“No.”

“Well, neither do I.” A weight lifted when he didn’t press the issue, but then the perfect answer came to me. “Trace?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe things aren’t as enigmatic as they seem. Maybe we both just had a visceral reaction and…and there’s no mystery about it. Maybe it just is.”

He squinted as if I’d just sprouted feathers. “Care to say that in English?”

I blinked. Two heartbeats later, I said, “Some things are instinctual. Like gut reactions? But then other things are more complicated.” I dipped my head, brushed my bangs away. “Like this conversation.” His granite expression softened. Encouraged, I kept on. “Since I heard you were getting out, I’ve worried about things like where and how to approach you…and what to say…and what you’d think if I—you know, how you might react when we….” I tossed a hand. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“Some.”

Some. Amazing how one simple word could lighten a burden. “To be honest, you blindsided me this morning,” I said, picking at the hole in my jeans. “And when you started running, I thought….”

He eased forward. “Yeah?”

“I thought you wanted to hurt me.” I lowered my eyes again. “But then I understood. You would’ve pushed me out of the way had you been closer.”

“That was the plan.”

“Right. So, I started thinking that maybe I should offer an olive branch. You know, considering all we’ve—”

He cocked a brow. “An olive branch, huh?”

“Yes.”

Trace’s eyes flickered with a chilling combination of veiled amusement and…contempt? “Don’t you think it’s a little late for olive branches?”

Whatever relief I felt vanished. Something had just gone horribly wrong.

“Oh, before I forget.” He snagged a magazine from his pillowcase, and tossed it on my lap. His cool gaze slid to the three-carat solitaire winking on my ring finger, then raked up my arm to rest on my face. “Congratulations.” When I eyed the tabloid in distaste, he said, “Turn to page seven.”

I feigned indifference. That is, until I found the article. By the time I’d finished reading it, my stomach was in tatters. With a circulation in the gazillions, the filthy rag went all over the country, and it was as accurate as a mood ring.

“I don’t know where this vulgar woman gets her sordid ideas,” I said, pitching the disgusting paper aside. “But I am not, nor have I ever been a ‘swinger.’ As for the ridiculous sadomasochism garbage—”

“I kinda knew that already. What about the engagement?”

“Uh….” I didn’t have to apologize for my choices, yet for some reason, I needed to explain. “He’s my fiancé, but I’m not throwing an engagement party now or in the future.”

“Isn’t he nearly twice your age?”

My jaw tightened. “That’s none of your business.”

“All right,” he said with ease, but he’d judged me. “So let’s get back to those olive branches.”

My voice quavered. “Do you plan on making Temptation your home?”

“It’s always been my home, Shannon.”

“I know that. All I meant was—” My left brow trembled. Stitches of pain followed. “Why are you making this difficult? I’m just trying to bridge the gap between us.”

He rubbed his ribs. “See, that’s the thing.” A muscle in his jaw flexed. “You’re wearing yourself out for nothing. We don’t have to bridge any gaps. Stuff is just fine the way it is.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Look….” His pause was as pregnant as they come. “I’m grateful for what you did back there, but the best thing we can do is get on with our lives and leave each other alone.”

“We’ll never resolve anything that way.”

“Who says we have to? I hate to be blunt, but just being with you brings back a bunch of stuff I’d rather forget.”

“That’s the problem. I’ve forgotten too much.” I sighed. “These are the facts. Mother is dead, I testified, and you went to prison. Let’s deal with it.”

His face sobered in degrees. The body armor went on next.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean—”

He raked his fingers through his damp hair. “Talking’s not gonna make a bit ‘a difference.”

“Why did you come with me then?”

“Why else?” He rested an ankle on his knee. “You practically begged—” He paused mid-sentence, like an epiphany had struck him. “Aw, hell.” Laughter danced in his eyes. “Why didn’t I see it before? This is nothin’ but a guilt trip.”

“What?”

“Guilt.” The smile he flashed didn’t have a trace of humor in it. “Everything you did back there. The threats to the Grays. This little powwow. It was all part of a plan, wasn’t it? I wouldn’t be surprised if Eddie was in on it.” He nodded to himself as if he were putting puzzle pieces together. “First Icky conveniently shows up to get me, and now here we are. Damn. This scheme y’all cooked up was brilliant.” He glared at me. “So who’s the mastermind? Couldn’t be Eddie. He’s too stupid.”

All pretense of civility vanished. “You’re not serious.”

“As the grave, baby doll.”

My back hit the seat. The man was insane. “Okay, you’re right. We staged the accident and I used my magic powers to lure you there,” I said, wiggling my fingers. “And the incident with the cab? That was me too. I even paid my godfather’s psychotic son to beat you up, just so I could come to your rescue.”

“Go ahead and poke fun, but Icky already admitted he brought me to the plaza on purpose. He knew you’d be there.”

I rolled my eyes. “I had nothing to do with this nonsense.”

“So I’m just having a bad day.”

“Exactly.”

“And Cholly?” He eased back, folded his arms. “I s’pose you’re in the dark about that too. Folks are talking boycotts. He’s had permit delays for the club he wants to open in New Dyer. And none of the local contractors will touch him. All ‘cause of me. Hell, it’s this whole piss-ass town. I knew when I got out folks would be up in arms, but this…this is unreal.”

That shut me up. Trace was persona non grata everywhere, and unfortunately, by association, his friend Cholly had been made a target. In the past, I’d reached out to Cholly because I’d sold him the commercial building—formerly The Playroom nightclub—but it was obvious he hated me. He’d made the transaction as unpleasant as possible.

“If you’re after a clear conscience,” Trace said, “go elsewhere. Today’s performance didn’t change my mind.”

“You’d be in jail if not for me. Now you have the gall to—”

“Say you were putting on a show?”

I straightened. “It wasn’t a show.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I have nothing to feel guilty about.” But I did feel guilty, real guilty.

“You’re right,” he said with a frosty smile. “Everybody knows you’re as blameless as baby Jesus. I mean, look at that fancy billboard of yours. What’d it say?” He tapped a finger to his swollen lips. “Oh, yeah. ‘Shannon Bradford: a name you can trust.’” He snorted. “What a load a bull.”

“You’re obviously beyond the point of reason.”

“You just figuring that out?” He studied me as if I were a puzzle and his mouth slid into a bitter smile. “Hell, maybe I was wrong. Maybe it’s not about guilt, and you’re just clueless.”

“No, you’re the expert in that area.”

Unfazed, he tilted his head and his eyes narrowed. “I’ll bet you’re one of those bleeding hearts. You prob’ly believe in prison reform too.” He laughed. “Think I’ve forsaken my murdering ways? Yeah, you wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“What are you talking about?”

He tooled his gaze around the limo. “Alone in the back of this fancy ride with a certified lady-killer. You’re not worried?”

Of course I was, but I’d be damned before I’d admit it. “If you’re trying to frighten me, it’s not working.”

“You sure?” His sharp eyes held me. “All those years in Gainstown could’ve made the Butcher Boy even crazier. Maybe he’s just been biding his time ‘til he could settle a score.”

He wanted to scare me. Wanted me to believe in the monster the town had created, but it was a ruse. The monster was actually a wizard trying to distract me from the man behind the curtain. And that just made me angrier.