A Trace of Passion Read online

  Alana narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know...”

  Trace placed a hand over his heart and gasped, pretending to be offended. Alana swatted at him, but he twisted out of her reach and chuckled. “Seriously, Joel can give us a ride and you guys can keep having a good time. I’ll tuck Ophelia in and be on my way.”

  Alana bit her lip, but nodded and tossed him a set of keys.

  * * * *

  Trace assumed they were car keys, but they turned out to belong to Ophelia’s house. She lived in a faded brick duplex on—of course—the top floor. He gave Joel the keys before hoisting Ophelia into his arms. She smelled sweet, like honeydew melon and whiskey. Her thin frame weighed nothing, but he wasn’t going to chance dropping her down the steep stairs. She pressed her head against his chest and mumbled nonsense in drunken slumber. Trace couldn’t help but smile. She was adorable when she slept, with all her carefully guarded walls down.

  Inside, the apartment was clean, tidy, but plain. The coffee-brown walls seemed dark and cold, even after Joel flicked on the lights. The drapes were a drab gray. No pictures, no flowers in decorative vases. Weren’t chicks all about color? “Did she just move in?”

  Joel shook his head as he continued down the hall and opened Ophelia’s bedroom door. “Going on six years.”

  Trace cocked his brow. Six years in a duplex that resembled a shoe box? He wasn’t metrosexual or anything, but the place was depressing, even for him.

  He shifted her weight to one arm and yanked the comforter back with the other. He laid her down on the cool sheets. She gripped his wrist and he jumped in surprise. She mumbled and Trace thought he heard her say “Stay.” He leaned forward to be sure, but the only sound Ophelia made after that was a soft snore. He gently pulled his arm out of her grasp, removed her shoes, and covered her with the blanket.

  In the living room, Trace noticed Joel had left the keys on the counter.

  “She all right?”

  He nodded. “Sleeping like a baby.”

  Joel headed for the door. Trace quietly snatched the keys and stuffed them into his jeans pocket. He followed Joel into the hall and down the steps. “You need me to take you somewhere? Hotel or something? I’d invite you back to the party, but I’m pretty sure Alana already kicked everyone out.”

  “Nah, I’m good. I’ll catch a cab.”

  Joel nodded. “You’re a good guy, Matt. Don’t be a stranger.”

  Trace headed down the sidewalk a little way until the headlights from Joel’s car rounded the corner and were out of view. He back-tracked and raced up the stoop to Ophelia’s duplex, fishing the keys from his pocket. He let himself into the building and into her apartment. He found the thermostat and increased the temperature by a couple of degrees. Not because it was cold, but because he hoped the walls would seem less callous. First thing tomorrow, I’m hiring an interior decorator.

  He searched until he found the linen closet and picked a blanket at random. He found the TV remote control and made himself at home on Ophelia’s tweed couch. His night was not going as planned, but he wasn’t going to let Ophelia get away from him scot-free again. Especially since he knew how he recognized her now.

  As Trace zoned out in front of the glowing screen, his thoughts went back eleven years to the day Ophelia Martinez asked him out. It was two weeks after his father’s death, but to everyone else, it was two days before the Sadie Hawkins’s Day dance; the one dance where the girls asked the guys to go with them.

  Trace had no shortage of invitations, but he also had no desire to go to a stupid social. After he lost his father, school felt like a bunch of shallow bullshit. He’d squandered away his teenage years chasing after ass, and for what? Pretty girls were just as mean as good-looking guys. Some of the girls asked him out of pity; Trace knew because they said things like “Come on, it’ll take your mind off everything.” It was so much worse than wanting to use him for social status.

  By the time the lunch bell rang, Trace couldn’t take it anymore. He tried to call his mom, but got caught by the hall monitor. The dean confiscated his cellphone and sent him to lunch. When Ophelia approached him in the middle of the cafeteria, in front of all his friends and even the lunch ladies, he thought she was being cruel. He wouldn’t let his friends see him cry over his dead father and the girls pitying him. So when Ophelia asked her question, Trace answered with “Grow some tits first.”

