week or two before.” Trace’s jaw had hardened and he suddenly seemed to stare at Phoebe as if, well, it didn’t make sense, but he stared at her possessively. As if she were his to protect so that’s what he’d done. But that couldn’t be right.
Trace McGraw was not possessive over women. There were too darn many of them, for one thing. And for another, he didn’t need to be. She doubted that there’d ever been a single female in his entire life who’d willingly left his side without having to be physically shoved along first. Phoebe looked away and rubbed her forehead. Obviously, she’d misread Trace’s expression and he must still get angry when he thought about all the problems that article had created for him. Even after all this time, she could understand why he’d be upset.
With only a semester to go before graduation, Trace had exposed one of the most powerful faculty members on staff and the ensuing scandal had been huge. Professor Eiken had tried to have Trace expelled and almost succeeded. The man had even started a lawsuit against Trace and the university, but dropped it when a shocking number of abuse claims started pouring in.
And Trace had gone through all of that to keep her safe? Phoebe’s pulse fluttered. She was shocked and, well…amazingly flattered. He’d written that article for her. She had no doubt he’d been concerned for the other girls as well, but still…he’d been so generous. And he’d never even told her. Phoebe paused and bit her lip. These were not exactly the actions of a man who’d only been trying to get her into bed. The risk he’d taken spoke of a level of caring that she’d never given Trace credit for. But if he’d cared so much then why had he cheated on her?
Phoebe glanced away, unsure what to believe. Instead she asked, “So why didn’t you stay with it? Reporting, I mean.”
Trace shot her a look. “I did,” he said after a minute, rubbing the back of his neck. “But let’s just say it didn’t exactly turn out as I expected.” At Phoebe’s silence, he grudgingly added, “I got fired. It’s a long story and I’d rather not go into it right now.” He shrugged. “Listen, that platter you were carrying must have broken when you fell. I think you stepped on some glass. There’s not enough light for me to take it out down here.”
“Oh,” Phoebe said, suddenly self-conscious. “That’s okay,” she smiled. “I can do it myself once I get upstairs.”
“Not likely,” he snorted. Then he scooped her back into his arms and stood. “Relax. It’s my job to serve and protect.” Trace smiled, his teeth a white slash against his bronze skin. “And that’s exactly what I plan to do.”
“ARE YOU SURE this is the right place?” Trace asked with a scowl.
Though he’d spoken loudly, Phoebe had just been able to hear him over the music and feminine laughter floating from behind Barbie’s front door into the hallway. He was standing rigid, staring at the shiny brass numbers and holding Phoebe against his chest. And the more Trace stared and listened, the tenser he grew until his fingers were all but squeezing her legs and side.
Phoebe’s lips twitched and she nodded. “Yep, 701. This is it.”
A spark flared in his eyes but he quickly lowered them and she almost snickered. Obviously, he couldn’t believe Phoebe was going to a party that made Animal House sound genteel. Grinning smugly, Phoebe reached out to knock on the door but he stepped back.
“You know what? We forgot your present. We better go back down before somebody steals it. It’ll be gone. I’m a cop. I know these things.” He began to turn toward the elevator.
“Wait,” she protested, putting her hand on his chest, which made them both freeze for a moment and look down at her hand and his chest. Slowly, she slid her fingers away. “It’ll be fine. Believe me. Anybody who wants that Crock-Pot or the smooshed deviled eggs can have them.”
“You mean, that present you brought is a Crock-Pot?”
“Yes. Why?”
He paused for a minute then shook his head and laughed. “It’s stupid, really. For a second, I thought you might have gotten the wrong address or something. You know—” Trace shrugged “—right building, wrong party.” Strangely, he sounded relieved and his expression had brightened significantly. “Listen, why don’t I get you inside then run down and grab that gift for your friend?” He grinned down at her. “No happy homemaker should be without a Crock-Pot.”
Phoebe wrinkled her nose. “Which is exactly why we can leave it downstairs. I doubt Candy would ever use it,” she said, and Trace flinched then almost dropped her.
She clutched at his arms. “Oh, gosh. I’m sorry.” Heat crept over her cheeks. “Thanks, but really, you can put me down now. I have to be heavy.”
“You’re not heavy. How did you say you got invited to this party?” he asked without missing a beat.
On the elevator ride upstairs, Phoebe noticed Trace seemed intent on poking and prodding into each and every detail of her life since they’d last seen each other. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been much to tell—or much that she’d been willing to tell. After all, her life seemed to her unfathomably boring and pitiful—especially when she shared it with the ex-boyfriend she hoped to turn bitter with regret for having let her slip away. So, all too soon, Phoebe had found herself explaining her return to Miami. Call it pride, vanity or sheer humiliation, but she hadn’t told him about her new job on the Mirage as a showgirl.
Somehow, going from prima ballerina to showgirl seemed sort of shallow and pathetic after he’d chosen to become a cop when his own pursuits in journalism hadn’t been successful. Instead Phoebe had stammered her way through an awkward lie about a lagging dance production she was helping to get back on its feet. Then she’d told him about her new friends and the bridal shower tonight.
She should’ve just said she was in town on vacation, but against her better judgment she’d wanted him to believe her return was more permanent. Just in case. It was a ridiculous waste of time that could only lead to trouble, yet the discovery that all those years ago Trace’s feelings for her might have been stronger than she’d believed made her chest go all hot and fluttery. Not to mention the ball of warmth that spread through her lower regions whenever she even happened to glance at him. Jeesh, it was all she could do not to throw herself down on the ground and toss her skirt back over her head. Phoebe almost laughed. Tiffany would be so proud.
Trace turned his head toward her, his gaze snaring hers. “Well?”
All thought fled her brain the moment their eyes met. “Well, what?” she asked like a total dolt.
“The party?”
She tried to sound normal, but it took all her concentration just to breathe properly, his lips barely inches from her own. “Yes. I’m going to a party.”
The muscles in his neck and shoulders tensed under her arms. “Did you say you worked with the women at the party? Danced with them?”
“Um, I think so.” Phoebe gave up trying to focus on his questions. His eyebrows were lowered. Funny how she’d never noticed they were a shade lighter than his hair and perfectly arched. Perfectly perfect. A sigh welled in her chest.
“And this friend is getting married?”
Little sparklers flared to life down low in Phoebe’s body every time his lips formed a word, and she nodded. Anything to keep those supple lines of flesh moving.
“Phoebes—earth
