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

by Debra Webb

  Absolutely nothing more.

  No matter how attracted she was to him, she would not get involved with the man.

  Ever.

  She had discovered one major flaw in what would otherwise appear to be the perfect male—he had no life. As far as she could tell, he had no hobbies, unless working out counted. He had no friends, either. Gabe didn’t count.

  What a waste. Rich, gorgeous, and maybe just as talented as he’d been ten years ago. Now more than ever, Claire had a serious itch to know just what made Walker tick. There had to be a deep, dark secret there somewhere. Something to do with his young wife’s death, she’d bet. That was when he’d opted to go into seclusion...

  Wait! Claire jerked to a stop just outside her dressing room door. She’d been so caught up in thoughts of Trace that she’d forgotten to say her usual silent prayer of thanks for an uneventful journey when she’d gotten off the elevator. Claire shrugged and said it anyway. Better late than never. She’d worked at WCMB for four years without getting trapped in an elevator, which was a pretty impressive feat considering the regularity with which they malfunctioned.

  “Claire!” Ron called as he ran up next to her.

  “Hey, Ron.” She smiled her first real smile since early Monday. Boy, it was good to see a friendly face.

  “You know the deal with Dr. Hearn?” he asked, following Claire into her dressing room.

  “Good morning, Claire.”

  “Sorry I’m late, Wanda,” Claire apologized to the waiting makeup artist. “Traffic was murder this morning.”

  “No prob,” Wanda assured her.

  “About today’s guest,” Ron interrupted.

  Claire turned back to her producer. “I read his bio and the suggested interview questions, if that’s what you mean.”

  “And you know that he plans a little show and tell?” Ron asked, concern etched in his features. “As in a live animal demo?”

  “Well, yes.” Claire frowned. What was up with Ron? “He is an animal psychologist. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

  “No,” Ron said, clearly puzzled. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t.”

  Claire shrugged. “No, I guess not. It’s not one of my favorite kinds of segments, but it’ll have to do since the Trace Walker story is out for this week.”

  She winced inwardly at the thought that the sequel would be on indefinite hold unless she could figure a way to sway the new owner of the station. Claire drew in a deep breath and then let it go a little at a time. Walker wouldn’t change his mind.

  “You know that this Dr. Hearn was recommended by Walker’s people?” Ron persisted.

  “He’s the boss, right?” Claire gave Ron a resigned look. “I mean, what can we do?”

  “Nothing,” he muttered.

  Claire collapsed in her chair so Wanda could work her magic. “How about lunch after the show?” she suggested to her friend and visibly flustered producer. “I’ll tell you all about the secretarial saga thus far and you can bring me up to date on the baby business.”

  “Sounds good.” Ron smiled at the mention of the new son he bragged about all the time. Before walking out the door, he turned back to Claire. “About this Dr. Hearn, if you’re okay with it, then so am I.”

  “I’m okay.” Claire returned his smile. “I have to be.”

  Ron nodded and left Claire to prepare for show time, which was, she noticed, in less than thirty minutes. Wanda touched up her makeup and hair in record time. Claire slipped off her street clothes and pulled on a lavender dress provided by a sponsor. She stepped into the matching heels and checked her reflection in the mirror before leaving the dressing room. Good to go.

  Claire took a deep breath as she walked across the set. She rolled her head to stretch her neck. Another deep breath and she was ready. She moved to stand in front of her chair and watched the stage director’s countdown.

  The curtains opened to reveal the live studio audience and Claire smiled for the audience and the camera.

  “Hello, Nashville. I’m Claire Carson and welcome to Heart Beat.” She paused for the round of applause. “This morning our special guest is Dr. Richard Hearn. Dr. Hearn’s work in the world of animal psychology is widely respected.”

  “Dr. Hearn,” she announced and then turned to greet her guest as he arrived from stage left. The distinguished-looking gray-haired man shook her outstretched hand and gave Claire a quick peck on the cheek. After taking their seats, Claire began the series of preapproved questions.

