Beautifully Damaged (Beautifully Damaged series) by L.A. Fiore (20)

Charles and Vivian ended up being very receptive to dinner and so, about two weeks after Trace and I discussed it, we were being seated at Clover. Charles and Vivian had not yet arrived. Trace held my chair for me before he folded his large frame into the chair at my right. He turned to me as soon as he was seated. “You look stunning tonight.”

I marveled over the compliment as a slight blush tinted my cheeks. A lascivious smile transformed Trace’s face and he added, “Even more so now.”

“Thank you.”

Our waitress, Cindi, came over to take our drink orders.

“Hi, Ember. It’s nice to see you on the other side of things tonight.”

“It’s nice to be on the other side of things. Cindi, this is my boyfriend, Trace.”

She blushed, clear up to her hairline, and I had complete sympathy for her, since I had a similar reaction when first meeting Trace. I had to give her credit, though; she recovered quickly before she asked, “What can I get you to drink?”

“We’d like a bottle of the 2003 Hundred Acre Cabernet Sauvignon, please,” Trace said, which made my jaw almost, but not quite, drop. That was Clover’s most expensive bottle of wine. Cindi’s expression matched mine before she managed, “Very good.”

I watched her leave before turning my attention to Trace, but he was watching only me. He touched a lock of my hair that had fallen over my shoulder as he looked at me. “Only the best for you, sweetheart.”

“Have you ever had that bottle before?”

“I have. I taste everything we stock in our cellar. I think you’re going to love it.”

He smiled, a beautiful smile, but I noticed when it faded. His attention moved to something behind me. Charles and Vivian had arrived. Trace stood as they approached the table; his body was rigid and his jaw was tight. Vivian offered an overly cordial hello, to which Trace responded curtly. He helped seat Vivian in the chair to my left before turning his attention to Charles.

Cindi came over then and the next few minutes were spent with Trace tasting the wine, approving it, and glasses being filled. Charles looked over at me and smiled after Cindi departed.

“Hello, Miss Walsh, it’s very nice to see you again.”

I couldn’t say the same so I only smiled in return. Vivian, oblivious to, or because of, the tension, started talking to fill the silence.

“Charles and I really do hope that this can be the beginning of many gatherings between us.”

Trace said nothing and turned his attention to Charles. “So what is it you really want?”

Charles had the sense to recoil; it was slight, but definite before he replied, “I didn’t do right by you back then and I’m trying to make amends.”

Trace’s hand clenched into a tight ball, which made me reach for it and cover it with my own. He immediately turned his hand so he could link our fingers, but his hard stare never left his uncle. I knew what he was thinking because I was thinking it also: too little too late. He said as much when he did finally reply.

“We could have used your help back then—could have used someone then who gave a shit about our welfare.”

Charles’s reaction to that surprised me, because he looked remorseful and contrition laced through his words when he offered, “I know and I’m sorry.”

Vivian looked over at Trace. “Please let’s not speak of the past. It was a dark time and we didn’t handle it well. I chose not to know your parents but I realize now that I should have made an effort. If I had, maybe I would have realized what was happening in your house and for that I am very sorry.”

Trace offered nothing to that, since what could he possibly have said? For the next two hours we engaged in awkward conversation. Charles peppered Trace with questions about the past, details on the night of his parents’ death, and what Trace did after he moved into the city, which Trace politely evaded. By the time we were getting ready to leave, I was really glad the evening was over. I couldn’t decide if the Michaelses were the most arrogant and self-serving jackasses who ever lived or if they were living in serious denial.

Vivian and I excused ourselves to go to the ladies’ room. She clearly was a drinker. She hadn’t stopped the entire night, so by the end of the evening she was pretty flagged. We stood in front of the mirror in the restroom as I washed my hands and she attempted to touch up her makeup. It was rather funny watching her apply her lipstick. Her eye-hand coordination was off from the booze.

“I love these Venetian-style mirrors. This one in particular is stunning. I do believe I’ve seen this before or something remarkably like it.”

It was lovely, the rectangular, hand-cut, mirrored glass, and I said as much to Vivian, adding, “Shall we?”

“Yes.”

Trace was just paying the bill when we returned to the table and I knew, from the wide-eyed expression on Cindi’s face when she passed by me, that Trace had been exceedingly generous. Charles reached for Vivian’s hand before turning his attention to Trace.

“Thank you for dinner and for agreeing to have it with us.”

“Yes, it was so nice to get to know you a little. I do so hope that this is the first of many evenings together,” Vivian added.

I knew Trace would have rather said nothing, but manners dictated otherwise.

“Thank you for extending the invitation.”

I had to give Charles credit for accepting Trace’s words and seeming to understand that they were the only ones he and his wife were going to get. Charles turned to me and brought my hand to his lips, causing Trace to tense at my side.

“It was lovely seeing you again, Ember.”

