by Debra Webb
“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.
“I do,” he said in a tone just a cut above dangerous. “And what happened between us last night won’t change anything.”
“Maybe not for you.” Tears stung her eyes. “But it changes everything for me. And you, Trace Walker, have no control over that.”
He swore hotly. A four-letter word she despised, that fell too closely to what they’d shared just last night. She flinched but held her position, close enough to feel the heat from his body... close enough for him to feel hers. “You can’t change the past either.”
“I know that,” he said, quietly, too quietly. Rage simmered just beneath the barely contained fury—a rage that had already ravaged his soul and consumed a great deal of his life.
She folded her arms over her chest. “Good.” That he admitted to anything less than full control was a step in the right direction.
“Whatever you think,” he warned, “just because I want you,” he pulled her against him, let her feel just how much he wanted her, “changes nothing. I will never put myself in that position again. This is all I have to offer you.”
Victory welled inside her. Last night hadn’t been enough for him either. He had sworn last night was all he could give her... but that wasn’t what she was hearing now. “So you just won’t ever fall in love with anyone. I can live with that.” She held his gaze, hoped he wouldn’t see the lie in her eyes even as she felt her lower lip tremble.
“I won’t.” He touched her cheek, a fleeting brush of knuckles against skin. “I won’t let you cross that line with me, either. This is about sex and nothing more. We clear on that?”
How she held it together she would never know, but somehow she did. “Crystal.”
That muscle in his tense jaw flexed furiously. “Good,” he said harshly, repeating what she’d said moments ago. “Because this—” he kissed her solidly on the lips, long and hard “—is all I have to offer.”
She would take it. Claire melted into him. She felt the need rush up her thighs, through her middle and all the way to her heart. She didn’t care what his lips said, she only cared what his strong body said to hers. He wanted her, desperately. And she wanted him, with equal desperation.
“Deal,” she whispered against his lips. She kissed him with all the hunger, all the desire that had welled inside her. She drew out the kiss, moving her hands over his muscular body. First his chest, then his arms... she twined her fingers with his and held on tightly. Eagerly, she slipped her tongue inside his hot, waiting mouth, and he groaned. The sound added to her pleasure. His taste filled her.
“Claire.” He breathed her name as he cradled her face. “I want you now.”
A flash fire swept through her, hot and out of control. She opened her robe and shrugged it off. The silky material flowed over her shoulders and drifted to the floor. She wanted him to look at her, wanted to see the desire in his eyes rage out of control as hers had. Patiently, unhurriedly, Trace caressed her nude body with his gaze. Heat exploded wherever his eyes touched. Her throat... her breasts... her belly... and then he followed that same path with his hands. Cupping the weight of her breasts, first one, and then the other. Raking her nipples. Long fingers splayed across her skin, touching, giving, remembering.
He eased her against the counter and pressed the length of his body along hers. Claire felt the powerful urgency of his arousal nudge her belly. He kissed her again, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, exploring, tempting. His kiss was relentless, deep, hungry, erotic. And when he finally drew back, his breath was ragged, his emotions unmistakable. She meant more to him than he would ever admit, Claire knew that, if she knew nothing else. He could pretend that he would never care, but he did. She saw it in his eyes, felt it in his touch.
He dropped to his knees, his seeking hands moved over her thighs swiftly, possessively. She gasped when his mouth settled on her thigh and moved upward, intimately. She gripped the edge of the counter and her head lolled back. Claire prayed she wouldn’t fall apart as he made love to her in this most intimate manner.
His mouth moved slowly, tantalizingly over her flesh. He pushed her legs further apart and he touched her most feminine place with his tongue. He tasted, teased, then plunged until Claire thought she would die of it. With great skill he used his hands and his mouth to bring her to the brink of release. The heated words they had just exchanged, the love he would never give her ceased to matter. The world around Claire continued to focus inward until all that it encompassed was the man and the way he made her feel.
Just as her shudders of release began, Trace pressed his talented mouth to her belly, his hands followed, stroking, massaging. Claire threaded her fingers into his hair and held him more firmly against her. His lips moved over one breast, sucking, pulling her inside him. And when she could no longer bear it, as if he knew exactly when that moment occurred, Trace covered her waiting mouth with his own. The taste of hot sex filled her, made her shudder.
“Oh, God,” she whimpered, her feminine muscles clutched and climax threatened to crash down on her. She fumbled with his zipper, needing him inside her. When she had him in her hands she all but cried with want. He lifted her onto the edge of the counter, her legs instinctively going around his waist, her arms circling his neck.
