“I accept your apology, Trace, but it wasn’t necessary,” Indie said. She was standing in front of him, in the middle of a private hallway, in a short kimono robe and hair rollers.
Even looking the way she was, she was still as pretty as she was in high school. Yet Trace felt nothing. No longing. No attraction. Nothing. He knew why. It was because Connie owned his heart.
Working for the company providing security for the event definitely had its advantages. After making sure one of their guys was keeping an eye on Connie, Trace had made his way to the restricted area. Only the models and the production crew were allowed back here, and he was glad he’d been able to catch Indie before the show.
“The apology was definitely necessary,” he said. “I was way out of line at the office the other day, taking my issues with your father out on you. I’m glad it didn’t affect your choice in hiring LEPA, since they are the best security firm in the state.”
Her million-dollar smile made an appearance. “That’s what I heard, and so far, I’m very satisfied. As for my father, he ran every boy away, claiming that no one was good enough for his daughter. I knew there had been a conversation, but I didn’t know exactly what was said.”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“No. Trace, when I invited you to dinner, I wanted them to meet you. You were such a nice guy. I thought for sure they’d let me go to prom with you. After you left, me and my dad had it out, but he wouldn’t tell me what he had said to you. Then when I tried talking to you at school, you ignored me.”
Trace shoved his hands into his pockets, remembering how he had cut her loose. The moment he walked out of her parents’ home, he’d been done with them and her.
He glanced down at his black patent-leather lace-ups before returning his attention to her. “I definitely didn’t handle that situation well. But like you said, that was a hundred years ago. So how’s your dad doing?”
After leaving the military, Trace had thought about looking up Sanderson many times. He wanted to show the man how he had turned out. That despite what Sanderson had said to him that day, he had made something of himself.
“Well, after losing his and my mother’s life savings with gambling, he died in a car accident seven years ago.”
“Oh, wow.” He might’ve despised the guy, but he hadn’t wished him dead. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Indie shrugged with a sad smile. “It was a long time ago.”
The door to the dressing area opened, and a woman with shocking red hair stuck her head out. “Two minutes, Indie.”
“Okay, I’ll be right there.” Indie turned back to Trace. “It was good seeing you again. I hate the way things ended between us, but I was young and... Anyway, I’m sorry for everything my father said to you that day. More than anything, I’m glad you were able to prove him wrong.”
“Yeah, me, too. Well, I’ll let you finish getting ready. Thanks for giving me a minute and good luck with the show.”
“Thanks, and you take care of yourself. Oh, and here’s my number.” She handed him a small slip of paper that she pulled from the pocket in the robe. “In case...well, just in case.” Trace nodded and walked away. He glanced at the name and digits on the paper, then shoved it into his pocket. He had no intention of ever calling Indie, but he was glad to close that chapter of his life.
An hour and a half later, during intermission, Trace brought his glass of whiskey to his lips and took a sip. For much of the night, he hadn’t been able to take his attention off Connie. When she’d first mentioned wanting to attend the fashion show, he hadn’t thought it was a good idea. Especially after hearing that the criminals had gotten to Janel Landrey.
That murder didn’t sit well with Trace on so many levels. Shooting someone point-blank in the head meant that these weren’t just some young punks who had robbed the bank. His guess would be that they were part of a gang or another organized-crime syndicate. Maxwell had followed through on getting him a copy of the sketch of the tattoo that Connie had seen. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to narrow down whether it could be a gang or prison mark. He just hoped that Connie wasn’t on that man’s radar.
Trace continued watching her as she stood a few feet away chatting with a client who had used LEPA’s services in the past. His woman looked fierce and hella sexy in the white outfit, and, yes, after tonight, he was claiming her as his.
Then there was that kiss that they’d shared on the dance floor. Damn if he wasn’t still feeling the intensity of that moment. After the kiss had ended, he’d wanted to scoop her up, toss her onto his shoulder and carry her to the nearest coatroom or closet. As recent as a couple of days ago, he had told himself that he would let her set the pace for their relationship, but now...
Trace slammed back the rest of the dark liquor in his glass, hoping it would help settle down his libido. The woman had a way of twisting him up inside and making him yearn for what they’d shared a little over a month ago. Once the fashion show was over, he planned to love on her luscious body until she screamed his name over and over again.
Trace glanced at his watch. There was still about ten minutes left of the intermission, and he was ready for the organizers to start the second half. Fashion shows weren’t really his thing, but Connie seemed to be enjoying herself. That was most important to him. Then again, he had to admit that the show was better than he’d expected.
Trace looked up and saw Riley, one of the security specialists, trying to get his attention. Riley gave him a slight head nod, informing him to look to his left. They had worked enough assignments together to communicate without words. Whatever his friend was trying to warn him about wasn’t good.
Trace glanced in the area indicated and groaned.
Sylvia.
If he was lucky, maybe she wouldn’t see him. No sooner had the thought filtered into his mind than she glanced his way.
That’s just great.
With that megawatt smile that had first attracted him to her, she strutted toward him like one of the models walking the runway. Nobody could deny that she was a beautiful woman, dressed in an evening gown similar to one that had been modeled earlier. Trace shouldn’t have been surprised that she was there, as a self-proclaimed fashionista.
“Trace,” she said in a singsong voice. “Why didn’t you tell me you were planning to attend? We could’ve come together.”
She lifted up to kiss him, but he turned his head at the last second and managed to dodge her lips.
“Hey, Sylvia,” he said coolly, not missing the look of hurt on her perfectly made-up face.
She put her hand on her narrow hip. “Oh, so it’s like that, huh?”
“It is, and we’ve already talked about this. You and me? We’re done. Besides, I’m here with someone.”
