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

by Debra Webb

  One down and two to go. She had survived the conference. Now if she could just get through the cocktail party and the night alone in a penthouse suite with Walker, she’d be in the clear.

  Though she had her own private bedroom, sleeping with only a wall between them seemed like risky business to her. She expelled a heavy breath and forced the thought away. She was a big girl, she could take care of herself. Besides, she had several hours to prepare for the long evening ahead. And she’d make it a long one for sure. She’d drag out her stay at that cocktail party until she absolutely had to call it a night. By the time they got back to the penthouse, they’d both be so tired sleep would be the only thing either would want.

  She smiled, forcing a cheerfulness she didn’t quite feel. At least it was a plan. Any plan was better than no plan.

  Somehow she’d be okay.

  ~*~

  Trace definitely wasn’t okay. He’d all but gone into cardiac arrest when Claire had appeared looking like—he quickly scanned the crowd until he found her once more—that. His gaze slid over her willowy body. The black dress she wore was nothing like the outfits she’d been wearing to the office for the past week. Tonight’s dress was tasteful, elegant, classy—even a bit reserved, but the silk touched her shape in an almost caressing fashion. The modest neckline revealed nothing, but Trace already knew the smooth perfection of her ivory skin, the lush swell of her breasts. The slender curves that gave way to legs that seemed to go on forever.

  Claire had pulled her hair up into a loose arrangement of curls. He swallowed hard as he imagined touching those soft curls. He’d love to remove the restraining pins and draw all those silky locks down around her shoulders. Then he’d kiss that throbbing pulse at the base of her lovely throat. Heat pooled in his loins. He gave himself a mental shake for looking again and directed his gaze elsewhere.

  Hell, he couldn’t keep his eyes off the damned woman, even when she wasn’t taunting him with her sexy feminine form. Trace downed his drink and headed for the bar. He set the empty tumbler down and leaned against the counter to watch the mingling crowd—or more specifically and to his utter consternation—Claire.

  The bartender gazed at him expectantly.

  “Scotch on the rocks,” he ordered. He felt a nerve in his jaw twitch as the man standing next to Claire placed a hand on the small of her back. A couple of macho jerks had stuck like glue the entire evening, introducing her around as if they’d known her forever.

  “Thanks,” Trace muttered when the bartender filled his order, then his gaze immediately sought out his date once more.

  Date?

  Where the hell had that come from? This wasn’t a date. Just another business meeting. Only this one was taking place in a fancy ballroom on the first floor of a five-star hotel. And Claire was just another employee.

  Right, Trace fumed silently. And he hadn’t spent the better part of the last week walking around in a semi-aroused state.

  Restless and impatient, he moved through the crowd trying to lose himself. He stopped to speak briefly with first one and then another of his Dallas business acquaintances. No matter the conversation, no matter his position in the room, his gaze continually strayed to Claire. The men, accompanied as well as unaccompanied, seemed to gravitate in her direction. With a million-dollar personality and a bewitching smile, she mesmerized those around her—including Trace. Unfortunately.

  Did the woman have any idea how beautiful she was? Equal parts glamour and grace. Like a vintage Hollywood star. He sipped his scotch, allowing its warmth to flow through him. And all woman.

  Damn.

  He didn’t want to feel this... this hunger.

  He needed another drink. He could drink another and maybe even another after that if he wanted, since driving wouldn’t be necessary. He never ever had even one beer if he had to drive. If he hadn’t been drinking that night...

  No way was he going to let his thoughts wander in that direction. And tonight he didn’t have to worry. His room was fifteen stories up; the only ride he had to take was on the elevator—if it were working. Trace smiled to himself when he recalled Claire’s non-stop complaining as they trudged down flight after flight of stairs to get to this shindig. How could all three elevators in a five-star hotel be out of order at the same time? After about ten flights, Trace’d had the overwhelming desire to pick her up, toss her over his shoulder, and carry her the rest of the way just to shut her up, but he hadn’t. He’d known without a doubt that if he put his arms around her tonight, he’d lose what little control he had left.

  The sweet sound of Claire’s laughter drifted to his ears, pulling his gaze once more to the woman who could drive him insane with a mere look.

  Damn.

  He needed another drink.

  ~*~

  By midnight Trace had passed his self-imposed limit and had been nursing the drink in his hand so long that instead of being scotch on the rocks, it looked and tasted more like water. A warm feeling had settled over him and he felt more relaxed and uninhibited than he had in too many years to recall. He wished to hell he could leave, but Claire still seemed enthralled with the slowly dwindling crowd.

  Claire had been the center of attention all night. He’d watched one guy after the other touch her arm or shoulder or back. She didn’t seem to mind, and that didn’t sit too well with him. Of course, after a while and another drink, he’d pretty much gotten over it. Just like Annette. She’d always been the life of the party too. She’d hated her life with Trace, had only endured it for the fame and glory of being married to a superstar.

  Trace set his teeth so hard, his jaws ached. He wouldn’t think about that. It was over and done with. No one would ever hurt him like that again. No one.

