Beyond the Seduction Page 15

  He didn’t like being cornered, hating being this wasted. Nothing felt normal, everything was blurring around him. He could smell her perfume, feel the way her toned thighs gripped his hips, and fuck, her tits were level with his lips. He was a horny drunk, and right now Shae was too damn tempting.

  When she leaned in, he reacted, pressing his mouth to hers and kissing her into silence. He was going for a hot, heavy seduction, but he had a feeling his drunken stupor had left him with the ability to drool. Shae’s slap across his cheek confirmed that.

  “Hey!” He rubbed at the stinging skin. “What the fuck?”

  “I’m not some girl you picked up at a bar. Don’t you dare treat me like one. I’m being a friend here. I don’t need you making moves on me. They won’t work.”

  “Shit, I can see that.” He wasn’t about to admit that the slap had brought about some lucidity. Along with a heavy dose of regret.

  Shae climbed off him, giving his chest a shove. In his weakened state, it was hard enough to have his head bouncing off the wall. He snarled, rubbing at the tender skin as he eyed her. She started to pick up the pieces of his cell from the floor, tossing them onto the table. He’d pissed her off because he’d let his dick do the thinking.

  “Shae,” he rasped, hating when she looked away from him.

  He was pretty sure she called him an asshole, too.

  “I didn’t mean to do that,” he said, pulling himself up and resting back against the wall. “I’ve had too much to drink. I’m messed up, and you were sitting on my knee. All I could see were your tits and a way of forgetting what a shitty afternoon I’d had.”

  “Nice,” she replied sarcastically. “I’m so pleased I helped you.”

  “You sounded just like my sister then.”

  She paused her movements, her eyes thinning as she glowered at him. “Would Dale slap you?”

  “I wouldn’t even try kissing my sister, Shae. But she would slap me for treating you like shit, yeah.”

  “Good. Because I’m not some little toy you can pick up and cuddle whenever you feel down. I’m a fucking person, Trace. And I came here to help you.”

  He hung his head at the hurt he could hear in her tone. He was kicking his own ass, and he didn’t need D doing it, too.

  “This relationship has been nothing but apologies,” he grumbled.

  Shae snorted, placing her hands on her hips as she stared at him. “Are you serious? A relationship? You’ve spent every minute denying that there’s anything between us, and yet you describe us like that? You’re messing with my head. I have enough of that going on. Please stop.” She slumped to the floor. “I’m exhausted from dealing with Mom and thinking about you. Maybe you don’t see what you’re doing . . . maybe I’m being stupid for hanging around—either way, it has to end.”

  His head throbbed, her words hitting him like a sledgehammer. “I meant to say friendship.”

  “Yeah, that’s right, talk yourself out of the hole you dug. Lie to yourself. I’m trying to be a friend, but you keep changing the rules.”

  Well, fuck, she was right. Blaming it on the alcohol wasn’t entirely correct. His libido was always on a simmer when she was around. Sitting in his lap with her breasts jiggling in his face sent him into a full-on boil. “Shit. I fuck up with every female I come into contact with.”

  “No, you don’t. My mom’s pretty taken with you.”

  “Some consolation. I can make it with a sixty-year-old. Awesome.”

  “Fifty-nine.” She pushed her fingers through her hair. “We need to work this out. You being wasted isn’t helping. I’ll make coffee, then we talk.”

  Trace groaned and held his head. “Coffee will make me sick. Just sit. I’ll talk.”

  Crossing her arms over her chest, Shae waited. Her brows rose, and she had a sexy little pout that would make him hard had he not felt like vomiting. “Dale’s on your side, you know? She is Team Shae all the way. Told me what a bastard I was being to you. Told me to sort my shit out, otherwise she’d speak to you.”

  “She did today. After Ella’s class.”

  “She needs to butt the fuck out,” he snapped, his temperature escalating enough to bring a light sheen of sweat over his skin. “I love the woman, but she’s overstepping.”

