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

by Debra Webb

  He watched her strut away and shook his head. He’d never in his life seen another woman who could move quite like that. He let out a ragged breath. One week and already Claire Carson had him turned inside out.

  “Miss Carson,” he called as she got to the door.

  “Yes?” She shifted to face him, her cheeks still flushed from the intimacy they’d shared.

  Trace maintained the safe distance between. “That was inappropriate behavior, it won’t happen again.”

  Claire seemed to consider his apology for a time before speaking. “The kiss I’ll get over,” she finally said. “Just don’t schedule any more barnyard guests on my show.”

  Trace nodded his concession. “Oh,” he said, staying her departure once more, “Gabe and I will be in Dallas on Monday, but we’ll be back on Tuesday.”

  “How will I manage without you?” She feigned a smile, then slipped out of his office. He tried to remember that Claire Carson was his employee—his enemy, really. A woman who’d resurrected serious pain in his life. The last thing he needed to do was get involved with her. She was the type he consistently avoided. Too much like Annette, the woman he’d made the mistake of giving his heart and name to all those years ago. The kind of woman that made him lose control. Trace hated to lose control. He had to keep his goal firmly in front of him—to teach her a lesson.

  Nothing more.

  “Trace!”

  Trace blinked as his vice president rushed into his office, carrying several folders. Why hadn’t Gabe walked in earlier? Before he’d kissed the woman?

  Gabe pointed an inpatient finger, folders tucked under the other arm. “You’ve got to hire a real secretary! I can’t find a damned thing I need. In less than a week, that... that... Carson woman has made a mess of the files.” He blew out an exasperated puff of air, his face red with frustration.

  Trace couldn’t stop the grin that tilted his lips, which only served to increase the severity of Gabe’s scowl. “Go home, Gabe. You and Miss Carson can straighten the files out next week.”

  Claire might not be much of a secretary, but she sure was easy on the eyes. He blinked back the image of her bending over his desk. Damn! He had to stop doing that. Staying perpetually aroused was making him crazy.

  “You find this whole situation amusing, don’t you?” Gabe’s eyes practically bulged with irritation. “When are you going to put a stop to this fiasco? When she’s passed along the wrong message and ruins a multimillion dollar merger?”

  Trace lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, you’ve made your point. You can start reviewing the resumes Human Resources sent over. Give me two more weeks, and I’ll give Miss Carson her freedom.” Trace ran a hand through his hair feeling something akin to regret at the thought of letting her go. “She should have learned her lesson by then,” he added, more for Gabe’s benefit than his own.

  “Two weeks,” Gabe repeated, the anger easing from his expression. “I can live with that, I suppose.” He pursed his thin lips and narrowed his eyes as if a brilliant idea had just occurred to him. “See you on Monday, Trace,” he said in a cryptic tone before turning away.

  With a fleeting sense of uneasiness, Trace watched Gabe’s departure. He shook his head and chuckled. No telling what kind of brainstorm Gabe had just experienced. And he was right, keeping Claire around for too long wouldn’t be smart.

  Trace licked his lips and tasted her.

  For more reasons than one.

  Chapter Four

  “No,” Claire mumbled as she covered her head with her pillow. She didn’t want to hear it. Sleep, she needed to sleep. The annoying and persistent buzz of her cell dictated otherwise. Claire peeked from beneath her hiding place. The numbers on the digital clock read five a.m. Who would be calling her at such an ungodly hour? With a reluctant groan, Claire tossed the pillow aside. Her mother, maybe? She rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Not likely, she decided. Her mother was in Seattle, and in Seattle it was three a.m. Definitely not her mother—unless there’d been an emergency...

  “Hello,” Claire mumbled.

  “Miss Carson?”

  “Gabe?” Claire came instantly awake. Wasn’t he supposed to be leaving for Dallas this morning with Trace?

  “Miss Carson, I’ve come down with a bug of some sort, and I can’t make the trip to Dallas.”

