Debra Webb - In His Touch Box Set (Here To Stay, Up Close, Tempting Trace, Basic Instincts) (41 page)

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 him. 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.

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.