“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