He brushed his lips over my knuckles before releasing my hand. I had to suppress the urge to wipe my hand on my dress. “Good night, Charles and Vivian.”

We watched as they walked from the restaurant. By unspoken agreement we waited for a few minutes to be certain that they were gone before following them out. The night was clear and warm as we walked down the street toward home. Trace seemed distracted and I imagined his thoughts were on dinner. At least Charles didn’t ignore the obvious, didn’t try to brush the past under the rug. I had to give him points for that.

I was surprised when Trace pecked my cheek and asked, “So what are your thoughts on the evening?”

“I’m not really sure. I give Charles credit for accepting responsibility, but I’m still not sure I understand what the point was of that dinner. I feel like I’m missing something.”

“It seemed like a fishing expedition.”

I thought on that for a moment. “That’s exactly what it felt like. What do you think he was trying to glean?”

Trace shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve no idea, but since he didn’t get anything, I’m guessing we haven’t heard the last of them.”

“Probably not.”

“It’s still pretty early…” he said as he reached for my hand. He hailed a cab passing by.

“Where are we going?”

He waited until we were in the cab before he turned to me and grinned.

“I’m taking my beautiful woman dancing.”

He pulled me into his lap and fused his mouth to mine.

When we entered the club, he walked us right onto the dance floor just as “Straight From the Heart” from Bryan Adams came on. He pulled me into his arms and held me right up against his hard body, but we didn’t move to the music. He then gave up the pretense of dancing completely to wrap my face in his hands and cover my mouth with his own. My hands moved under his jacket to wrap around his waist and we stayed like that for the duration of the song. Trace pulled from me and grinned as he reached for his tie to remove it before shoving it into his jacket pocket.

“Wait here,” he said before he moved toward the bar, removed his jacket, and handed it to the bartender. As he approached me, he was rolling up his sleeves and the sight of his tattoo against the elegance of his attire made my mouth water. He reached me just as “I Gotta Feeling” from Black Eyed Peas started to play.

Trace was an excellent dancer and it was sexy as hell to be led around the dance floor by someone so utterly masculine and yet dressed so elegantly. Howie Day’s “Collide” played at one point in the evening, which made Trace pull me into his arms. He didn’t kiss me, but his eyes were only for me. Even with a dance floor overflowing with gorgeous women, his eyes never left mine. The song came to an end and he leaned over and brushed his lips lightly across mine. In the next moment, he whispered, “Love isn’t strong enough a word.”

My heart rolled over in my chest.

Trace kept me close for the rest of the night as he pressed our bodies together at every opportunity. Feeling that hard, muscled body pressed up against mine was making me overly warm because I was seriously turned on. Trace noticed it too, and whispered in my ear, “You’re flushed.”

I spoke without thinking. “I am so turned on right now.”

His eyes sparked hot in response to that before a wickedness entered his expression. “Maybe I should take you home and help you cool off.”

“I think that’s a fabulous idea.”

He kissed me hard on the mouth before he pulled me from the dance floor and grabbed his jacket from behind the bar. When we returned home, I dropped my purse on the sofa and wrapped my arms around Trace’s waist. A shudder went through him before he turned into me and fused his mouth to mine. I worked the buttons of his shirt before I ran my hands up his chest, dividing the shirt as I did. I pulled the cotton down his shoulders and arms before letting it drop to the floor. Desire burned through me at the sight of him. My hands continued their journey, running over his abs, up his chest, and under his arms, forcing him to lift them over his head.

“Keep them up,” I whispered as the tips of my fingers trailed a line down his body, moving over his pecs and down along each individual muscle of his abs. Trace’s eyes never left mine and in his expression I saw what I was feeling looking back at me.

I gripped his undershirt and lifted it up and over his head.

“I love your body,” I whispered before I pressed a kiss over his heart. I felt the restraint in him, knew he wanted to take, but he was holding himself back and allowing me the freedom to touch him in any way that I wanted. I was humbled by him and the trust he had in me. My hands and mouth roamed and savored every inch of his chest. I felt as his control started to slip when I pressed a kiss to his naval. He reached for me, but I moved away from him. My eyes never left his as I stepped out of my sandals. His eyes were hot, watching me as I pulled the pins from my hair.

I heard him growl, low in his throat, as I reached for the zipper of my dress and slowly worked it down. The silk slipped off my shoulders and fell in a wave to the floor as I stepped out of it and moved toward him. My fingers worked the front clasp of my bra as I flipped it open and slowly pulled the lace down my arms before allowing it to follow my dress to the floor. Trace was fisting his hands at his sides as his eyes burned into mine and then I was pressing myself against his hard chest. He wasted no time pulling me closer as his mouth sought and found mine. He lifted me into his arms as I wrapped my legs around his waist before he turned and pressed me up against the wall. I heard the sound of his zipper right before his fingers touched me, rubbing and teasing. He slid the swatch of lace out of his way just as he rolled his hips and claimed me. I closed my eyes on a moan, loving the way it felt to be possessed by this man.

