by Debra Webb
Her scent made him crazy with lust, and the sound of her voice made his pulse react. No one had ever made Trace feel this kind of longing.
Trace stilled. The realization coming paralyzed him. Claire... completed him.
“Trace,” she whispered, her mouth moving up to meet his for a kiss as wanting as a thirsty man’s want for water.
He resisted the fear that rose inside him and forced his attention back to the woman beneath him. He entwined his fingers with hers, then pinned her hands above her head. He kissed her long and hard, giving as long as she wanted to take.
This would have to be enough.
In one swift and savage, out of control move he filled her.
Completely.
She gripped him tight and hot. Like soft, wet velvet sheathing hot steel. When they began to move together in an age-old rhythm, sunlight exploded through the windows as if on cue. Golden rays rushing across the floor, the bed, their naked bodies. Desperate hands, hungry mouths, tangled limbs. Reaching, reaching for sweet release.
Climax shot through Trace with brutal force. Her name tore past his lips as he poured himself into her. Claire followed him over the edge, her finish erupting around him like molten lava.
“Claire,” he murmured against her silky hair. How would he ever live without her when she’d decided enough was enough?
~*~
“I am so late!” Claire fretted out loud to the empty bedroom.
Trace’s bedroom.
Her hurry was forgotten as she surveyed her surroundings once more. The arousing scent of leather and sandalwood lingered in the air of the luxurious room. Rich, deep earth tones of sand, moss and russet filled the space with warmth. Plump pillows accented the thick comforter covering the huge four-poster bed. Claire allowed her fingers to trace the outline in the pillow where Trace had laid his head last night. This is the place where he slept and dreamed. Claire wondered if he’d ever dreamed of her as she had of him. She frowned when she considered that she might not be the only woman he had taken to this bed... or the last. Had he made love to other women in his most private sanctuary? With the same passion that he had made love to her less than an hour ago?
Her heart wouldn’t believe that. She’d seen in his eyes just how much he cared. Trace worked hard to conceal how he felt, but his eyes gave him away. The desperation with which he made love to her gave him away as well. He might not ever admit it to himself, but Trace had deep feelings for her, and she knew it. But that wouldn’t change anything. He’d said so himself. She turned slowly in his big bedroom and recalled his every touch, nothing she could say or do would change his mind.
“Don’t do this, Claire,” she chastised herself softly. She couldn’t change the man... he had to change himself. Besides, she had her own decisions to make right now.
Glancing at the bedside clock, Claire realized she’d only let more time slip by. Running even later now, she dashed around the room snatching up her purse and then her briefcase. She had just one hour to make it to the appointment Jim had arranged with the agent. Though Claire felt no closer to making a decision now than she had been when Jim had first told her of the network’s offer, she knew she had to do this. Maybe the agent could help her see things in a more objective light.
Why on earth had she turned to Trace last night? What she had really needed was to be alone to think... but the part of her that had little to do with thinking had needed Trace even more. There it was in a nutshell. Claire closed her eyes and fought to calm the emotions churning inside her. Somehow she had to do the right thing. But right for whom?
The facts were simple. The network didn’t want Heart Beat. The producers, staff, and crew would continue on as they were, with someone else as the host. So it wasn’t as if Claire would be leaving them high and dry. She would miss all of them, especially Ron. But this had to be a professional decision.
Trace was another matter altogether. The facts regarding him were a bit more muddled. He had been hurt badly by the loss of his family, which he blamed on his career and ultimately himself. His short marriage to Annette had been painful, leaving him terrified of any kind of commitment. He also carried around a tremendous amount of guilt over Annette’s death, which was not his fault at all. From what Claire could understand about the woman, she’d been a gold-digging leech, who had sucked the very life out of her young, vulnerable husband.
There was no question about how he would react to the possibility of Claire moving to California. She would never see or hear from him again. He would consider that his cue to walk away. Trace didn’t respond well to anything outside his sphere of control. He couldn’t cope with the uncertainty of a long distance relationship. Claire sighed long and loud. Taking this wonderful opportunity would mean walking away from the only man she would ever love.
Standing around here wasn’t going to get the job done. Claire forced away the depressing thoughts. She had to get to this meeting. She would sort the personal stuff out later.
Damn, she was late. Claire hurried down the long upstairs hall. If only Trace had behaved himself this morning, she would’ve had plenty of time. Claire couldn’t help blushing when she considered the ease with which he aroused her. All he had to do was smile that sexy smile, and she was his for the taking. Last night had been heaven on earth.
But what they had shared over the weekend and again last night was all Trace intended to give of himself. He didn’t want a relationship on anything but his own terms. And if she did decide to go with the network—and she couldn’t see herself making any other decision—he would shut her out of his life. On a rational level, Claire had accepted that inevitability, but deep in her heart, hope still foolishly existed.
She bounded down the stairs at the same moment Trace strode into the front hall. Mercy, mercy how could a sweaty man wearing nothing but running shorts and a smile look that good? A glistening sheen of perspiration covered Trace’s strong body. His muscles were pumped after a rugged physical workout. His black hair was damp and a tad wavy. And, oh, those eyes... like raging, deep blue flames. Hot and totally focused on one solitary goal, overtaking whatever stood in their path—which, at the moment, appeared to be Claire.