And then he was inside her. Trace groaned, a desperate, primal sound. Hot, undulating waves of pleasure pounded Claire, even before he moved. Crashing, exploding light and sensation fell around her, flashed inside her. He remained absolutely still, waiting, watching. Watching her come apart in his arms, while he filled her, so very completely. And when he moved, the world shattered and dissolved, leaving only sweet oblivion and the sound of Trace coming too. The quick, shuddering violence of his own response left them both trembling. He plunged one last time and t
hen held her gently against his chest. The quick, uneven intake of breath the only sound in the sated silence that followed.
Trace pressed his lips to her hair and Claire tilted her chin upward for another taste of him. In that ephemeral moment before his lips met hers, Claire saw the sadness, the pain and the want in his blue eyes. Then it was gone... a fleeting part of the man beneath the armor that she couldn’t quite penetrate. And one whose past, she now knew, she could never reveal to his many fans, under any circumstances.
Trace Walker had already punished himself enough.
~*~
Monday morning it felt good to be in her own office at WCMB. Claire had spent the morning going over fan mail and possible candidates for upcoming shows. Trish, Ron’s assistant, had already taken care of the research and most of the legwork for Friday’s show. Ron had taken her to lunch to celebrate her liberation. Trace had called his attorney at home on Sunday afternoon and instructed him to revise Claire’s contract.
Finished now with her work and feeling somehow restless, she stood staring out the window at the evening commuters. She glanced at her watch. In ten minutes she would get the latest word on what the network had to offer. She should be excited. She had worked hard for this opportunity. Instead she felt numb and empty. She’d given her heart to a man who would never love her, never commit to her in a million years. And if she moved to New York or California to pursue her career, she would only be proving what Trace already believed. That ambition and career meant more to her than he did. She closed her eyes and slowly shook her head from side to side. Even if she turned down a dozen offers and stayed right here in Nashville for the rest of her life, Trace still might never take a chance on loving her. He wanted her, there was no question about that. He’d even suggested that she move in with him, and Claire felt sure that was a major concession on his part.
She wasn’t opposed to compromise. She just didn’t think she could do all of it. How had she let this happen? Two weeks ago she knew exactly what she wanted in life. Now everything had changed, gotten complicated. No matter what she did, someone would lose.
Nothing would ever be the same again.
Claire rubbed at the band of tension tightening around her forehead. With a depressed sigh, she left her office and headed down the hall to Jim’s. After hearing the networks offer, she would weigh all her options then make her decision.
“Hey, Claire.” Jim beamed a big smile at her from behind his desk as she entered his office.
Ron rose from his chair to give Claire a quick peck on the cheek. “Don’t ever talk me into Mexican food again,” he complained as he rubbed his stomach. “I’ve been revisited by that enchilada all afternoon.”
Claire smiled in spite of herself. “Serves you right for having three.” She settled into the chair next to Ron’s. “So, what’s the final offer?” She steepled her fingers and pressed her chin there, waiting as patiently as she could for Jim to begin.
“They want you, Claire,” Jim told her. “But they don’t want Heart Beat.”
Claire groaned her frustration. “That’s not fair,” she cried. “This show—and all of you—made me what I am. You deserve this as much as I do, if not more.”
Jim threw up his hands to halt the tirade he knew she was about to launch. “Claire, the fact of the matter is that the network likes the show’s format but they don’t want to do it from here and they have their own people they want in key positions.”
Claire shook her head. “I won’t do it.”
Jim made a sound of disbelief. “Don’t be ridiculous!”
“Claire.” Ron, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, shifted in his chair to face her. “Heart Beat will go on and we’ll be fine. You have to do this. This is your big chance.”
Tears welled in her eyes. This was just too much. “How can I do this without you?”
He patted her hand affectionately. “I’m sure a network that big will have at least one producer who’s almost as good as I am.”
Claire made a sound that was more sob than laugh. “I don’t see how.”
Ron squeezed her hand in his. “Listen to me, Claire.” He leveled his gaze firmly on hers. “There is no decision to be made here. You have to grab the brass ring. If you don’t, you’ll be sorry for the rest of your life.”
“He’s right,” Jim added. “We’re all family here, Claire, and we want the best for you. Go for it.”
Claire swiped at the tears slipping past her lashes. “Where do they have in mind?”
Jim stared at his neatly arranged desktop. “Los Angeles.”
Claire closed her eyes in regret. New York would have been better, easier. “How long do I have to make a decision?”