  In retrospect, it probably took a mousy girl like Ophelia a lot of guts to ask him out. He shouldn’t have been rude. He wasn’t mean to the other girls. Ophelia was just the last straw, the breaking point. She was a victim of bad timing. But she had gotten some twisted form of revenge on him.

  * * * *

  Ophelia stood before the couch in her flannel pajamas, a steaming mug of coffee in her hands. Unbelievable. She sighed and held the cup under Trace’s nose so the scent would waft into his nostrils. He blinked against the sunlight pouring through the windows, his lips stretched into a smile with his eyes closed.

  “That for me?”

  Ophelia scoffed, taking a sip of the black coffee. “You wish. Now get off my couch.”

  He rubbed his eyes and scowled. “What time is it?”

  “Six o’clock.”

  His frown deepened. “Who the hell wakes up at the crack of dawn after drinking a bottle of whiskey?”

  “Ugh, you have some serious morning breath.”

  Trace slid a hand over his lips and rose from the sofa. Ophelia gasped as the blanket fell away from his mostly naked body. All that cover him were his boxers. Good Lord! She glanced away.

  “Don’t act like you haven’t seen me naked before,” he said with his hand still over his mouth as he waltzed into her bathroom like he owned it.

  “Now I have to buy a new couch,” she yelled over her shoulder. Okay, she was acting like a juvenile bitch but she didn’t care. She had to wake up and find Trace freaking Curtis asleep on her couch. It could have been worse—she could have woken up to find him curled up next to her in bed with both of them sans clothing. She woke up wearing the same outfit she’d put on yesterday so she was positive they hadn’t had sex. That was a relief and a disappointment, but mostly a relief. Only she couldn’t figure out why the hell he was in her house if they hadn’t done it. Alana will pay for this.

  Trace exited the bathroom smelling of mouth rinse. He had the decency to put his jeans on before he sat on the couch. God, please put your shirt on too before I do something stupid. She wanted to ask why he slept on her couch, but she knew questions would only prolong his stay and lead to trouble.

  Trace nodded at her mug. “Aren’t you going to offer me some coffee?”

  “No.”

  “That’s not very hospitable. I carried you up two flights of stairs and stayed on your couch to make sure you didn’t have a concussion or choke on your own vomit.”

  Ophelia narrowed her gaze. “I didn’t vomit.”

  “But you could have.”

  “Get out of my apartment, Trace.”

  “Well now you’re just being rude.”

  She pressed her fingers to her temple and sipped the coffee. This cannot be happening. “Trace, I don’t have time, I have to go to work in an hour.”

  “So go to work,” he shrugged. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t…you can’t…don’t you have band practice or something you have to do?”

  He grinned and leaned back while spreading his arms over the back of the couch. “They won’t miss me for a day.”

  Ophelia gulped the last sip of coffee while weighing her options. She moved to the breakfast bar near the mounted telephone and slammed the cup against the counter. “All right, I get it. You’re pissed that I gave you a fake phone number last year. But if you don’t take a hint and leave now, I’ll call the cops, Trace. I’m not kidding.”

  He stood and cocked his brow. “And tell them what, exactly? That I helped you into bed after you passed out drunk? That I stayed on the
couch to make sure you’d be okay?”

  She bit her lip and glanced at the floor. “Trace, you’re seriously freaking me out.”

  “All I want, Ophelia, are answers. Honest answers.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. She blinked them way and tried to draw up courage that wasn’t there. “Jesus Christ, do you ask every woman why they slept with you?”

  Trace pursed his lips. He sat on the edge of the couch and ran all ten fingers through his hair. She saw the agitated wrinkle in his brow before the black curls fell over his eyes again. “I didn’t mean to scare you, okay? I only wanted to confront you last night. Call you a bitch or something like that,” he scoffed. “But now I feel like a dick. I owe you an apology, Ophelia. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings when you asked me to the Sadie Hawkins’s Day dance.”

  Ophelia raised her brow. “The…the what?”

  “You know, the dance you asked me to. I shouldn’t have told you to grow a pair of breasts in front of the whole cafeteria. But damn it Ophelia, you didn’t have to rip my heart out.”