  Dr. Hearn presented himself well, Claire thought during a commercial break a few minutes into the interview, and the audience responded to him warmly. All in all, things had gone quite smoothly. Now, as the on-air cue sounded, she only had to ask the final question.

  “Dr. Hearn, you planned to give our audience a demonstration this morning on your theory about human and animal bonding, isn’t that right?”

  “That’s correct, Claire.” He nodded and smiled graciously, then shifted to view stage left. “I’d like to present Penelope and her pet pigs,” Dr. Hearn announced, smiling proudly.

  Claire felt her eyes widen in disbelief as a tall, slender woman walked onstage, leading three little pigs on leashes. The leggy, buxom blonde wore the tightest, shortest skirt Claire had ever seen. But even worse, the pigs were decked out in extravagant bows and little designer pig clothing.

  Half in denial, half in horror, Claire watched as Penelope’s little pigs responded to her commands to sit, roll over and speak. And then, when Claire was certain the performance couldn’t get any worse, Penelope and her pigs began a little choreographed routine. The audience, and even the crew, guffawed. Claire had no choice but to get through the last few minutes of the program. She smiled and nodded at what she hoped were all the appropriate times. She heard little of what Dr. Hearn said beyond that point and even less of the audience’s response.

  The one thing on Claire’s mind at that moment was the slow and painful demise of Trace Walker.

  ~*~

  Trace hit back search on his DVR remote. He grinned. Revenge was sweet. Satisfaction made him sigh as he pushed play to view the last few minutes of Claire’s program again. She’d made him crazy all week, but it was worth every minute of it to see the look on her face right there. He hit pause on the remote and laughed out loud at the outraged expression on her pretty face. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d replayed that moment since the show had aired.

  He peeled off his jacket and dropped it onto his desk. Yes sirree, he’d gotten her good. He walked over to the bar and poured himself another drink. He took a long swallow of scotch and stared back at the image of Claire frozen on the screen. Grinning, he had to confess he hadn’t felt this elated over a victory in a very long time. He jerked off his tie and tossed it on the conference table. He hadn’t gotten rip-roaring drunk in ages, either—maybe he’d do just that. He could watch Claire’s mortified expression over and over while he quietly drank himself into oblivion.

  The door to his office swung open and banged against the wall. Trace looked up just in time to observe Claire storm across the room. The expression on her face bore no resemblance whatsoever to the one on the flat screen hanging on the wall.

  Still dressed in the purple dress he’d reluctantly admired as he viewed her program, Claire paused just long enough to glare at the frozen frame before resuming her journey. She planted herself right in front of Trace and glared at him with utter contempt. Her slender arms were at her sides, fists clenched for battle.

  Trace set his glass down and leaned one hip against the bar. “I really enjoyed your show today, Miss Carson.” He tried not to grin, unfortunately between his jubilation and the scotch it was impossible not to. Damn, but he’d gotten her good. “I even DVR’d it,” he gestured toward the screen, “so I could relish it over and over again.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it, Mr. Walker, because it’s the last time you’ll ever have the opportunity to make a fool out of me,” she
said curtly, her voice trembling with the rage he knew seethed beneath that lovely exterior.

  “Now, now, Miss Carson,” he taunted, “there’s no need to get so worked up over a little barnyard humor.”

  Trace didn’t see it coming—never even had a chance to brace for the blow. Claire slammed her fist into his face like a seasoned boxer. The punch landed square on his nose. His head snapped back and the room danced. He shook his head to clear away the burst of stars that flashed before his eyes and brought his hand up to protect his throbbing nose.

  “You hit me,” he blurted, shocked. Pain rolled in waves across his face, focusing on the throb in the center.

  Claire looked even more shocked than he felt. The anger drained from her face as she rubbed the knuckles of her right hand. Trace felt suddenly compelled to ask her if she were all right.

  Hell, she’d hit him! Why should he care if her hand hurt?

