A Trace of Passion (3 page)

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 anything 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.

* * * *

Trace sat in the hallway of the emergency room with his head in his hands. He’d hardly gotten his clothes on before rushing Ophelia to the E.R. in her bathrobe. His mind was a blank slate. He registered Ophelia had a seizure and the doctors were trying to help her out of it. He couldn’t concentrate beyond that and couldn’t bring himself to stay in the room while they tended to her. Hospitals made him feel itchy and claustrophobic.

“Trace?”

He glanced up to find Alana entering from the elevator. He stood as she rushed toward him. “What happened?”

“She had a seizure.”

“Oh my gosh, how did you find her in time?”

“I spent the night with her.”

Alana’s eyes went wide. “But Joel said you left.”

He winced. “I went back afterward. It’s not what you think, I slept on her couch. I only wanted to make sure she’d be okay.” Well, it was the truth. Though he left out the details of this morning, he was sure Alana could smell the stench of sex on him. “Alana, what’s wrong with her? Does she normally have seizures?”

Alana pressed her fingers to her forehead. “Only when she gets a really high fever, and if the fevers are back…”

Trace didn’t like the way she let her words trail off. What fevers? What did they mean? He was about to ask when the door to Ophelia’s hospital room opened. The doctor, a balding man with a slight lump from bad posture, stepped out and closed the door behind him. His gaze shifted between Alana and Trace. “She’s awake. She wants to see you.”

Trace released a sigh of relief and looked to Alana. She placed her hand on his arm. “Go on, I’ll wait here.”

Trace nodded and entered the room. Ophelia lay on the narrow hospital bed dressed in a flimsy gown. The white blankets outlined the curve of her thin body. Her petite hands rested on her stomach, rising and falling with each breath she took. Trace winced at the plastic tubes attached to her arms, connected to the machines behind the bed. Lying so still like that, with her face turned toward the window, it reminded him of the last time he’d seen his father.

The door clicked shut and Ophelia turned her worn face in his direction. He struggled to swallow the lump forming in his throat.

He ached to make her smile, to bring some color back to her skin, to see that sparkle in her eyes. His mouth opened to attempt a light-hearted remark, but he quickly shut it again. What could he say? He reached for her hand, careful to avoid touching the medical tubes. “That was quite a scare you gave me. Are you all right?”

She wet her lips. “I’m fine.”

“Alana’s in the hall.”

Ophelia nodded. “Yeah, I had the nurse call her.”

“Is there anything I can get you? Do you want to call your parents or something?”

She smiled patiently shaking her head. “My parents aren’t around anymore.” Trace bit his lip as he watched Ophelia. He wracked his head for something else to say, but came up short. “Did they say when I could take you home?”

Her brow wrinkled. “Trace, there’s something I have to tell you.”

He stepped closer. “Sure, love. What is it?”

She scoffed. “God, you’ll do anything to make this harder, won’t you?”

His brow rose, but he wasn’t sure what she meant so he waited.

She sighed. “Trace, I have leukemia.”

The word knocked him a step back and he tensed. “Like…the cancer?”

Ophelia’s voice was soft, patient. “Yes. I was diagnosed when I was fifteen. I beat it twice, but it’s back again.”

He hesitated. This had to be a joke. “The doctors told you that?”

“No, not yet. It takes a few days to get the test results back, but I already know. I’ve known for a long time thanks to the fevers.”

His chest constricted, his breath came in shallow gasps as if he’d been running. A dull ache pressed against his mind. He gripped the bed’s railing to steady himself. “You beat it twice though. You can do it again. Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” The more he talked, the louder his voice became until he shouted.

“Sometimes the cure is worse,” she whispered. “Trace, I only regret hurting you…”

Somehow his feet carried him backward until he hit the wall. His stomach threatened to bring up all the beer he’d drunk last night. It was the same retching feeling that had taken him when the realization of his father’s death sunk in. The realization his whole world had shifted in the blink of an eye and there was nothing he could do to set it straight again.

He thought of the plain, drab colors of her apartment.
She’s giving up
. That’s what it was. She gave up on life and waited for death. Her words repeated in his mind as the full truth weighed on him.
I only regret hurting you…