Debra Webb - In His Touch Box Set (Here To Stay, Up Close, Tempting Trace, Basic Instincts) (50 page)

A wide shelf ran the length at eye level. His hand trembling, Trace touched the cool surface of his Entertainer of the Year award and then the Horizon Award. He looked at the symbols of success. Platinum discs that represented the many millions sold. Adrenaline surged through his veins, fast and hard. An old, almost forgotten feeling of real accomplishment and self-satisfaction surfaced fleetingly.

Trace tightened his jaw and resolutely squashed it.

His gaze moved from the black Stetson hanging on a hook, to the Gibson flat-top guitar propped in the corner. Every nerve in his body buzzed in anticipation as he touched the smooth wood surface of the old guitar that had been a part of him for so very long. His fingertips glided over his own name.

Trace’s father’d had the guitar made especially for him when Trace signed his first recording contract.

A lifetime ago.

A thousand images and sensations flooded back when he picked up the instrument and held it in his hands. He gently strummed the strings. The resulting sound shattered through him in shards of memory. Adoring fans... the exhilaration of a live performance. A duet with an icon like Willie Nelsen. The pride in his parents’ eyes. The greed in Annette’s.

Trace’s fingers stilled on the strings. His fame had killed his family, and turned the woman he’d thought he loved into... he closed his eyes and shook his head. The loss of his parents, compounded by the tragic end of his whirlwind marriage had almost destroyed him. Annette had nearly driven him crazy. Nothing he did was ever enough for her. His professional life might have been a dream come true, but his personal life had been a waking nightmare. Could he ever trust anyone enough to open himself to that kind of pain? And if he did allow himself to love again, would he survive the pain if he lost that person?

Trace carefully set the guitar to the side and trailed his fingers over his black Stetson. He picked up the shiny gold wedding band that lay on the shelf near it and held it between his thumb and index finger. Annette had never loved him, she’d only loved what he stood for—money and fame. Deep down he’d known that her alcoholism and drug addiction wasn’t his fault, that he’d done all he could.

He deposited the ring back onto the layer of dust where it belonged. He took one last look at the items which had once meant so very much to him and then closed the door. He could never go back to that life. Never be that Trace Walker again. He couldn’t bring his family or Annette back, either. Nor could he prevent himself from feeling at least partially responsible for their deaths.

No matter what anyone said, Trace would always feel that responsibility.

He couldn’t
not
feel it.

Despite all his denial and his cowardice, he knew without doubt he could trust Claire. She wasn’t anything like Annette. He knew that, if he knew nothing else. But if he allowed himself to love her, how would he bear to let her out of his sight? Each time Claire walked out the door he would have to face the reality that he might never see her again.

How could he deal with that?

He couldn’t.

Trace strode out of the guestroom and downstairs to his office. He grabbed a glass and a half empty bottle of scotch and dropped down into the chair behind his desk.

His desk
.

Trace poured a hefty measure into the glass.

His office
.

He took a long, deep swallow of the liquid relief, then slammed the glass down on the desk.

His work
.

Trace had his work that was all he needed.

Nothing more.

He emptied the glass.

Absolutely nothing more.

He refilled his glass. There was only one thing to do with a mood like this—drown it. A large, padded envelope lying on the edge of his desk caught Trace’s eye. He reached across the desk and dragged it toward him.

Claire’s name was across the front in Gabe’s distinguished lettering. After taking another long pull of artificial courage, Trace reached inside and withdrew part of the contents. Two nail files and a pink compact spilled onto the desk.

Claire’s personal things. She must have left them in the desk. Gabe probably cleared it in anticipation of the new secretary’s arrival in the morning.

Trace pulled the last item from the envelope, a framed photograph. His chest constricted as his gaze riveted on Claire’s smiling face. She was so incredibly beautiful. And her little niece, Shelby...

Trace touched the faces in the photograph as a bone-deep ache twisted through him.