“Trace, I’m late,” Claire said when she finally found her voice. Just looking at him left her breathless. “I have to—”
“I know where you have to be,” he said coldly.
How could he know? She immediately recognized the intensity in his eyes for what it was: anger. Fear slid through her veins. “How did—”
“Ron just called and said that your appointment with your agent to discuss the move to Los Angeles has been delayed by half an hour.” Anger and hurt radiated from his tone, his eyes, but his composed expression revealed nothing.
Claire reminded herself to breathe. “I’m still considering my options,” she managed to say past the constriction in her throat. Why the hell was she explaining herself to him? He was the one who didn’t want commitment.
Trace plowed his fingers through his damp hair. “Sure.” He crossed the expanse of polished hardwood that stood between them and paused to glare down at her. Instantly, as if a magician’s hand had passed over his face, the old Trace was back. The fierce, unyielding set of his jaw, the ice in his eyes. He held his ground, unwilling to concede the point. Determined to win the battle. “I don’t know why I’m surprised by this. I knew what the outcome of this relationship would be before it even started. It was a waste of time.”
His words cut straight through her heart. She moistened her lips and shored up the anti-Trace defenses she’d long since let down. “I have to go.” Claire fought back the sense of loss that overwhelmed her, making it difficult to breathe. She clenched her teeth. Her pulse raced, making her lightheaded. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she said stiffly as she pushed past him.
Trace clutched her arm, a little tighter than necessary. “If you walk out that door now, don’t ever come back,” he told her, his tone low and dangerous, full of the bitt
erness she’d thought she’d seen the last of. A muscle in his jaw jumped, his eyes glazed with raw determination.
“If that’s the way you want it.” Her own anger overrode everything else now. She pulled her arm from his grasp and headed for the door. How dare he give her an ultimatum. He hadn’t even given her the chance to work anything out. Trace Walker only cared that he could not control the situation, therefore it was unacceptable. He wasn’t the one walking away and that drove him nuts! Well, Claire wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of seeing her cry. She would not look back.
She’d made it to the door, her hand poised to turn the big brass knob when his words, or more accurately the pain in his voice, stopped her.
“Don’t go, Claire.”
The deep, sad ache reverberated through her, making her hesitate. The sound stabbed like a knife in her chest. She squared her shoulders, didn’t look back. If she did, she’d be lost. “I have to go, Trace. This is important.”
“More important than us?”
The knife twisted. He was using the very relationship he’d denied all along. “Is there really an us?” She held her breath and waited for his answer.
Trace said nothing.
Claire sucked in a sharp breath. Her heart, heavy with hurt, pounded hard. “That’s what I thought.”
Silence screamed around them, deafening, with heart-wrenching intensity for the few seconds it took her to force her hand to turn the knob. Then she was outside and running toward the car she’d left parked in front of the house.
Where had the man who’d made love to her so passionately that very morning gone? The cold, heartless, man of steel had re-emerged as real as ever. Too real.
Claire struggled to hold back her tears. That tiny seed of hope that had begun to grow in her heart, the hope that Trace might somehow truly love her, withered and died. Pain, raw and vicious, surged through her. She had been wrong to believe in him.
~*~
Trace lifted the tumbler to his lips and took a long, deep swallow of scotch. He closed his eyes and relished the burn. “Walker, you’re a stupid son a bitch,” he growled.
He’d foolishly believed that things with Claire would be different. That somehow he would be able to work past his fear of losing someone he loved. That, in time, they could eventually...
Hell, he didn’t know what he thought. And what difference did it make anyway? Claire cared more about her career than him. She’d taken what he had to offer, and walked. But how the hell could he blame her? Trace knew he was a heartless bastard, determined to avoid all emotional commitments. He’d told himself and her often enough. What did he expect? Could he have been demented enough to believe that she’d hang around indefinitely for his physical pleasure? For him to take whenever the urge struck him?
Trace downed the rest of the scotch, swore at himself a little more, then poured himself another. He didn’t need Claire. He didn’t need anyone. He had everything he would ever need. Marrying someone again was the last thing he’d wanted. Hell, none of this would have happened if he’d stayed out of the woman’s life in the first place. He had no one to blame but himself. He’d dragged Claire Carson into his world kicking and screaming. It wasn’t her fault he’d gotten infatuated with her.
“Just like old times.” Trace lifted his glass in a self-mocking salute. “You always screw up, buddy.” He swallowed back the emotions crowding his throat. “You always lose the people you love and it’s always your own fault.”
Claire would be better off without him.
Trace swiveled around to face the three screens on the credenza. He watched the figures on the screens change, some falling, but most rising. He had all this... what the hell did he need with anything else?
Chapter Nine
Claire stood alone on the stage at the crystal clear podium and stared out over the vast auditorium. Acres of plush red seats and thousands of twinkling lights bloomed before her. Claire sighed. Today’s rehearsals had gone without a hitch. Tomorrow night the place would be filled with fans, entertainers, and the media. All gathered for the same purpose, to honor the best of the best in country music. An evening filled with silk, sequins, and glamorous people.
A heavy ache settled deep inside Claire. Trace had been one of those stars... a long, long time ago.
He’d been a different person then. He’d shared his heart and soul with his fans. Fans who still remembered today how a young man with coal black hair and startlingly blue eyes could move them with a song.
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 th
e 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?