  “Wait,” she stood there blinking. She remembered that day and was pretty sure he had used the word tits. It stung, but when she thought about Trace, she always remembered the good things. His smile or the little tunes he played at lunch despite the rule against musical instruments being in the cafeteria. “Trace…that was eleven years ago. You really think I’m the type to hold a grudge over something so juvenile?”

  Trace wet his lips. “You mean you weren’t trying to get revenge for that?”

  “No. Jesus!”

  “Then…why did you sleep with me?”

  Ophelia rolled her eyes. This was tiring. “Trace, I think your melodramatic song lyrics went to your head. It was just a one-night screw. As for why I did it, I don’t know, maybe just because you’re you. You’re…you know…famous and rich and incredibly sexy.” And why am I inflating his already huge ego? “Why do my reasons have to be any different from any other woman’s?”

  “Because…because I fell in love with you that night. That’s never happened before.” He glanced at her. “Believe me, I know what a screw feels like and that was not just a screw.” He stood and Ophelia couldn’t help but watch his torso muscles flex in the movement. “And I don’t think it was just sex for you either because you wouldn’t have run away.” She swallowed hard as he slowly stepped toward her. “You wouldn’t have given me a fake number and gone through so much trouble to avoid me last night.” He took two more steps. Her hand slid across the counter looking for anything to hold on to. The closer he came the dizzier she got. “You wouldn’t have been mad to see me on your couch this morning.” He whispered as he stepped up to her, his nose mere inches from hers. Ophelia gasped, her hand landing on the phone. She clutched it to her chest. He pried it from her grip and tossed it on the couch behind them. “You are mad because you love me too.” His hands rose to cup her face. “What I can’t figure out, Ophelia, is why you’re so afraid to admit you love me.”

  His lips pressed hot against hers. She tried to resist, but her body defied her. Her back arched off the wall, pushing her breast against the planes of his chest as his hands came around her waist. She couldn’t lie to herself; she missed the feel of him, the heat of his skin burning trails wherever they touched. And yes, she thought of him every single day for the past eleven months, twenty-four days, six hours and elven minutes. Still, she had hoped to fool Trace. What were they doing? If he thought she had ripped his heart out last year, repeating the experience would truly crush him.

  She whimpered between him and the wall. “Trace…”

  His whole body pressed against hers, his breath hot against her cheek. “Don’t say anything and for God’s sake, don’t fight me anymore, Ophelia.” He sealed her lips with his and gripped her tighter around the waist. She cursed under her breath as her body melted against him. Her hands flew around his neck and tangled in his black curls. Her eyes closed tight as their tongues glided against each other in furious passion.

  A hand slid under her shirt and over the lace bra cup. Her nipple hardened in response. Her top felt as though it weighed ten pounds and she yanked it off. Trace pulled the drawstring of her pajama pants loose and slid them down her legs. She stood in a lacy pink thong and matching bra like some sort of silly pin-up poster girl on the wall. Trace grabbed her waist and pulled her hips against his. His erection pressed against his jeans, the heat of it warmed her belly. His baby-blue eyes bore into hers for a long moment before he tilted his head and showered her neck and collarbone in tiny kisses. He dipped his knees as he grasped her buttocks and lifted her off her feet. Her arms and legs wrapped around his torso as he carried her to the bedroom. He laid her on the unmade bed. Stepping back, he reached for the button of his pants.

  An invisible weight pressed against Ophelia’s temple. Her mind buzzed as heat pooled not only in her panties, but all over. She winced as reality got the better of her again. “Trace, we really have to talk about this.”

  He continued to remove his pants. She gasped as his thick flesh poked out of the flap of his boxers. She moistened at the beautiful sight, remembering the feel of him inside her. Damn, it had been too long since she’d gotten laid. He climbed onto the bed and crawled toward her. He ran callused hands over her narrow hips and slipped his fingers under her thong. He pulled the lacy fabric off and tossed it onto the floor. She leaned back and closed her eyes. A shiver passed through her in anticipation. Oh yes, she wanted it. But at what price?

  She felt the dip in the mattress and the softness of skin as he slid his hips between her knees and glided upward. Her eyes opened to find his face hovered over hers, his length bobbing above her groin. Oh God, why does it have to be like this? She pressed her palms to his chest and pushed hard so he would know she was serious. “Trace, stop.”