How could he live the rest of his life and not know this kind of love? How could he never hold a child of his own in his arms? A little girl with chestnut hair and golden eyes just like her mother.

Just like Claire.

But how could he take the chance?

Trace swallowed hard and considered what he
could
do. He could decide not to play dead any longer. He’d done that long enough. Trace couldn’t pretend anymore that he didn’t want or need anyone else. No amount of liquid courage or denial would do the trick anymore.

He did.

He needed Claire.

The time he’d spent with Claire had scared the hell out of him, but it had also given him more joy than he’d ever imagined it was possible to feel. Claire made him want a future—a future with her in it. He wanted to be with her every minute. The last few weeks had been pure hell. He just couldn’t live without her. Rage had exploded inside him at the thought of her going out with another man. She belonged to him... in every sense of the word.

Did all these crazy, mixed-up emotions add up to love?

Was he capable of love?

He could love Claire.

He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. To make her happy. To have children with her. To share his hopes and dreams with her. To grow old with her...

He did love Claire
.

The realization rocked him. The urgency of his need for her, the intensity of his protective and possessive feelings toward her.
Yes
. He loved Claire.

Trace smiled, a quickening feeling that reached all the way to his heart. He
did
know what love was. It was Claire. The woman had breathed resurrecting life back into him.

He loved Claire Carson. And by God, he would move heaven and earth to prove it to her.

Chapter Ten

“Ten seconds, Miss Carson,” the
Heart Beat
stage director announced.

Claire took another deep breath and focused inward for one final moment of meditation.

“Miss Carson!”

Claire whirled to find Trish, Ron’s assistant, come to a skidding halt next to her. Claire frowned. “Yes?”

“Today’s guest has been delayed—”

“What happened?” Claire asked in horror. Jake Shelton had sounded fine to her just one hour ago when she’d spoken to him on the phone. What could have happened in the past sixty minutes?

Trish shook her head. “Traffic. No time to explain,” she blurted as she made a frantic dash off stage. Her last remark, “Just follow the teleprompter,” sailed over her shoulder.

Traffic? Claire cringed. He had called from his cell phone to say he was en route. He must have gotten caught in the never-ending construction springing up all around Nashville.

This sort of thing happened occasionally, but it hadn’t in a very long time.

And, dear God, not today of all days!

“Five seconds!”

Claire watched the final three, two, one, and the curtains slowly drew back. She snapped to attention and strode across the set. She smiled and waved at the applauding studio audience and forced a sense of calmness and serenity into place. She could do this. She’d done it before.

And this was the last time she would get to do it from this set. Tears welled in her eyes. Okay, girl, get through this show without breaking down.

Claire stationed herself in front of the white, overstuffed chair and faced the audience and cameras. “Hello, Nashville and welcome to
Heart Beat
.”

She paused for the ensuing round of applause and watched for the lines of dialogue to begin on the teleprompter screen. Careful to make eye contact with the audience and cameras as often as possible, she smiled. Her opening lines were her own, but she would feel much better when the information she would need—the information that followed her short monologue—appeared on the screen. She listened intently for any instructions related to the guest’s arrival that might be forthcoming in her earpiece.

“Today’s show is my last before moving to
LA Confidential
.” Her smile widened at another burst of applause. She blinked back the renewed rush of tears. “I want to take this opportunity to thank the wonderful people at
Heart Beat
for their support. And also to thank you.” She gestured toward the audience. “Without you, this dream would not have come true.”

A standing ovation followed. The tears slid past her lashes and Claire fought valiantly to maintain her composure. She loved these people, she loved this city.

When the applause died down, she continued, “I know you will all love Kira Jones,
Heart Beat’s
new host.” More applause echoed from the crowd. Her mind went blank... and so did the teleprompter screen.

What the hell did she say next? Panic inched its way up her spine. Claire moistened her lips and stared at the screen as if the words would appear by the sheer determination she focused in that direction. Even the garbled noise in her earpiece ceased as if someone called for radio silence.