  “Dale’s not the issue here,” Shae stated, standing the empty bourbon bottle up between them.

  How was he going to verbalize his thoughts when his freaking head was pounding and gut churning? He hadn’t worked through his thoughts regarding Shae, Tatum, and Emmie when he was sober, let alone when he was hammered. He wanted to hold back, to keep everything from her, and end their friendship. He’d convinced himself they couldn’t move any further because it was the wrong time. They’d started something when he should have stayed far away. His wound was still wide open when Shae had slapped a Band-Aid over it with her brand of affection. She’d lightened his world, and from that night on, he’d followed her brightness, needing it in his life.

  Clearing his throat, he stared at the bottle. “I don’t know how to move on from losing Tatum. I’ve tried. It’s hard when Emmie keeps calling me. I told her that tonight—told her to leave me alone, otherwise I was getting Kyran’s lawyer to sort her out. She flipped, but then started crying. Tatum, too.” He looked up at Shae, every cell within him begging for her to understand. “Jesus fucking Christ, can you understand how those cries gut me? They tear me to pieces, and I can’t do anything about it. My heart is with her, but my head will never be able to move forward. I’ve considered it, you know? Forgiving her and trying again.” He clutched at his spasming stomach, dry heaving. He felt her hands on his back, rubbing in slow circles until the sickness subsided.

  “Eating something might help,” she said, her voice low.

  Trace shook his head. “I was ready to give in. Ready to tell her where I was and ask her to bring Tatum over. To tell her we’d start over.”

  “Trace, if you want that, then do it. It’s not wrong.”

  “I just want to hold her one last time.” He swallowed, his throat so dry it was like gulping down sand. “But I won’t. It’s unfair to her and to me. I could tell myself lies and say that I’ll try to make it work with Emmie for Tate’s sake. But I know I couldn’t. She’s admitted to sleeping with four other guys while we were together. Why would I believe her again? Shit. She has no clue who Tate’s real father is.”

  “I suppose so.” She hugged him tight.

  “Now you see why I was attracted to you. You shine so bright. You take it all away, and that’s why D is sticking her nose in. She thinks you’re my freaking salvation or some shit.”

  “Oh,” was all Shae had to offer. “I’m just me, Trace. I’m not your savior.”

  “You don’t understand, and I get that. But when we’re together I forget the constant swirl of questions in my head. Most days, I hate myself. I tell myself I should try—for Tate—even though that would be the worst possible thing. Then I think maybe I should ignore Emmie and be a father to Tatum, but I’ll be honest, I can’t do that either. She already has one of those. Emmie just needs to find out who he is.” Trace pushed away from her, attempting to stand up. His legs wobbled, the world around him blurring. He trembled. One bottle of liquor was too much for one man in a single sitting. Either that or he was a lightweight. “The white noise of questions goes away when I’m with you. I like you. Totally want to spend my time with you, but is that fair when I’m messed up?”

  “No fairer than me letting you help my naked, forgetful mom home, and then crying on your shoulder about it.” She offered him a weak smile.

  “This between us could go nowhere. There’s a huge chance I could do no more than hurt you. What if I can’t get past what Emmie did?”

  “Are we having this conversation because you’re drunk?”

  Trace walked over to the kitchen in the corner of the room and leaned over the sink. The urge to vomit lessened when he took a few slow breaths. He debated her question, though given his curre
nt state he wasn’t so sure that the answer could be trusted. “It’s a possibility.”

  “Then we shouldn’t decide anything now. I’m not having you tell me tomorrow that you don’t remember.”

  Flipping on the faucet, he filled a glass with water and drank. He was reluctant to make any decisions while he was shitfaced, and knowing how much he’d pissed Shae off earlier, he decided it was best left until tomorrow. Weeks of avoiding the truth had finally crept up on him and bitten him on the ass. At the start, he’d known he couldn’t run forever, though he’d been happy to try. Whenever the truth reared its head, he used something, or someone, to bury it.

  Like sleeping with Shae.

