Cami Dalton - Her Private Dancer

Phoebe scowled. “I’m fine,” she said, though her voice wobbled. Next the words “I don’t need your help” somehow came out of her mouth when what she really wanted to say was, “Please, if you have an ounce of mercy, don’t touch me.”

“Hush.” He gently turned her foot. A small line of blood ran from her pinkie toe. “Hey, you’ve really hurt yourself,” he said, his voice gruff. “You’re bleeding.”

Oh, why couldn’t the creep be consistent? One minute he was the ex-boyfriend from hell and the next all sensitivity. Of course, she shouldn’t have been surprised. Trace had always played by his own rules. In other words, he didn’t mind driving her nuts, but if she ever needed anything he was first in line and always came through.

Except at the end when he’d turned out to be a two-timing pig just as she’d always feared. Then again, the sexually deprived voice chimed back in and said, maybe it’s about time to let all those pesky little bygones be bygones. After all, nobody’s perfect, he was too young to know how much he hurt you, yada yada yada. Think of whatever excuse it’ll take for you to have wild monkey sex with him at the earliest possible opportunity—as a matter of fact, right here and now seems to be available.

“I’m fine,” she blurted. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“You’re not fine. You have a cut,” he said, and before she could argue, he stood and scooped her into his arms in one motion.

Phoebe’s stomach rolled and she braced her hand on his chest. His muscles were hard and lean beneath her fingers. His shoulders wide and—she noticed where her thoughts were going. No! Absolutely not. No wild monkey sex. She didn’t care how good he felt. Or smelled. Or sounded. Or whatever other freakishly attractive characteristics the man possessed that made her want to copulate with him on the spot.

Trace set her down on the steps leading into the apartment building and when he spoke, he sounded angry. “This is my fault. I should have found your shoe right away instead of letting you walk around like this in the dark.” He pulled her foot onto his lap.

Distance seemed to be the key here, and she somewhat gently tried to kick his hand loose. “How’s it your fault?” she complained. “I could’ve looked for my own darn shoe. Besides, I’m the one who ran into you.” Trace tightened his hold until she stilled. Other than that, he ignored her. Phoebe sighed and finally gave in. If the man wanted to turn heroic, far be it from her to interfere. The sheer pleasure of his touch also weighed heavily in his favor, but she hated to admit to herself such a major personal weakness.

Forcing herself to look away from him, since drooling was a very real possibility, she noticed something glinting from his shirt.

“Is that the thing that kept poking me?” she asked.

He started to jerk her foot away from his groin, then caught himself. His cheeks turning red, he frowned up at her. “What are you talking about?”

Fighting a grin, she pointed to his chest and was about to clarify her question, when she realized he was wearing a badge. And a dark blue uniform. Phoebe made a startled sound then shook her head. “Oh, my gosh, you’re a police officer. I can’t believe it.”

He made a strange face. “Me neither,” he answered on a sigh.

She stared, unsure how to respond. Trace McGraw…a police officer? Her mind fundamentally rejected the idea. Though law enforcement was certainly a noble profession, he’d been a wonderful journalist. For Trace to have given up his writing, even if it was to become a cop, just didn’t seem right. Actually it seemed wrong, and made Phoebe sad in a way she hadn’t even felt at her own ruined ambitions. “Why? I thought you were going to become a reporter. You were so good.”

Traced snorted. “And how would you know?” he asked, not bothering to lift his head.

Without thinking, she said, “Because I used to read your column in the school paper, of course.” Phoebe smiled and leaned back on her hands. “I was always excited when the next edition came out. I couldn’t wait to see what you were going to write about next.” She stopped and shrugged. “But even if I’d only read one issue, it would have been enough to recognize your talent.”

“Oh, really?” He looked up, a cocky grin spread across his mouth.

Heat crept over her cheeks. Oh, that was nice. She sounded like an adolescent girl waiting for the next issue of Tiger Beat to hit the stands. “Well, it wasn’t just me. Everyone did. You were constantly uncovering some injustice around campus,” she said, lifting her chin. “Like the time you wrote about that lecherous professor who tried to seduce most of his female students into earning extra credits in his bed.” Phoebe shuddered. “By the way, your story couldn’t have come at a better time for me. I was registered to take his class as soon as we got back from Christmas break.”

Trace’s smile slipped away. “I know.”

Phoebe paused again, brought up short. “You knew?” she asked. “But how? What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “I read your schedule. It slipped out of your purse in the library.”

Phoebe raised her eyebrows and Trace sighed. “It’s not like you didn’t know I made a habit of doing my homework in the library at the same time as you. Anyway, when I saw Professor Eiken’s name on your list, I just about sh—” He broke off, not finishing the crude expression. “I hadn’t really heard much about him until then, but one of my friends was dating a girl who’d been all but raped by the man a week or two before.” Trace’s jaw had hardened and he suddenly seemed to stare at Phoebe as if, well, it didn’t make sense, but he stared at her possessively. As if she were his to protect so that’s what he’d done. But that couldn’t be right.

Trace McGraw was not possessive over women. There were too darn many of them, for one thing. And for another, he didn’t need to be. She doubted that there’d ever been a single female in his entire life who’d willingly left his side without having to be physically shoved along first. Phoebe looked away and rubbed her forehead. Obviously, she’d misread Trace’s expression and he must still get angry when he thought about all the problems that article had created for him. Even after all this time, she could understand why he’d be upset.

With only a semester to go before graduation, Trace had exposed one of the most powerful faculty members on staff and the ensuing scandal had been huge. Professor Eiken had tried to have Trace expelled and almost succeeded. The man had even started a lawsuit against Trace and the university, but dropped it when a shocking number of abuse claims started pouring in.

And Trace had gone through all of that to keep her safe? Phoebe’s pulse fluttered. She was shocked and, well…amazingly flattered. He’d written that article for her. She had no doubt he’d been concerned for the other girls as well, but still…he’d been so generous. And he’d never even told her. Phoebe paused and bit her lip. These were not exactly the actions of a man who’d only been trying to get her into bed. The risk he’d taken spoke of a level of caring that she’d never given Trace credit for. But if he’d cared so much then why had he cheated on her?

Phoebe glanced away, unsure what to believe. Instead she asked, “So why didn’t you stay with it? Reporting, I mean.”

Trace shot her a look. “I did,” he said after a minute, rubbing the back of his neck. “But let’s just say it didn’t exactly turn out as I expected.” At Phoebe’s silence, he grudgingly added, “I got fired. It’s a long story and I’d rather not go into it right now.” He shrugged. “Listen, that platter you were carrying must have broken when you fell. I think you stepped on some glass. There’s not enough light for me to take it out down here.”