Hurry, she commanded silently, I’m dying here!

Words flickered across the screen and Claire released the air she’d imprisoned in her lungs.

“A little later in the show,” she read, “Jake Shelton will be joining us for a behind-the-scenes look at hosting the Country Music Awards!”

Claire shifted her gaze to the audience and then the camera, before returning to the teleprompter. She darted a glance at the control booth beyond the lights and faces before her, as if to say,
come on up there, I need this next line!

She continued as words began to appear once more. “Before he joins us, I’d like to take a few moments to tell you a little more about your new host.”

During the thunderous applause that followed, the cue that her guest had finally arrived and that Claire should introduce him after relaying the information now appearing on the teleprompter, rasped through her earpiece.

Thank God. Claire recited the lines to her attentive audience. And after this, she was definitely going to be ready for the celebratory champagne Ron had waiting backstage. Too bad she wouldn’t be celebrating happiness in her personal life as well.

~*~

Claire gave the cab driver a twenty as he pulled up to the curb outside her building. She’d done a little too much celebrating to drive the Buick home. After scanning the dark, threatening clouds hanging heavily in the sky, she hurried inside and trudged up the three flights of stairs.

A summer storm was brewing and Claire could think of nothing better than curling up on the couch with a good book. Well, maybe she could think of something better, but it would only be an exercise in futility. Why put herself through the torture?

Trace had no intention of changing.

He couldn’t see past the uncertainties of life.

Trace...

...was at her door.

Claire stalled a few feet away. Unable to move, to breathe, to do anything but look at him. He was definitely one gorgeous male package. Her heart ached with want as her gaze swept his tall frame and when her eyes met his everything inside her stilled. Blue, intense, they pierced straight to her soul, warming her from the inside out. His lips spread into an earth-shaking, sexy smile. One that tripped her pulse and made her feel unsteady on her feet. To simply look at him, to be near him was pure agony, yet utter ecstasy.

He wasn’t wearing his armor... this was the Trace that had stolen her heart.

How would she ever learn to live without this man?

“Hello, Claire.”

“Trace.” She almost winced at the feel of his name crossing her lips, and the sound as it echoed in the deserted hallway. The keys to her apartment dangled from her limp hand, but she refused to move any closer to the door.

Or to him.

“So next week’s the big week?” He shoved his hands into his pockets, seeming almost as nervous as her.

But he couldn’t be. Trace Walker was the man of steel. Inside and out, unfortunately for her heart. Even without his armor, he didn’t let anyone inside.

“Yes,” she answered, somehow managing to keep the tremble now wreaking havoc with her body out of her voice.

“Ron tells me you have a temporary place in Los Angeles. But that you still plan to call Nashville—this apartment—home.”

Claire nixed the frown that almost creased her brow. Why would Ron be talking to Trace? “That’s right,” she answered cautiously. “This will always be home.”

Silence closed in around them. Tension thickened. Each passing moment heightened Claire’s awareness of the man she loved with all her heart. She swallowed back the hurt that welled in her throat. She didn’t want to be this close... to feel things that could never be. It wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t be here.

“Why are you here, Trace?” she asked with surprising strength, despite the pounding in her chest and the roar in her ears.

“I wanted to hand deliver this.” He reached into his back pocket and withdrew a folded document.

Oh God, not again
.

Claire moistened her lips, then reached for the document. She met his gaze briefly, but his eyes gave nothing away as she slowly unfolded the single piece of paper. “What is it?”

“An eviction notice.”

“What?” Claire glanced from the document to the man standing between her and her apartment—her home.

“I bought this building,” he deadpanned, “and I don’t want you to live here anymore.”

Rage kindled inside Claire, then leaped into consuming flames. “Why, you arrogant son of a—”

“Before you disturb my other tenants,” he interrupted smoothly as he lifted one skeptical eyebrow, “perhaps we should take this discussion inside.”