  Only now that act was a burr in his butt, because the woman had been more than a fleeting fuck. She’d stayed with him, offering the happiness and support he needed. His head swam, because yet again, he questioned his attachment to her and whether he was using her.

  “Do you want to see Tatum? I mean see her and say goodbye.”

  “I’ve said goodbye,” he said, his voice rough.

  “So, forgive me for asking, but what would another meeting with her achieve?”

  He turned to look at her, and scowled. She walked closer to him, reaching out and grasping the front of his shirt. “I’m not saying this to upset you.”

  “Kinda already there, babe.”

  “I know. That’s why I don’t want to say something to you that could make it worse.”

  Trace folded his hands around hers, thinking about what she’d asked. Even in his drunken state he knew the reason he’d wanted to see Tatum, knew why he’d never allowed Kyran’s lawyer to act for him, and why he’d never changed his number. He stared into her eyes. “While Emmie was still calling—while I could still hear Tate—I didn’t have to admit it was over”

  “But you’re moving out. You’re on your own.”

  His hands flexed around hers. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but to me it does. Did. I need to straighten myself out. I have to accept that she isn’t mine. If I tell Emmie I’ll be Tate’s father regardless, I’d be setting that baby up for one hell of a childhood. I can never forgive Emmie for what she did. I can’t even look at her without the anger boiling inside me. What kind of relationship is that for Tate to see? Some people will think I should ignore biology and carry on parenting her, but I’m doing her a favor by stepping aside. I don’t want to look at Tate and see lies. I will . . . I do . . . I love her, but I can’t be more. I can’t help what I feel, Shae. I just need to accept those facts here.” He thumped his chest.

  “You’re better off doing that without drinking. Liquor won’t change things. The truth will still be there in the morning.”

  His top lip curled. “Very profound.”

  “And correct. Now, help me lock this place up and I’ll drive you home.”

  He began to protest. His plan had been to sleep at his new apartment tonight. When he opened his mouth, his stomach twisted and bile rose. He made it to the sink just in time to empty the liquid contents of his stomach into it.

  Chapter 19

  Shae stayed with Trace while he purged his guts into the sink. She made him three very strong coffees then waited with him again while he brought the fluid back up.

  It wasn’t a pretty sight.

  She’d tried to soothe him, but the man didn’t make the best patient. He shrugged her off, telling her to leave because she shouldn’t see him in such a mess.

  After he’d calmed, they talked. Mostly about Emmie and Tatum. Much of the information was things he’d never said out loud before. Like his need to keep the connection with Tatum. Even if that connection was a warped one where he heard her cry in the background of a phone call.

  Trace was now realizing how twisted that was, and she hoped he would act on that clarity. There were many ways to stop Emmie’s calls. He had people who could help with the changing of Tatum’s birth certificate and severing any ties to them. He just had to stop burying the truth and to accept help where it was being offered.

  Shae wasn’t quite sure why he’d reached his limit now, although everyone had a breaking point. Trace had reached his.

  Their conversation had gone on late into the night, and it was only when she yawned that she realized the time. She shoved at Trace’s shoulder, telling him to sort himself out. She was ready to leave. He offered up a weak protest, saying he wanted to stay where he was. She ignored him and helped him into her car.

  Making sure she locked up the studio, she took Trace home. He complained all the way back to his apartment, but eventually gave in and went to bed to sleep it off. The keys for his bike remained in her purse, that way she could be sure he wouldn’t drive until he had sobered up. Someone had to take charge of him, given his current state.

  She debated giving Dale a call to let her know how upset her brother had been, but when she fished her cell out of her purse, she noticed the missed calls and voice mails. Three of each. She must have left the thing on silent after her dance class. So instead of starting the car, Shae remained outside Trace’s apartment and worked her way through the messages.

  Shae brought up the missed calls, staring at the name on her screen. Why would her father be calling her? And why more than once?

  The first voice mail answered her question, and had her blood cooling in her veins.