  When Claire, at last, tore herself away from her adoring fans, she moved in his direction. Did anyone else on earth look like that? Move like that? Desire arrowed through the haze of alcohol and straight to the part of his anatomy that made him male.

  Arousal was instantaneous.

  “Hi,” she said in a throaty voice that ripped away any pathetic defenses he might have had left.

  “Hi,” he returned, refusing to look her in the eye.

  He tensed when she tiptoed and leaned close to whisper in his ear. “If you’re waiting for me, I’m ready to leave anytime you are.” Her warm, wine-kissed breath set him on fire.

  Without hesitation, he pushed away from the bar, said his good nights and headed for the lobby, Claire followed close behind, politely brushing off the last, persistent fan. Trace bit back the overwhelming urge to tell the guy to get lost. But he wouldn’t give her the pleasure. When they arrived at the elevator, he stabbed the call button and waited as patiently as he could, knowing she stood right beside him.

  “Thank God the elevators are working again,” she commented, sounding a little tired, though she looked no worse for the wear. “I swear I think I’d have spent the night on a couch in the lobby before I would have tackled those stairs again.”

  Trace didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to talk to her and he sure as hell didn’t want to look at her.

  When the doors slid open they entered the luxurious car together.

  Alone.

  Trace punched the button marked sixteen and stationed himself as far away from her as he could. The scent of jasmine that always seemed to exude from the woman wrapped around him and squeezed, pushing the air from his lungs and forcing him to breathe in even more of the lust-arousing fragrance. Trace tightened his jaw and methodically reran the numbers from today’s negotiations. Anything to distract himself from what he was really thinking. When he’d mentally reviewed them forward, he’d do it in reverse. Surely that would keep his mind off the sweet-smelling woman at his side.

  As they glided upward the air thickened with sexual tension despite the numbers flickering through his mind. He refused to even glance in her direction. Hell, if he did, he’d probably lose it.

  The elevator jolted, slowed to a snail’s pa
ce, quivered a moment and then stalled.

  “What happened? Why did we stop?” Claire demanded of no one in particular, fear tingeing her voice.

  Trace drew his brows together and peered at the control panel. He punched the button for the top floor once more. An alarm bell pulsed, the sound having much the same effect on him as the pronouncement of a death sentence to a prisoner. He let out a heavy breath. They were trapped between floors.

  Stuck.

  Together.

  Alone.

  Chapter Five

  Oh, no, Claire cried silently, willing herself not to scream. She took a long, deep breath to counter the anxiety closing her throat, stepped in front of Walker and pushed the open button a couple of times.

  Nothing happened.

  Fear surged through her veins anew, radiating iciness from the inside outward. “It’s no use,” Walker grumbled, just as unfriendly and distant as he’d been all evening.

  Claire whirled to face him, unable to completely restrain the outburst she would rather not have him witness. “How do you know?” she demanded sharply, her voice rising despite her best efforts to keep it steady.

  Walker rolled his eyes and shook his head. “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out the car is no longer moving and is unresponsive to the control panel.”

  “Well, if you’re so smart, then why don’t you do something?”

  “There’s nothing to do but wait,” he said so calmly she wanted to scream.

  The emergency telephone rang before she could say anything else that would give away her deteriorating condition. Walker jerked the small steel door open and snatched up the receiver.

  “Yeah,” he growled.

  Walker listened to what seemed like an eternity to Claire. She focused intently on the strength of his profile as he spoke, though she paid little attention to what he actually said. Slowly, with great effort, she reviewed the reasons she shouldn’t be alarmed. Hotel maintenance would certainly do everything they could to get them out as quickly as possible. Common sense told her everything would be fine. The knowledge of where she was and who she was with left no rational cause for anything less than calm acceptance of the situation. But a deeply entrenched fear that had nothing to do with logic or rational thinking commanded otherwise.

  She had to get out of here!

  “What did they say?” she asked when he at last hung up. She hated the high-pitched, whiny sound of her voice.

  Why hadn’t she just taken the stairs? She knew the elevators had been acting up. At work she always took the stairs when the elevators went on the blink—for days after a malfunction she’d still take the stairs. But tonight, Claire just hadn’t been able to face climbing to the sixteenth floor with these stupid heels and this tight dress, knowing that Trace Walker would be right behind her every step of the way.

  Oh, damn! Why had she even agreed to this stupid trip?

  And why was he staring at her like that? He could plainly see that she was on the verge of losing her pitiful hold on composure.

  “We’ll be moving again soon, so just relax.” He spoke soothingly and slowly as if she were a child and incapable of comprehending simple instructions.

  “Relax?” she squeaked. “I can’t just relax!” She’d lost it now. Claire saw the faintest flicker of concern in his eyes. She forced herself to speak more calmly. “I...I have a problem with being confined...”

  “You’re claustrophobic?” He frowned.

  “No... not exactly.” She groped for a better explanation. “I don’t mind closed-up spaces as long as I can get out whenever I choose. It’s not being able to get out that bothers me—being trapped.” She released a shaky breath and willed her tears to retreat. She absolutely would not make a bigger fool of herself than she had already.

  She would not cry.

