I wet my lips. “N-no, but I recognize the singer.”
“It’s called ‘My Confession.’” He paused. “I’ve got one. Wanna hear it?”
I shook my head hard, dreading where his ‘confession’ might lead.
“Aw, come on now. You’re braver than that.” There was a smile in his voice, but the underlying edge of masculine intent couldn’t be missed. “Remember when you accused me of stuffing folks into boxes? Well, you were right. Only problem is, the box thing doesn’t work all the time.” He turned me to face him, one hand gripping my hip, while the other forced me to meet his fiery stare. “You see, some stuff just won’t fit anymore.”
I wet my lips again. “I don’t understand.”
“You will.”
My breath shuttered when he slipped a possessive hand past my hip to palm the top of my derrière. In his silence, he dared me to object, to stop him, but I couldn’t. He’d burned all my defenses away.
“See, I shove lots of people in that box,” he said. “Just so I don’t have to think about them.” He ran a fingertip along my spine, giving me goose bumps. “Wanna guess where you are?”
My heart climbed my throat. “In the box?”
“Used to be.”
I frowned in confusion. “But—”
“Shhh.” He brushed a thumb over my lips. “You got too big for it.”
At his admission, I stopped moving altogether. My body froze, but my heart was beating double-time.
He stared, unblinking, the weight of his gaze pinning me in place. “Here’s the thing. I see you sometimes and it’s-it’s like my brain objects, but my body has other ideas. Try as I might, I can’t stay away. And you….” He paused to half-smile. “Can’t seem to stay away from me either.”
My head shook, but the denial was as hollow as a straw. The frightening truth kicked my pulse into overdrive.
“Here’s another confession.” This he whispered in my ear. “Those weeks we spent together, when I taught you to dance? I wanted you. Hell, even before then.”
I gasped in surprise.
“Yeah, I know. Big shocker.” A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, then he sighed and his warm breath stroked my cheek. “I acted like I did ‘cause I had to. I knew how you felt about me, but we—I couldn’t.” His beguiling fingers continued to blaze a path up and down my spine. “Back then, the four years between us were like dog years, but now—”
“Trace.” I slammed my lids shut as a fierce longing coiled so tight within me, I ached, but the renegade feelings frightened me. So much so, my eyes began to well. “Please.”
“Naw, this needs sayin’.” He inched back, his eyes issuing a challenge. “Admit it. You feel it just like I do.”
Oh, God, he was right. Panic spilled into me like sand through an hourglass. I shot a fleeting look at the exit. Blessed Mother, just give me the strength to leave, I prayed. Yet he’d already brushed the chiffon at my neck aside to expose my shoulder, and my hands, seemingly of their own volition, had latched onto him, pulling him close as he sucked the skin there, nursing on it. He was marking me.
A battle raged between my mind and body. His wicked touch made my breasts ache and my panties were completely drenched. Yet fear of the inevitable had my heart beating like a snare drum. If I stayed a moment longer, God only knew where this would lead, but I was powerless to resist him.
The best I could do was to plead for mercy.
“Trace.” A tear rushed down my cheek. I drew a ragged breath. “Please…let me go.”
He lifted his head, casting a worried look at the tear dangling from my chin. Capturing it with his hand, he rubbed the wetness between his fingers and slowly took one step, then two steps back, his eyes fixed on mine.
It was all the space I needed—just a second to breathe, to escape the spell he’d cast. I wasted no time tearing away. Grabbing my purse and coat, I beat a path to the exit. I was halfway out the door when he called after me.
“We’re still on for tomorrow, Shannon.” His voice was thick with promise and determination. “Five o’clock sharp. Don’t keep me waiting.”
SHANNON
____________________________
“What time is it over there?” Darien asked.
I switched the cell to my other ear. “Midnight.”
“Why are you calling so late?”
Guilt knifed me in the chest as I climbed Briar’s porch steps on unsteady legs. “Ah….” I stumbled, gripped the rail. “I just needed to hear your voice.”
“Everything all right?”
Far from it. The sky was falling. I reached the top step and sifted through my keys with clumsy hands. “Everything’s fine,” I lied, my eyes welling again as chatter bled through the phone. Someone called his name. “Where are you?”
“In our war room at the hotel,” he said distractedly. “We’ll probably have to pull an all-nighter. Kidd showed up drunk in court and Henderson’s angling to toss a surprise witness at us, so we’re trying to get a jump on—give me a second, will you?” he shouted to someone, then to me he said, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I guess I just miss you.” I fought to keep my voice steady. “Can you come home this weekend?”
He sighed. “You know I can’t. I’m up to my elbows here.”
“What if I fly out there?” I knuckled a tear away and stared up at the glistening stars. My hands were still trembling. “I’ll clear my schedule and—”
“You’d be sitting alone in a hotel room the entire time. Now what kind of visit would that be? I promise things will slow down in a few weeks.”
He’d spouted the same drivel after I’d dropped him off at the airport the day Trace stormed back into my life. It was the last time I’d seen Darien, and the visit had lasted forty-eight hours.
Having suffered his first major defeat in the courtroom a year-and-a-half ago, I suspected he had much to prove, namely to himself. Darien Montgomery wasn’t used to losing—at anything. Small wonder, this latest case had consumed him, which left little time for much else, including me. So when he ended our call a minute later, I was beyond frustrated.
Things only got worse the second I walked into the house.
I slammed the front door. “Why are you still here?”
“Take a wild guess.” Mead stood glowering by the foot of the winding staircase clutching a Scotch. “So did you fuck him?”
Rolling my eyes, I stalked across the foyer. I was in no mood to deal with a drunk and belligerent Mead. The man was barely tolerable sober.
“Should I take your silence as a yes?” He gave me a once-over as I yanked my coat off. “My, my, just look at you. Your hair. Your clothes. What’s the saying? ‘Rode hard and put up wet.’ The apple really doesn’t fall far.”
I threw my keys on a table and went for the stairs, but he blocked me. The temptation to slap him again was overwhelming. “Move.”
“Not until you explain yourself.” When I stepped around him, he snatched me back. “You’ll never guess who I heard from tonight.”
“Let. Go,” I said, glaring at his hand.
“Betty Todd. She’s the county purchasing director. But you already know that. She said you called her today asking about Fontana’s permit delays. She said you mentioned her brother’s deal with some developers from New Orleans. She said you implied your clients could go with another location—if prompted.”
I quirked a brow. “That sounds about right.”
“I’m warning you, cousin. Don’t cross me.”