  His tilted his chin to the side and frowned, but backed away a few inches. Ophelia took a deep breath. “Trace, I can’t love you. Please, don’t do this to yourself.”

  He shook his head. “Why can’t you love me?”

  She glanced away, afraid to tell him.

  “Is there another man? A husband? A boyfriend?”

  Her cheeks burned. “No.”

  “Then?”

  “Trace, we’re practically strangers.”

  “And yet we have a history.”

  She looked into his eyes, hoping hers wouldn’t glaze with tears. “I’ll only hurt you, Trace Curtis.”

  “You’ve already done that, but I’m willing to give it another shot.” He leaned to the side and pressed his lips against her temple. He whispered into her ear. “Tell me you want me to leave, Ophelia. I’ll walk away right now. But if you want me to stay, I won’t stop until you’re mine.”

  Ophelia winced and glanced at the ceiling. She did want him to stay. And she wanted so very badly to be his. But it wasn’t possible. She had no future with Trace. She had no future at all. If only he’d understand she pushed away because she loved him. How could she bear to hurt Trace…to hurt Mathew…for a moment of selfishness? She suddenly felt faint.

  “Tell me, Ophelia. Which will it be?”

  She faced him. His eyes bore into hers like a tidal wave over a cliff, pulling everything the cliff tried so hard to protect back into the depths of a deadly ocean, and Ophelia knew there was no hope. She arched her neck and kissed him. Her arms went around his head, pulling him closer as his chest melded against hers. She spread her legs wider, welcoming him.

  The tip of his sex touched her opening, sending a tingle of anticipation through her core. She instantly relaxed, her worries washed away, replaced by a burning need to have him inside her. Finally, he pushed, invading her with his length. She gasped as her body stretched to receive him. He pressed tiny kisses along her neck and jaw as he made love to her.

  With each stroke, Trace buried himself deeper into her silky flesh. Her tight pussy gripped him like a glove. Her hands pressed against his back, letting him know she wanted more. He’d give her a
nything she wanted. His penis, a million dollars, it didn’t matter. He only wanted her to be his. His head swam in emotions still new to him and he couldn’t get enough of it.

  Her center burned. He glanced at her face. She was beautiful as her back arched and her eyes squeezed shut. Her hips swung to meet his and he loved the way she wanted to receive all of him. Her skin flushed and glistened. He wondered how she could be sweating already. He was still at a comfortable temperature. But her muscles spasmed and a tiny cry of pleasure passed her lips. He couldn’t help grinning. He loved making her come and planned to do it every night.

  He leaned in and nibbled on her earlobe, pulling it between his teeth as he picked up speed where it mattered. He massaged her burning hot nipple and relished in the feel of her fingernails digging into his back. The sharp pain escalated his excitement. The tension mounted. She moaned and tightened for him again. His release exploded.

  He didn’t want to pull out so soon, but her insides burned and he had broken a sweat too. He broke away and hoped she didn’t want to cuddle. The sheets on the other side of the bed were ice cold compared to her. She shifted onto her side and grinned. Her face was beet red. Concern gnawed at him. He reached out and pretended to brush her hair back. Her forehead scorched his fingers.

  “Ophelia, you’re hot.”

  She snickered. “You’re hot too.”

  “No, I mean you’re burning up. I think you have a fever.”

  Her lips pursed and she glanced down. “Oh, you can feel that.”

  “Do you have Tylenol somewhere?” Trace got out of bed, feeling the need to do something.

  She pressed her fingers to her temples. “Yeah, in the kitchen.”

  Trace didn’t bother to ask where in the kitchen. He opened every cabinet until he found the one she kept medicine in. And damn, that woman had a lot of meds. He dug through different sized prescription bottles until he found the Tylenol. He got a glass and filled it with tap water.

  He stepped back into the dimly lit room and the glass fell from his grip. The broken fragments stabbing into his feet didn’t register as he rushed to the bed. Ophelia’s body tensed, relaxed, and then tensed again. Her eyes stared into space, unblinking, as saliva ran from the corner of her lips.