shared physically. And he’d been true to his word.

Gabe had called. Used some excuse about a file he couldn’t find, but Claire had known his real reason. He’d wanted to check up on her for Trace. Well, if it made Trace Walker feel any better to know that she was just dandy then he should feel great. Because Claire Carson was doing fine. In just one week she would host her very first nationally televised show. And tomorrow night Claire would be hosting the Country Music Awards with Jake Shelton, the hottest young country star since Keith Urban. The
Heart Beat
staff had been wonderful about the whole thing. They wished her well and her replacement host, Kira Jones, seemed terrific. Mr. Tate had found Claire a temporary apartment in Los Angeles and all was set. She did plan to keep her apartment here in Nashville, since she would be coming home frequently. Everything was a go.

It just didn’t get any better than this.

Right, Claire. Keep telling yourself that and you might begin to believe it
.

Claire closed her eyes and allowed the truth to surface. She loved Trace Walker. And with every day she lived and every breath she took, she loved him even more.

God, how could life be so unfair?

She told herself to knock off the self-pity session. It was time to think of other things.

“Miss Carson?”

Claire turned to find Jenny, Jake’s personal assistant, hurrying in her direction. She pushed a smile into place. In spite of all she had to be happy about, she seemed to be doing a lot of pretend smiling lately.

“Yes, Jenny?”

“Miss Carson, you were tied up and Jake couldn’t speak to you himself before he had to leave, but he wanted to know if you would like to join him for an early dinner tomorrow evening before the pre-awards activities.”

“I’d love to,” Claire said, her spirits lifting slightly. Jake had been an absolute dream to work with and a true Southern gentleman. Claire adored him personally, as well as professionally. There wasn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t be flattered by a dinner invitation from the man even if he wasn’t a huge star.

“Good, I’ll pass that along,” Jenny said in her efficient, ever-cheerful tone and then hurried off-stage, making notes on her smart phone as she went.

Claire glanced at her watch. Five-thirty. She might as well go home. The only people hanging around at this point were lighting and sound technicians, other than a small crew who still worked on the final set details. She could get take-out on her way home. Curl up on the couch and maybe watch a movie or read a book. Packing would just have to wait. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to do much of that yet.

“It didn’t take you long to get over me.”

Claire whirled at the sound of Trace’s smoky voice. Her pulse rate quickened, and her breath caught at the sight of him. How could any man look that good? Whoever his tailor, he had Trace’s fit down to a science. The expensive black suit seemed like an extension of his body. Elegant, seductive.

His full mouth was set in a grim line, and his blue eyes were cold. Clenched fists hung at his sides. His warrior stance told Claire he was ready for a fight. Obviously, he’d overheard her conversation with Jenny.

Why did he even care? And what was he doing here?

Claire summoned her courage and looked straight into those icy blue eyes. “Excuse me, Mr. Walker,” she said sarcastically, “but I was just on my way out.” She turned sharply and strode away. Claire concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as she crossed the immense, polished black floor. The click of her heels echoed in the brief but charged silence before Trace spoke once more.

“I guess you found yourself a real star after all,” he said vehemently. “One who hasn’t taken a fall.”

“My personal life is no longer any of your business,” Claire called over her shoulder, but didn’t break her stride or look back.

Before she realized he had even taken a step, Trace grabbed her arm and tugged her around to face him. “I came to talk to you,” he ground out. A muscle jumped in his tightly clenched jaw. Hard, raw emotion flashed in his eyes.

Jealous
. He was seriously jealous about her dinner date tomorrow evening. Though the unexpected emotion was completely unfounded, it pleased Claire immensely. Her pleasure died swiftly when anger rose in those piercing blue eyes. Claire struggled to ignore the heat emanating from his taut, powerful body. If anyone had just cause to be angry it was her. Trace Walker had no right to pop in and out of her life whenever the urge struck him. Not anymore.

Claire lifted her chin defiantly and glared at him. “I hate to disappoint you, Trace, but I have neither the time nor the inclination to listen to anything you have to say.” She jerked free of his grasp and headed backstage. She had absolutely no desire to stand around conversing with a man who had no intentions of changing. Anything he said or did would only add insult to injury. He’d already broken her heart. What else did he want?

“Don’t walk away from me, Claire.”

“Watch me.” Claire strode off the stage in the direction of the dressing room she’d been assigned. She forced a smile for each technician or crew member she met.

Trace followed her. She didn’t have to look back, she could feel his presence. Surely if she ignored him long enough he would go away. Trace Walker had too much pride to suffer a public brush off. He’d probably go back to the office and direct Gabe to draft a memo informing Claire of whatever it was he so wanted her to know.

Claire should have known better than to assume anything.

Without warning, Trace pulled her through an open door. He closed and locked it, trapping Claire against the solid expanse of wood with his big, muscular body. He placed a hand on each side of her head and stared down at her in triumph. Claire couldn’t hope to escape.

“This is Reba McIntire’s dressing room,” Claire warned. She pressed her palms to his chest and pushed against him, forcing a sparse splice of space between them.

“Is she here?” he asked curtly, one dark eyebrow lifting with unabashed arrogance.

“No,” Claire answered just as curtly.

“Then I don’t see the problem.”

“The problem is you, Trace.” Claire was angry now. How dare he carry on this way. “You can’t seem to get it through your thick skull that you don’t own me. I’m not some stock you can manipulate when the price feels right.”

“You’re going to hear me out whether you want to or not,” he growled.

Claire crossed her arms over her breasts so he couldn’t see the effect his nearness had on her. The thin, summery fabric of her dress and even thinner bra beneath did nothing to hide her nipples. They tightened and tingled with a will of their own. Heat flooded her body when she allowed her gaze to drift down to his sensuous lips. The memory of his kisses assaulted her senses with a fierceness that caught her off guard. Need rose so rapidly that she had to stifle a groan. Being this close to him hurt more than she could have imagined. For two weeks Claire had prayed she’d see him again, but the pain that accompanied the pleasure was almost too much to bear.