  Damn. He groaned as he examined his nose with both hands just to be sure she hadn’t broken it. He glared at the minx staring up at him. How could she hit that hard? Trace swore hotly when another stab of pain knifed through his head. Claire drew back against the bar at his ungentlemanly outburst.

  “Oh, my God.” Her eyes were round with disbelief. “I can’t believe I did that.”

  “I can’t believe you did it, either,” he barked, the sound more nasal than fierce, then winced at the pain generated by speaking. His whole face hurt. How could she possibly hit so hard? What a wimp he must look like. Decked by a damned female.

  “I’m so sorry. I just...” Her voice faltered and then faded.

  Trace glared at her.

  “Ice pack... you need an ice pack,” she stammered.

  Before he could summon a proper answer, Claire rummaged through the cabinet underneath the bar until she found a towel and filled it with ice from the crystal and silver bucket Gentry kept stocked. Her hands trembled as she struggled to keep the ice from scattering across the counter.

  Good, Trace thought. She should be trembling. He hoped she cried, too. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and swore another hot oath under his breath.

  Claire lifted her gaze to his. “Let me see,” she demanded softly.

  “Forget it,” he growled. He swiped at his nose with the back of his hand just to make sure it wasn’t bleeding. No blood, but it still hurt like hell. Idiot, he chastised himself. Sucker punched by a girl.

  Claire reached up with one delicate hand. Trace resisted at first, but finally gave in and allowed her to touch him. Her fingers were hesitant, but warm and gentle. She winced when he grimaced at another burst of pain.

  “I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

  “You should be,” he told her, trying his best to prevent the last of his anger from ebbing. He wanted to stay mad at her. His anger was his only protection from her ability to distract him. Slow, deep breaths did little to counter his reaction to her touch. He watched her face soften with concern. She bit her lower lip when he flinched at the ice.

  “Does it hurt much?” She stared up at him, a sheen of tears glistening in her golden eyes. This close, he noticed the tiny flecks of brown that contrasted with the gold.

  He took it back. Trace didn’t want her to cry. He didn’t think he could bear it. “Not that much.”

  “The ice will make you feel better, and it’ll help prevent some of the swelling.” Her voice wavered as she spoke.

  She really was going to cry and somehow it was all his fault. Trace put his hand over hers, which she promptly removed, leaving him to hold his own makeshift ice pack.

  “I am sorry, Mr. Walker. I’ve never hit anyone in my entire life.”

  “I appreciate you starting with me.”

  “You deserved it, though,” she added, irritation slipping back into her tone.

  “Yeah, well payback’s a bitch.” She’d had him climbing the walls all week.

  “And just what’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded, indignation rising in her tone. She planted her hands firmly on her slender hips and glared up at him.

  He tossed the ice pack she’d so carefully prepared into the bar’s sink, and matched her stance. “You sashay around here all week in one flimsy dress after the other, trying to distract me—trying to mess with my head. I’d say you were due a little payback.”

  She glared at him, all signs of regret gone now. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with the clothes I wear. Can I help it if you don’t know how to keep your testosterone in check?”

  “My testosterone is just fine, Miss Carson.”

  Claire’s gaze zeroed in on his mouth. She stared intently as if she’d suddenly forgotten what they were discussing. Her lips parted and he heard the little rush of air she released.

  “Why are you staring at me?” he asked hoarsely, suddenly aware of how close they stood to each other... of how good she smelled... of how very much he’d like to hold her in his arms. Trace’s last coherent thought was that he should step away from her—break the trance enveloping them both—but he couldn’t. Somehow Claire always had that effect on him.

  “I have to go,” she whispered, though she made no move to leave.

  His eyes were on her lips now. Full and lush, a perfect pink color. And even though his nose still ached, he drew in long and deep of the scent that had been driving him crazy all week. If he leaned just a little closer he could smell her hair, but he didn’t dare move. Trace closed his eyes and willed himself to concentrate on something else... anything else.