Trace’s voice was raw when he demanded, “Look at me.”

My eyes opened to find Trace watching me with a look that was almost wild. “I love you.”

After that vow he started to move his hips with a slow deliberateness that made me ache. He closed his hand over my breast and his fingers teased my nipple, rolling that tight bud, before tugging on it hard enough to cause pain. I tightened my legs around him as his hips moved faster and deeper just as his hand moved down my body and his thumb found that small point of pleasure.

He teased and stroked in time with his thrusts until my body splintered apart from my orgasm. I managed to somehow keep my eyes on Trace so I saw as his face flushed, watched as his eyes glazed over just as his body spasmed his own release, my name ripping from his throat in a voice that was raw with lust.

A few weeks after the dinner with the Michaelses, Chelsea and I opted for another girl’s day at Trace’s apartment instead of going out for lunch. We painted each other’s nails, ate chocolate, and watched movies.

I was on the phone in the kitchen placing our order for lunch with the local Chinese place while Chelsea cued up Harry Potter. I entered the living room carrying two glasses of iced tea and noticed that Chelsea was looking at the pictures on the wall. Trace’s walls were no longer empty. Granted, most of the pictures were of me, but photos of Rafe, Lucien, and Chelsea had joined the wall, as had pictures of my family. I walked over and handed her a glass as she pointed to a picture of my mom.

“Is that Amanda?”

To say I was thrown wouldn’t be an exaggeration.

“Yes, how did you know that?”

“I’ve seen her before.”

“When?”

Chelsea, oblivious to the fact that her words were twisting me into knots, walked over to the sofa and took a seat. She looked up at me with guileless gray eyes.

“She came to the house once when I was younger.”

“Your house in Ohio?”

“Yeah. I remembered her because she was the prettiest lady I’d ever seen.”

I had to sit because I had a feeling my legs weren’t going to hold me up much longer. “Do you remember when this was?”

“Yeah, I had just turned six. I remember because I was playing with my new Strawberry Shortcake dolls: Lime Chiffon, Orange Blossom, and Raspberry Tart.”

I felt my heart beating painfully in my chest when I asked, “You were born in August of 1987, right?”

“Yeah.”

Oh my God, August of 1993 was when my mom was killed. I needed to call my dad.

“Excuse me, Chelsea, for one minute.”

I hurried down the hall to the phone in the bedroom and dialed my dad.

“Ember, how are you, honey?”

“Dad, I’ve got Chelsea over and she saw a picture of Mom and recognized her—not just recognized her, but knew her name.”

This was met with silence.

“She said Mom visited her house in Ohio in August of 1993.”

The exhale that came across the line held both shock and pain and then my dad’s soft voice said, “What did she say?”

“Not much, but how’s that possible?”

“I really don’t know. I’ll call your uncle.”

“Let me know, Dad.”

“I will.”

Later, I waited in the living room for Trace to return from dropping Chelsea off at home. I’d been thinking about what Chelsea had said as I tried to come up with some explanation to make sense of it, but the only question I kept circling back on was if my mom had been in Trace’s house before she died, and she was killed by Trace’s dad, then was her death an accident or intentional? I heard the key in the lock seconds before the door pushed open and Trace walked in. He looked over at me and smiled, but his expression immediately faded into a look of concern.

“Ember, what’s wrong?”

I was holding my mom’s picture as I walked over to him.

“Chelsea saw this today and asked me if this was Amanda.”

Trace’s expression mirrored mine. “How did she know that?”

“Apparently my mom was in your house the month she died.”

“What?!”

“Exactly. My uncle is looking into it.”

He squeezed my hand. “You understand what this means?”

“That her death may not have been an accident.”

Pain burned in his eyes, but there was something else too, something that looked a lot like panic. “Yes.”

I pulled him into the room and placed the picture on the table before I pushed him down onto the sofa and straddled his lap.

“What’s that look for?” I asked.

His hands rested on my hips, but he wouldn’t look at me. I touched his chin to lift his face to me.

“I love you regardless of what your father may or may not have done to my mom. The son will not be made to pay for the sins of the father. I thought you knew that already, but I’m saying it again. You were eight when she died. You are not responsible.”

He pulled me to him, wrapping me firmly in his arms as he buried his face in my hair.

“You are very wise.”

“Much like Yoda. Think like he, yes, I do.”

The grin that cracked over his face was almost boyish.

“Do you know that I’ve never seen those movies? Not the originals or the newer ones.”

I shook my head in an attempt to get my brain working again. “The originals I like, the newer ones not so much. That’s really not acceptable. We must remedy this immediately.”

I climbed from his lap and started down the hall.

“Where are you going?”

I looked back at him from over my shoulder. “I’m going to order the Blu-rays and when they arrive we’re spending the day watching all three in a row with no interruptions.”

“Yes, ma’am.”