“So talk,” she goaded him with mounting impatience. She couldn’t take too much of this. “You have a captive audience.” Claire saw his jaw harden and his nostrils flare. Boy, he was ticked off. Good. She almost smiled. At least she wasn’t alone in her discomfort.

Then the anger slowly drained from his face, replaced by an utter desolation that tugged sharply at Claire’s heart. Loneliness, so profound that she found it difficult to look at, filled his eyes.

“I’m losing my mind, Claire,” he said wearily. His eyes searching hers. “I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t concentrate. Nothing matters anymore.”

She couldn’t breathe. He cupped her face in his hands, stroking her cheek with the pad of his thumb. Claire’s blood roared in her ears. Her heart felt ready to leap from her chest. Her lips yearned to mate with his. Had he finally admitted to himself that he loved her? Had he put the past behind him?

“I need you, Claire,” he murmured. “I can’t live without you.”

She stiffened at the impact of his words, shook her head slowly, her disappointment so complete, she felt weak from the loss of something she’d never even had.
I need you, Claire. Not I love you
. Need wouldn’t be enough. She couldn’t and wouldn’t settle for anything less than his love. At one time she had thought that would work but it hadn’t.

“That’s not enough, Trace.”

He let go a ragged breath, the warmth feathering across her mouth. “It has to be. I know you want me, too,” he whispered, his lips almost touching hers.

Claire shook her head again, the movement strained and barely visible, she knew, but it was the best she could do under the circumstances. “Not like this.”

Trace threaded his fingers into her hair and planted a kiss at the base of her throat. And then another just beneath her earlobe. Desire sizzled through her when his lips caressed hers in the promise of a kiss.

Claire held on tightly to his shirt. Despite every command her brain gave, her lips responded to his. God help her, she wanted Trace Walker. Wanted him desperately.

“I...I don’t want this, Trace,” she breathed.

“Liar,” he whispered and then took her lips with savage force. His tongue invaded her mouth, searching, stroking, claiming. His taut body pressed against hers with complete confidence in his right to possess.

All reason dissipated as he filled her with a taste uniquely his—hot, wild and male. The strength of his need almost frightening, Claire felt her own need rising dangerously close to his. His hands skimmed down her arms, grasped her bottom and pulled her against his hard arousal.

“I need you so much, Claire,” he murmured between deep, fierce kisses. Trace slid his hands under her dress to cup her more intimately. “I need you now.”

As much as she wanted him, Claire knew she couldn’t do this. Nothing had changed. Nothing at all. She pushed against his chest, but rock-hard resistance met her. “Stop, Trace,” she said, a half demand, half plea.

He hesitated, his glazed eyes struggled to focus on hers.

“I won’t settle for this anymore,” she told him in a much stronger voice. She had to make him understand that she needed more.

Trace licked his lips, tasting their kiss. “I’m willing to try to make this work. On mutual terms.”

Claire’s heart acknowledged the difficulty of the concession that came with that statement, but it wasn’t enough. “That’s just not good enough. I need more than a promise that you’ll try.” She pushed again, putting a tad more space between them. At least their bodies weren’t touching now. “I want it all. And...” she flattened her palms against the center of his chest, “...I want it to come from right here.”

Trace tensed visibly. “I don’t know how to give you that,” he said, pain flickering in his eyes.

“You’ve got to deal with your past, Trace. Somewhere, maybe locked up in a dusty old trunk in that big old house of yours, is your past. Family photo albums, your wedding ring.” Claire closed her eyes and shuddered at that thought. She would never wear Trace’s ring, never have his name. She forced her eyes open and went on. “Your guitar, awards and other pieces of yesterday. It’s all there... somewhere. Locked away so you don’t have to deal with it. Hidden from view so you can pretend it doesn’t exist—that it never happened. But it’s there.” Claire swallowed the thick lump in her throat and willed the stinging tears to retreat. “And, unfortunately for me, locked away with all those memories is your heart.”

Trace averted his gaze then.

Claire forced her next words past her lips. “When you’ve fought your demons and gotten your heart back, you can look me up.” She turned away from the hurt in his eyes and unlocked the door. Her vision blurred, she rushed down the corridor toward her own dressing room. She had to get her purse and get out of there.

Before she ran back and took whatever Trace had to offer.

~*~

Trace stared at the locked closet for a long while before he reached out a shaky hand to unlock the mahogany doors. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He clenched his fingers into a tight fist and jerked his hand back.

He couldn’t do this.

Not for anyone.

Not even Claire.

Trace closed his eyes and sagged with the guilt, the pain, hardly able to stand. Claire wanted something he wasn’t capable of giving her. If she could only understand that he’d gladly do anything in his power to make her happy, but he just couldn’t give her something he no longer possessed.

He pushed a hand over his face and released the breath he’d been unwittingly holding. Trace didn’t know if he still knew how to love, or if he was even capable of love. He banished that particular emotion a long time ago. But he felt strongly for Claire, there was no denying that. But could he love her? Could he take that chance?

Trace shook his head in defeat. She had told him to deal with the past. He just couldn’t see how that would make a difference, but he had to try. He couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t. Could he live at all without Claire?

He didn’t think so.

He had to try
.

Steadying himself, Trace reached again for the key in the brass lock. It protested the move, but turned. He swallowed hard as he grasped the brass handle and opened the door. The stale scent of disuse and age greeted him. He focused on the dusty, haphazardly placed contents of the storage closet. Everything was just as he’d left it all those years ago when he’d shoved it away.