  Now, if she could only stop trembling she might just pull this off. She could look calm even if she didn’t feel it. She’d done it before on camera in front of thousands of people. She clenched her hands and focused on steadying her shaky posture. She could do this.

  Walker watched her closely—too closely. The concern in his eyes increased with her every harsh and shallow intake of breath. She tried to breathe more deeply, more slowly.

  “We’ll be moving again any minute now. In the meantime, does it help to take slow, deep breaths?”

  What did he think she was doing? If it had helped, he wouldn’t have had to ask. She fanned a loose tendril of hair back from her face and blinked away the renewed rush of moisture to her eyes. “No,” she muttered. Her voice sounded so small and frightened she hardly recognized it as her own. How could a freak childhood incident still bring her to her knees, emotionally speaking, some twenty years later?

  She could still smell the damp mustiness of her grandmother’s basement. For hours Claire had cowered in a corner, in the darkness, crying her eyes out before anyone realized she was missing. Her hateful cousin, Sheila, had long since gone home, forgetting to unlock the door she’d calculatingly locked hours before. To this day Claire still had the overwhelming desire to punch Sheila every time she saw her.

  Think about something else! She surveyed the posh interior of the stalled elevator again. It was nothing like her grandmother’s basement but the end result was the same—she couldn’t get out. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around her middle.

  “Look,” Walker said. He stared down at her, his eyes warm and full of sympathy. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

  Oh, Lord, not sympathy. Claire almost cringed. If the man of steel here was feeling sympathetic, she must really look pathetic.

  Trace took Claire by the shoulders and steadied her against the wall, evidently thinking she might drop at any moment. Then he shoved his hands into his pockets and smiled reassuringly. “Why don’t we talk about something? You know, to get your mind off our predicament?”

  Claire shook her head, her agitation building by the minute. “I don’t think it’ll work.”

  “Well, we’ll try anyway.” He thought for a moment and then asked, “Did you like the party tonight? You certainly seemed to enjoy yourself.”

  “It was nice,” Claire managed despite the tightness in her throat. Talking wouldn’t work—nothing would.

  She needed to get out!

  He nodded, “Nice enough, I suppose.”

  “Can you call out on that phone?” Claire asked, hysteria climbing, urging her to act.

  Walker ignored her question. “What about the meeting? Did you enjoy the meeting?” He pressed her with his warm blue gaze, determined to have an answer.

  Claire lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. She tried to concentrate on his question about the meeting, but distracting images suddenly flooded her head. Him without a shirt. Without his trousers. Silk boxers in deep navy blue. “Uh... it was okay, I suppose.” She couldn’t look at him now. A tiny thread-like glimmer of warmth flowed through her at the memory of the fantasy that had kept her occupied during the better portion of today’s meeting.

  “If I failed to mention it earlier, you did a nice job standing in for Gabe.”

  Claire nodded. Another surge of warmth flowed, making her heart beat a little faster. Her first-ever Trace Walker compliment. Wow! She could hardly believe it. Of course, he’d been drinking—maybe it was the alcohol talking. “Thank you,” she said, a softness in her voice she hadn’t intended.

  He smiled, a knowing, very male smile. “I do believe you got a little bored toward the end, though.”

  She smiled then. “Just a little,” she admitted. Lord help her, what would he think if he knew she’d slowly undressed him in her restless imagination?

  “I had a hard time concentrating on what I needed to say and do with you staring at me like I had something between my teeth.” He ran a hand over his jaw in a contemplative manner. “I kept wondering what you were thinking.”

  A rush of heat rose up Claire’s neck and spread to her cheeks. “I... was just admiring your nego
tiating skills.” Another kind of heat erupted inside her now but it went in the opposite direction, spiraling from her middle to her thighs. “You’re really good at your job.”

  “I did what I came to do.” An immediate change swept over his face. Gone was the friendliness... the concern, leaving only a guarded expression lurking in those deep blue pools. Walker apparently didn’t take compliments well.

  “But you’re so good at negotiating... cutting the deal,” Claire continued despite his sudden turnaround. “You must really love it. I mean you seemed so at home at the conference table. Much more so than at the party.”

  He rested a hand against the wall on either side of her head. His stare had grown cool and distant. “I learned the hard way, a long time ago, not to allow emotions to rule me. I neither like nor dislike what I do... I simply do.”

  Ah, the control freak was back. Claire met and held his gaze, difficult as that proved. How sad, she thought, that a man who could once evoke such depth of feeling with his music, his voice, would no longer allow himself that pleasure. “But you especially didn’t like the party, did you?”

  “The party was just like any other,” he said flatly.

  “You didn’t answer the question.”

  He exhaled an impatient breath. “What gave you the impression that I didn’t enjoy the party, Miss Carson?”

  “You didn’t mingle very much and you drank a lot.”

  “What?” He glared down at her, anger dancing on the edges of his otherwise cool expression.

  Undaunted, she went on, “Well, you did hold up the bar most of the night.”

  “Are you implying that I’ve had too much to drink?”

  If she could have vanished through the wall at that moment, she would have. Between his dark glower and intimidating stance, the urge to run for her life was nearly overwhelming. “I wasn’t implying anything, Mr. Walker. I merely made an observation.”