  You called me at five in the morning to tell me your personal health problems? Claire wanted to say, but didn’t. “I’m sorry to hear that, Gabe,” she said instead. “Is there something you need me to do for you?”

  “The plane leaves at seven. I’ll send the car around for you at six-fifteen. The driver will give you the portfolio containing the presentation material. It’s a quick, simple introduction and overview of the agenda to follow. You won’t have any problem following the outline, it’s entirely self-explanatory.”

  Claire sat straight up. She pushed her hair back from her face and glared at her cell as if it were an unfamiliar object. Slowly, she pressed it back against her ear. “You’re doing what?” She had to have heard wrong. Dreaming—that would explain it. She was dreaming. She’d have a good laugh about this when she really woke up.

  “I know it’s short notice, Miss Carson,” he apologized. “But really, it can’t be helped. This meeting is of utmost importance. Trace absolutely has to have support. And there simply isn’t anyone else except you.”

  She was awake, all right. Gabe’s last statement hung in the silence that followed. She suffered a twinge of guilt. She had, after all, caused the untimely departure of Walker’s previous secretary. She supposed that she couldn’t just leave him in the lurch. Besides, she’d never been to Dallas and...

  What was she thinking? She couldn’t go across town with Trace Walker, much less to another state. Being alone with him was like playing with a lit fuse and dynamite—an explosion was inevitable. Not just any old explosion either—a powerful explosion of sexually stimulating hormones.

  “I don’t know about this, Gabe.”

  “Fine, I’ll just drag myself out with this hundred and two degree temp. Of course, first I’ll have to call my doctor and cancel the appointment I got him out of bed five minutes ago to make.”

  Claire closed her eyes and released a defeated sigh. No matter that the entire situation was ridiculous or that Walker could hire any secretary he chose, the fact still remained that she was his secretary right now. And right now, duty called. “Okay, okay.”

  She would regret this—she knew she would.

  “Excellent,” Gabe said in a voice entirely too chipper for a man with a high fever.

  Somehow Claire didn’t equate what she was about to do with the word excellent. The words that did come to mind didn’t bear repeating.

  “There’s a business meeting today and a cocktail party tonight. You’ll be back before noon tomorrow. You’ll hardly know you were gone. Thanks so much, Miss Carson. I’m counting on you to cover for me.”

  Claire muttered a response, closed her cell and sat, stunned, for a long moment. The detailed memory of that kiss she and Walker had shared assaulted her senses with savage force. His touch... his taste. The intensity of the heat that had flared between them. A shiver swept over her and she clutched the sheet to her breasts. The hardened peaks beneath the silk of her gown just another reminder of how out of control this situation had gotten. The mere thought of spending time with him made every feminine part of her tighten with anticipation. And the way the man kissed...

  Mind-boggling.

  Toe-curling.

  She had to hand it to him, he certainly knew how to kiss a woman. How to make her burn with need. But she couldn’t think about that right now. She had to focus on the man—not his sexual expertise. Claire had a career to worry about. Romance was the farthest thing from her mind.

  Maybe in a few years—but not today.

  National syndication had to be her sole goal at the moment, not getting involved with anyone—especially someone like Trace Walker.


  Claire flung the covers back and jumped out of bed. Just over an hour. Not nearly long enough. She had to shower and pack. And brace herself for the encounter ahead. She had twenty-four hours to observe Trace outside his natural habitat. In neutral territory, so to speak. No brick walls to hide behind... no Gabe to run interference.

  Interesting, she mused as she stripped off her gown. This trip could be very interesting.

  And dangerous, a little voice added.

  ~*~

  Trace emerged from the black limo and strode across the tarmac toward his private jet. He didn’t usually travel unless it was absolutely necessary, but he’d made an exception this time. He didn’t want to wrap this deal up by teleconference as Gabe had suggested. Trace wanted—no, needed—to get away from the office. Away from Claire. She was driving him crazy.

  Friday had been the last straw as far as Trace was concerned. Since he could no more control the nuclear meltdown that occurred each time he and Claire got too close than he could the rotation of the earth, he’d deemed a timeout as essential to his sanity.