  Claire flattened her palm against his chest. Trace sucked in a harsh breath and snapped his eyes open.

  “Are you alright?” she asked softly, too softly.

  Man, he had to get ahold of himself. “Miss Carson, this is not going to work.” Trace met the warmth in her eyes with frost in his own.

  “I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Walker,” she said, her expression slightly bewildered as if she’d just awakened from a dream.

  He fought the intense hunger that ravaged him and went for stern. “Oh, yes, you do. You’ve been trying to throw me off balance all week.”

  She frowned slightly, looking for all the world as innocent as an angel straight from heaven. “Are you saying that you have a problem working with me, Mr. Walker? If so, then perhaps we need to rethink my contract.”

  “I’m saying that you’re trying to seduce me.”

  “Seduce you?” She jerked her hand back. “Please,” she said with an exaggerated shudder, as if the idea were completely repulsive.

  “You’ve been purposely trying to drive me crazy all week and you know it,” he snapped. Besides, what the hell would be so bad about seducing him? He hadn’t had any complaints yet.

  Claire straightened and crossed her arms over her chest. “I most certainly have not been trying to seduce you and I resent the implication.”

  “It’s not an implication—it’s a statement of fact,” he barked. She was mad now. Good. She should be mad, because he sure as hell was. And he didn’t like to be mad alone.

  “Are you saying you’re attracted to me in some perverted way?” she accused.

  “Perverted? Hell, no!” The very idea! Perverted! The woman had to be nuts.

  “Well, I hate to burst your bubble, Mr. Walker, but I’m not at all attracted to you,” she said glibly. “Personally, I don’t care for all the brawn and no brains type.”

  Careful not to touch her, Trace placed one hand on the bar on each side of her and leaned in so close that he could feel her trepidation as it trembled through her body. “Miss Carson,” he warned, “you’ve already physically assaulted me. I will not stand by while you insult my intelligence as well.”

  “And just what do you propose to do about it?” she asked, a challenge in her eyes. “Hit me back?”

  Trace made the monumental mistake of allowing his gaze to follow the movement of her lips as she spoke. He could easier have stopped the sun from setting in the west than he could prevent his mouth from taking hers.

  Sug
ar and spice and everything nice—that’s exactly how she tasted. Sweet and warm and oh, so soft. Her momentary resistance relaxed into an invitation to take. And take he did. Trace slid his arms around her, touched and then threaded his fingers into the silky hair that had tempted him all week. The feminine smells of delicate perfume and fragrant shampoo filled him with a sense of longing that made him ache all over.

  Claire slid her hands up his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck. Trace’s heart pounded at her responsiveness. He could never have imagined a reaction like this. He’d expected, if anything, for her to slug him again. But she didn’t. Claire leaned in to the kiss. She felt good against him. He wanted to hold her tighter and kiss her until she begged him to make love to her. The thought of making love to this hellion sent a rush of heat to his lower body. When she moaned softly into his mouth, his chest constricted with such desire and possessiveness that he felt certain she had to feel it, too.

  Her fingers plunged into the hair at his nape, and she tentatively touched her tongue to his lips. Trace opened and welcomed her desire to explore. Her tongue caressed his, sending a shock wave through his already hardening body. He groaned and pressed his rigid desire against her softness. Following her lead, he dipped his tongue into her sweet mouth. Warmth spread through him as he explored and tasted her.

  She felt so small and fragile in his arms. An almost overwhelming protective instinct swelled inside him. Trace wanted her so much it hurt.

  But he couldn’t have her.

  He reluctantly drew himself away from the body he so wanted to possess. In every sense of the word, Trace realized. But that could never happen. His lips protested the move with a half groan, half sigh.

  “You should go now, Miss Carson,” he said in a voice that sounded husky to his own ears.

  Claire touched her kiss-swollen lips. Her dazed expression made him want to pull her back into his arms and kiss her again.

  “I think you’re right, Mr. Walker.” Her gaze darted from his to the floor. “I’ll see you on Monday.”