“These are the big boys, Claire, they aren’t accustomed to waiting.” Jim sighed at her pleading look. “I’ve scheduled you an appointment with the agent I mentioned for tomorrow morning. If you like him, be prepared to give your decision then. He’ll handle the rest. He’s the best man I know in the business. You can trust him.”
She tunneled her fingers through her hair. “Okay,” she said, even if it wasn’t. Her mind whirled as she stood to leave. She needed some time alone to sort this all out. She accepted the appointment card Jim offered. “Thanks,” she managed even though thankful was the farthest thing from what she felt at the moment.
Ron followed her into the empty corridor. “Claire, there’s nothing wrong, is there?”
She produced a smile for him. “No, I’m just disappointed that Heart Beat isn’t going national.” She hoped that answer would suffice, and that was definitely a big part of it.
“You’re sure that’s all?”
She should have known better. Ron knew her entirely too well. “I’m fine, Ron. Just fine.”
Claire turned and strode away before he could ask anything else. Fine? What a joke. She wasn’t fine.
Claire Carson would never be fine again.
Chapter Eight
Trace pulled Claire closer, enjoying the feel of her soft, warm body snuggled spoon-fashion against his. The sun still hovered just below the mountain tops, but dawn would arrive at any moment. He smiled when he recalled the way Claire had looked when she’d shown up at his door last night. He hadn’t heard from her all day. He’d thought that maybe she wouldn’t come back. That she’d decided against being with him on his terms. He wasn’t offering her anything, and he’d fully expected her to leave and never come back.
But she had. And she’d gone immediately into his arms... without a word. They’d made love twice during the night. And each time he’d lost another piece of his heart to this woman. Something he had sworn he would never do.
He couldn’t change that, but he could make sure that she never knew how he felt. Trace refused to show anything that would encourage her feelings. He didn’t have it in him to be the kind of man Claire deserved, or to give her what she wanted: a lifetime commitment... children. She certainly deserved both those things. The polar opposite of what he wanted in life. Trace didn’t want those kinds of responsibilities. He couldn’t even fathom the hurt that would accompany the loss of... God forbid... a child.
Trace squeezed his eyes shut and forced the mental pictures away. He was a coward. He freely admitted it. The less connected he was to the human race the better he liked it. He had one focus: work. And he planned to keep it that way. He would never allow this to be more than it was at the moment. Pure physical pleasure.
He touched her cheek just to feel its softness. She was just so gorgeous. Just looking at her aroused him—even after a night like last night, she still filled him with want. He smiled. Making love had never been that special for him in the past, although he’d indulged in the activity on a regular basis. He’d never experienced the depth of emotion he felt when Claire looked at him or touched him in the most innocent way.
She loved him physically like no one else ever had and that scared the hell out of him. He didn’t want her to fall in love with him. If he thought for one
second what they shared went more than skin deep for Claire, he wouldn’t touch her again. But it didn’t. He’d certainly be able to tell if her feelings went beyond physical attraction. She cared about him, but her career was first. He trailed his finger along her jaw line. He would definitely recognize anything serious.
Claire’s eyes fluttered open. “Good morning,” she said, her voice rich and throaty, thick with sleep.
“Good morning, Miss Carson,” Trace murmured before placing a kiss on the sensitive skin at the base of her throat, his renewed arousal nudging her soft skin.
“You are wicked, Mr. Walker,” she said, her voice catching as he nibbled on her delectable shoulder.
“I’m glad you noticed—” Trace planted a slow, attentive kiss between each word “—because I’m planning to take the morning off just to prove how wicked I can be.”
Claire moaned softly as he moved lower, over the swell of her breasts. “I swear you’re a machine, Mr. Walker.”
“I’ve been called much worse.” Trace pulled a taut nipple into his mouth, relishing the sweet taste of her. Claire was right, he couldn’t get enough of her. He wanted more. And then some more after that. He’d never taken time out from his workday to make love. This would be a first.
“Trace,” she gasped. “I have to shower and...” Her voice wilted to soft sounds of pleasure when he moved still lower. Nibbling, licking and sucking his way to her bellybutton.
“Damn, you taste good,” he growled then moved back for a long draw from her other firm, lush breast. “So good.”
Heat ravaged him, fanned by the frenzied pounding in his chest. Every nerve, every muscle strummed with desire. Trace responded to Claire on all known levels, conscious as well as subconscious. She felt hot and soft and so responsive in his arms. He could take her over and over again and still want more. More of the sweet sounds she made when he buried himself deep inside her. More of the way her body seemed to be the long-lost half of his own... fitting together perfectly.