  Time and distance. That was all he needed. He’d regain his perspective and then things would be back to normal again. He’d be in control. Trace smiled to himself as he bounded up the steps and through the plane’s hatch. Control. He could feel the shift toward regaining that crucial balance already.

  A pair of shapely legs that seemed to go on forever stopped him dead in his tracks. His mouth went drought dry as his gaze slid slowly over the silky smooth skin that finally ended at the hem of a short, cream-colored skirt. In a move so graceful and provocative that it took his breath away, one long leg draped itself over the other. A matching cream-colored stiletto heel dangled from a sexy foot. Damn it all to hell, how could a foot look that appealing?

  He swallowed the incredible lump that had formed in his throat and forced his gaze to travel beyond the chic blouse that draped elegantly over well-rounded breasts, upward to a face so beautiful it seemed almost unreal. Full, lush lips. High, exotic cheekbones. Large golden eyes rimmed in long, dark lashes. A mane of thick chestnut hair that flowed freely around delicate, but proud shoulders.

  What was she doing here?

  Where the hell was Gabe?

  “Good morning, Mr. Walker,” she cooed in that lusty voice that had male viewers by the tens of thousands tuning into Heart Beat.

  Reminding himself that she was the enemy, Trace levied his defenses. “What are you doing on my plane, Miss Carson?” He growled the question, pressing her with what he hoped came across as a deadly glare.

  “Gabe has a one-oh-two temp so he asked me to stand in for him.”

  Trace bit back the first phrase that sprang immediately to his lips: No way in hell was Gabe Jarrett sick. “In all the years we’ve worked together, Gabe has never missed a day,” he countered heatedly.

  “I guess there’s a first time for everything,” Claire retorted before turning her attention back to the Cosmo magazine she was reading. With one hand, she absently tugged at the hem of her skirt, covering an inch or so of exposed thigh.

  His attention fixated on her legs, and he immediately lamented the move she’d made to cover herself, but regretted even more the fact that he’d noticed it in the first place. Before he could blink, she’d dropped her magazine and pulled on her matching suit jacket, effectively concealing those great breasts and making her look entirely too professional. Irritation quickly replaced the surge of desire he’d been subjected to the moment he’d laid eyes on her. He pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket. He’d just see about this. Whatever silly stunt Claire Carson had up her sleeve, he’d get to the bottom of it.

  After three rings, he got Gabe’s voicemail. “Damn it.” He snapped the phone shut and jammed it back into his pocket. Gabe never allowed voicemail to take a call from Trace.

  Never.

  And he most assuredly never got sick.

  Trace couldn’t possibly spend the night in Dallas with this woman! He’d lose his mind for sure.

  The calm sound of the pilot’s voice came over the intercom, shattering the charged silence and relating that they had been cleared for take-off. Trace reined in the runaway thoughts of how he could stop this disaster before it happened and reluctantly took his seat across from Claire. It was too late to change his plans now. He clenched his teeth and hardened his jaw against the string of hot curses that wanted to spew forth.

  Gabe had been up in arms about the situation with Claire all along. Just maybe this little stunt was the old man’s way of paying Trace back for Claire’s clerical inefficiency. Or maybe, Gabe just wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. After all, Trace had pretty much dumped the task of overseeing Claire’s daily activities into Gabe’s lap.

  Damn you, Gabe, Trace swore silently. I’ll get you for this.

  ~*~

  Claire had never been so bored in her entire life.

  The meeting dragged on and on. Three men in varying shades of grey business suits sat across the conference table designed to seat more than thirty. A young woman—a secretary, Claire supposed—flitted in and out, pouring coffee or bringing some file requested by one or other of the men. She silently thanked God that Walker didn’t have her dashing around the room doing every little thing for him. He passed his own handouts and poured his own coffee. Claire found herself inordinately pleased that he didn’t behave like the power suits across the table.

  Pages turned as the men moved to the next item on the agenda.