At that moment, Connie’s gaze met his. An involuntary smile spread across Trace’s mouth, and his body reacted immediately upon seeing her walking toward him.
His pulse amped up and he couldn’t take his eyes off Connie. Watching her, the way her hips swayed—left, then right, then left again in that too-sexy-to-be-legal dress—was everything. He liked that the outfit was short, giving him a spectacular view of her gorgeous legs. Legs that had been wrapped around him before. Legs he wanted to get in between as soon as...
Ah, hell. Down, boy.
He needed to get a hold of himself before he embarrassed them both.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said once Connie was close enough to hear him. He lifted his arm and she stepped into his embrace, hugging up to him as if it was the most natural thing to do. If Trace had his way, he would never let her go.
“I want to introduce you to a friend of mine. Connie, this is Sylvia Turner. Sylvia, this is Connie Shaw, my date for the evening.”
Trace wanted to say “his woman,” but figured he was already pushing it by telling Connie he planned to marry her one day. She might’ve thought he was kidding, but he meant every word that he’d said to her on the dance floor.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sylvia. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Sylvia’s brow lifted inquiringly as she shook Connie’s hand. “Oh? I hope it was all good.”
“It was,” Connie said, not missing a beat. Trace hadn’t told her much of anything about Sylvia. He wasn’t sure why she’d said he had, but he was glad for the little white lie because Sylvia was eating it up.
“Your dress is gorgeous,” she said to Connie, looking as if she meant every word.
“Thank you.”
Sylvia tilted her head and glanced between him and Connie. Trace knew immediately that the questions were about to start.
“So, how long have you two been seeing each other?” Sylvia asked.
“It’s been a while,” Connie said and smiled up at Trace. She slipped her hand into his and squeezed. “The second half of the show is about to start, honey. Maybe we should reclaim our seats.”
Trace could’ve kissed her in that moment. He knew Sylvia well enough to know that one question would’ve turned into thirty.
“Good idea, babe. And, Sylvia, it was good seeing you again. Take care and enjoy the rest of the show.”
Trace directed Connie away without giving Sylvia a chance to say anything else. To Connie, he whispered, “I owe you one.”
“And I intend to collect...tonight.” Her saucy words and her seductive grin sent all types of erotic thoughts racing through his mind.
As far as Trace was concerned, they could leave now. He was definitely ready to get out of there and pay his debt to her. How many times had he dreamed about them doing the horizontal tango again? Too many times to count. Now all he had to do was sit through the second half of the show without torturing himself with thoughts of how many different ways he planned to make her come.
For the next hour, they watched one model after another strut down the runway. There were ten minutes left in the show when Indie walked out modeling another outfit. It was her fifth or sixth wardrobe change, and with each one, she was stunning. This time she glided down the runway in a satin evening gown in pearl white with long matching gloves. She moved with such grace, keeping beat with the dramatic classical music that was playing.
A male model strutted alongside her. He wore a three-piece suit with a trench coat thrown over his arm and a cigarette dangling from his lips. Humphrey Bogart he wasn’t, but Trace had to give it to the model for getting into character. Besides that, the suit was sharp. Dark in color, maybe a deep navy or charcoal black, it had a small check pattern and crisp lines, making the outfit appear that it had been tailored specifically for this guy.
Connie jerked next to him, pulling his attention from the stage. When he glanced at her, the startled expression on her face and the tension in her body had Trace sitting up straight.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, loud enough for only her to hear. Placing his arm around her shoulders, he pulled her against his body. Unease clawed through him and his concern increased as she trembled and stared straight ahead.
“It—it’s him,” she said, her breaths coming in short spurts.
Trace followed her line of vision, and all he saw was Indie and the male model twisting and turning rhythmically together in some sort of dance, maybe a waltz.
“It’s him,” Connie said again, just as the models released each other and turned in Trace’s direction.
That was when he saw it. The eyes. Gray eyes. If he wasn’t mistaken, the man looked directly at Connie. He seemed just as stunned as she was before he strutted off the stage with Indie.
Okay, this is some crazy sh—
“Oh-my-god, oh-my-god, oh-my-god,” Connie whispered as she squeezed Trace’s thigh. When her fingernails started digging into his leg through the tuxedo material, he covered her hand with his.
“All right, baby, just breathe.”
He glanced around for the nearest exit and tried to decide if they should make a move or sit tight for the next couple of minutes. They were in the third row, dead center. The chairs were so close together. If they stood up now, they’d definitely disturb a few people and draw attention to themselves. The grand finale was scheduled to begin in a few minutes, when all of the models would return to the stage, and hopefully he’d catch another glimpse of the man with the gray eyes.
With his arm still around Connie, Trace glanced down at her again. Her hand rested on her chest while she breathed in and out slowly.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded vigorously and continued regulating her breathing.
“I’m thinking we should wait before getting up. All right?” he asked.
She met his gaze. “That’ll be fine. Sorry I freaked.”
Trace gave her a quick peck on the lips, then eased his cell phone from his pants pocket. Since he didn’t want to release Connie, he used his free hand to shoot Riley a text. Once the show ended, he wanted Noah, a member of LEPA’s security team, to keep an eye on Connie, and Trace wanted Riley to meet him in the restricted area that the models were using.
Trace’s attention returned to Connie. She had settled down but leaned limply against him.
During the grand finale, all of the models, at least fifty of them, paraded back onto the platform. But there was only one person he was interested in.
It took a few minutes before Trace spotted the man in question. Problem was, he was on the other side of the platform, facing opposite of where he and Connie were sitting.
Trace sent an additional text to Riley.
Don’t let any models leave the building.