“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.
CHAPTER 16
Trace paced the length of the small room designated for the security team like a caged animal. At first, he had considered hanging out in the hallway where he and Indie had chatted earlier, but then he thought better of that idea. At least this would give him a chance to talk to the gray-eyed model in private. That was assuming Riley could get him to the room without causing a scene.
Trace wasn’t sure what he was going to say to the guy, but he had questions. Questions he hadn’t quite formulated in his head, but he needed to determine if the man was a threat to Connie. Mr. Gray Eyes being at the restaurant and then the fashion show—those coincidences were too convenient for Trace’s liking.
“Care to tell me what this is all about?” Hudson, another LEPA security specialist, asked. “Or