  Claire regarded the remaining two items with dismay. Gabe’s presentation had been first on the agenda. Fortunately for her, he’d been right about it being a simple show-and-tell delivery. She’d reviewed the charts on the way to the airport and once more on the flight. No problem. Walker and the other three men had listened intently as she’d gone over the charts, basically reading off the captions and summaries.

  And then her part was over. Everything else since then had been a blur of financial lingo. She felt sure that if Gabe were present he would have participated in the rest of the meeting, but she understood nothing from her presentation or those of the others. She hoped she never had to attend another merger negotiation. Unable to make much sense of the seemingly foreign language the men spoke, she’d grown bored swiftly.

  She sighed and settled back in her chair to watch Walker perform, as she had done for the better part of the past two hours. Slick best described his business prowess. Observing him was the only interesting part of an otherwise monotonous day. His sinfully expensive and expertly tailored suit complimented every square inch of his athletic build. The deep navy color emphasized the extraordinary blue of his eyes. Who cared if what he was saying bored her to tears?

  Hard as she tried to pay attention to the meeting, she just couldn’t seem to concentrate. Restless and feeling wicked, she kept undressing Walker in her all too vivid imagination. First the jacket disappeared. The dark paisley tie went next. Then, one by one, the buttons of his crisp white shirt opened. And with every button loosened, she got a better view of that magnificent chest. She could almost hear the hiss of leather as his belt slid from his trousers. The soft rustle of the button slipping through its closure and then the undeniable sound of his zipper being lowered. Claire imagined he wore silk boxers in the same deep navy shade of his suit.

  Her breathing became shallow and uneven as she visualized a taut, flat abdomen and strong, muscled thighs. She knew without ever having touched his bare skin, that the dark scattering of hair on his legs would be coarse, causing a wonderful friction against her skin. She had, after all, seen him in running shorts and a T-shirt. Imagining the rest was easy enough. She could almost see the smooth flex and contraction of muscle with every move he made. Her pulse quickened as her gaze drifted up to the finely chiseled features of his handsome face.

  Without warning, Walker glanced in her direction. Her breath stopped for a few seconds, and she almost flinched. Heat crept into her cheeks at being caught staring a hole through hi
m. She’d been all but drooling! How humiliating.

  Walker smiled, a slow, easy smile. One that said he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. He held her gaze for just a second longer than necessary before turning his attention back to the men across the table.

  She focused on the others in the room as well. With robotic and almost synchronized movements, the three men intermittently nodded and made agreeable sounds. Not one of them exhibited even a small portion of the finesse Walker displayed. Confidence and intelligence literally radiated from the man. Nothing got past him. And if the fire in his eyes was any indication, he thoroughly enjoyed the challenge.

  A shark, Claire decided, completely focused and undeterred by a single obstacle thrown in his path. His resonant baritone voice was sure and commanding. This meeting was his and he knew it. The three men on the other side of the polished mahogany expanse didn’t stand a chance, and judging from their bland expressions, they knew it.

  Claire couldn’t reconcile the man sitting next to her with the ones she’d watched in the country music videos from a decade ago. His charm was much the same, as were his devastating good looks, but his demeanor held no similarity whatsoever. Ten years ago he’d been giving and trusting. Innocent. Trace—the entertainer had given his all—but the man before her gave nothing. Sharp and demanding. Impatient.

  Cynical.

  No fear. No friendliness. No emotion at all.

  Total lockdown.

  Claire chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip and drew her brows into a frown. Trace Walker would seem to be a heartless machine with human flesh stretched over cold steel if it weren’t for those white-hot kisses she knew he could deliver.

  A contradiction.

  All four men suddenly stood.

  “A wise decision, gentlemen,” Walker stated as he took one hand after the other and shook it firmly. Congratulations and hopeful expectations for the future bounced between them. The three men on the opposite side of the conference table looked as elated as Walker looked unaffected.

  Claire stood and shuffled the presentation material back into the portfolio. Just as she’d known he would, Walker had won. The other men had buckled under his savvy negotiating skills. Americom now belonged to Trace Walker Investments.