  “Shae, this is your father. You need to come to my office right away. Your mother is here. She’s . . . erratic.” Lucian’s annoyance dripped through the receiver.

  Shae moved onto the next message.

  “I do not know why you aren’t answering my calls, but your mother has a problem. She seems to think we are still . . . liaising. She’s very vocal. I can’t have this in my office. If you do not come, and she continues, I will have no choice but to telephone the police.”

  She groaned and played the last one, her stomach tightening as she heard his heavy, exasperated breath.

  “For God’s sake, child, where are you? Shae . . . Shae when you get this you have to make your way to the hospital—the memorial hospital. It’s Lisbeth. Damn it, answer your cell!”

  Spurred into action, Shae tossed her cell onto the passenger seat and peeled away from the sidewalk. Goose bumps broke out across her flesh, her mind crammed full of possibilities about why Lisbeth went to Lucian’s office, and why she was now in hospital.

  The journey would take her no more than ten minutes, less so because of the late hour. Nevertheless, every mile she traveled felt like fifty. While stopped at the traffic lights, she tried to call Lucian. It went straight to voice mail. Shae snarled. She hoped and prayed that this wasn’t as serious as she was imagining.

  She berated herself, annoyed that she’d left her mother alone. Whatever happened now was on her. Tears threatened to spill, her heart crashing against her chest. It increased the closer she got to the hospital, and by the time she parked the car, her entire body throbbed with it.

  She rushed to the reception, the room a blur of faces, noises, and antiseptic smell. Clutching her purse, she stammered out her mother’s name. The receptionist typed on her keyboard, shooting her a sympathetic smile. She asked Shae a few questions and handed her a clipboard with insurance forms to sign.

  “If you could read and sign those as her next of kin that would be great. I’ll get a doctor to come and speak to you. Please, take a seat.”

  Shae stared at the row of plastic chairs in the waiting area, her hands shaking where they clutched the clipboard. She took a few wobbly steps, moving around a few people as they walked toward her. A shadow fell over her, a hand folding around her bicep.

  “Hey!” she snapped, looking up to see her father’s somber gaze.

  “Where have you been?”

  “I—”

  He continued, not waiting for her to finish. “I’ve been here dealing with the doctors while you were doing Lord knows what. Laura will not be happy at my absence. I hope you understand my sacrifice, Shae.”

  She cringed under
his angry assault. The last person she needed to see now was Lucian and his high expectations. She was swimming in guilt and could do without his berating.

  When she didn’t respond, her father paused for breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. She liked to think he was composing himself, but she knew him better than that.

  He remained next to her as she sat down, before taking a seat of his own. “Wh-what was she doing at your office?”

  “I told you on the phone. She seemed to think we were a thing. She arrived to take me to dinner, along with a night at the Hilton.”

  “Oh.”

  “She was convinced of our situation. Even when I pointed out your existence, and the fact that we haven’t liaised since before you were born. The woman was fixated.”

  Shae shivered. “She’s been more forgetful of late. She must have been confused.”

  “Well, I think that’s obvious.”

  “What else?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

  Lucian pursed his lips and picked an invisible piece of fluff from his suit. “She made a scene. Raising her voice so much that my assistant came rushing in, followed by one of my associates.” No names. So distant. “She made a complete fool of herself.”

  Trying to wrap her head around the information, Shae grimaced. “But how did she end up here?” She was growing impatient for answers.

  “There was something not right.” His brow wrinkled. “At first I thought she was drunk. That would explain the disorientation and the slurring of her words. But it wasn’t that. She began to ramble, tossing random words at me that made no sense. And the more I tried to reason with her the more aggressive she was. Until she . . . slipped.”

  Shae frowned. “Slipped? What do you mean?”

  Lucian picked at his suit again, looking anywhere but at his daughter. “She staggered. It was like her knees gave out, or her body wouldn’t hold her up any longer. I reached for her, but it was too late. Shae, Lisbeth took a tumble down the stairs.”