Erotica Harem

Please don’t ‘read between the lines’ with my comments. I say what I think free of insinuations. I am a retired martial artist and retired police officer, thus I look at things differently. This is one person’s opinion. Keep writing and always have fun!


Title: A Trace of Love

Chapter: Short Story

Author: J.D. Brown

Plot: A music groupie who goes to a particular bar every night has a one-night stand w/ a member of a hugely popular band but they both fall in love w/ each other. The sex was phenominal for both of them. In the end she gives him the brush off, seemingly to keep him career on track, despite his offer to quit the band and stay w/ her.

Style & Voice: Mostly 3rd person limited via Ophelia.

Referencing: Ok

Scene/Setting: Local bar; street; hotel/motel; back to the bar.

Characterization: Good

Grammar: Overall good w/ some comments.

Just My Personal Opinion: 5,196 Words. Too long for a posting to be reviewed. I suggest you break it up into 2, maybe 3 parts. Unofficially/traditionally 2,000-3,000 words is average. An occasional high-3,000 is ok.
I don't like this story, which probably means I am not your target audience. Since you wrote it I presume you like it and there are many others who will but no story, or product or concept appeals to everyone. There seems to be a lot of 'telling', which reminds me of how I used to write, and sometimes still do. Clearly you put a lot of time into this to bring it to this level. I saw no blips in time-line or progression, if that's the right word. With one or two exceptions it was easy to follow.


A Trace of Love

By Danielle Ravencraft

Ophelia sat in her favorite spot in the entire world;semi-colon correct? I'm not sure. the little bar in the very back of The House of Blues. Usually The House of Blues featured local bands; Same issue. Not sure semi-colon is correct. everything from Soul to Blue Grass. She couldn’t say why she loved it there. It wasn’t the music or the booze or the way reality seemed to evaporate in the dim lighting. But it was, none the less, her heaven.

Today was one of those rare occasions when the venue starred an international band, which meant The House of Blues was packed to the brim. The concert had ended and the throngs of fans made their way to the exit. The bartender winked and handed her another beer. He knew Ophelia by name and always let her linger until they locked up.

Ophelia blinked as the lights brightened. Plastic cups, spilt beverages, straws, napkins, glow sticks, promotional fliers, and the occasional bra littered the floor. A smile inched across her lips. Molten Silk had put on a good show.

Other than the bartender, bouncer, stage crew, and broom boy, The House of Blues was empty and eerie silent. The guys worked quickly, ignoring Ophelia as she nursed the last sip of her drink. The worst part of the day approached; the part where she would have to go home to an empty apartment.

Laughter broke the silence as five men walked out on stage, holding bottles of something alcoholic. “Oi! Is the bar still open?” one of them shouted. The bartender nodded. “Bring us a round over here, mate!”

Ophelia ducked her head, watching the men from the corner of her eye. They were Molten Silk, the band. They looked different in normal lighting, like regular people in ridiculous goth costumes, but she was positive it was really them. Heat rushed to her face and she looked away.

“I’m goin’ for a smoke,” said an unmistakable voice. Ophelia didn’t want to turn around and stare, but she couldn’t help peaking over her shoulder. Trace Curtis, the lead singer, headed for the door with a cigarette bobbing between his lips, lighter ready in his hand. She held her breath as he passed by, just inches behind her.

Trace paused at the door. He turned around and glanced at Ophelia. She looked away, hoping he didn’t notice her staring. It’s not like it matters, she thought. He’s just going to keep right on walking out the door.

“Do I know you?”

Ophelia jumped. She turned and came face to face with Trace Curtis. She shook her head.

He leaned against the bar counter. “Are you sure?”

Ophelia smiled. “I think I would remember if we’d met before.”

Trace wet his lips. “Have a drink with me?”

She looked at her empty beer bottle. “Sure.”

Grinning, Trace snapped his fingers and ordered two more beers. He took a seat and looked Ophelia over, letting his eyes linger just long enough to make her blush. “I could swear I’ve seen you before.”

She shrugged. “Maybe you have. I come here every weekend.” But Trace didn’t look convinced.

“Oi, Trace! We’re going bar hopping, mate! Come on.” If this bar is closed, would all the others be closed, too? Where I come from, bars stay open until the law requires em to close.

Well, that’s the end of that, thought Ophelia.

But Trace didn’t did move, except to wave his band mates away. “You guys go ahead, I’ll meet you back at the hotel later.”

The guys made cat-calls aimed at Ophelia, her cheeks burned scarlet.

“Sorry about them,” Trace mumbled, scowling at his friends as they left. He reached for his beer at the same time Ophelia reached for hers. A tiny shock of static passed between their fingers. Oooooh, nice!Ophelia jumped and glanced at Trace. He scoffed and then moved his fingers so they glided over hers. His skin was warm and callused from years of playing guitar. this sounds like the skin all over his fingers were callused. I'm not a musician but I think it's mostly the fingertips that are callused for those who play stringed instruments. And did u mean his skin was 'warm" or "worn"? His pale blue eyes studied her face. Nice

Ophelia bit her lip, suppressing a laugh. Oh, he’s smooth all right; touching my hand but keeping his eyes above my neckline. As if she didn’t know what he was after.

Trace removed his hand and cleared his throat. “So, are you from around here?”

She shrugged, trying not to burst into giggles. “Close enough.”

He glanced away, looking first at the stage and then at the door. Ophelia winced. He was probably getting bored and wished he’d joined his friends. She shouldn’t have felt hurt. She shouldn’t have cared if he left. He was just one guy. But at the same time, he wasn’t. He was Trace Curtis, lead singer of the internationally famous rock band, Molten Silk. And she had expected him to be a cocky dick. But he wasn’t. He was standing next to her shuffling his feet and blushing at the awkward silence like an average Joe.

At the same time, Trace and Ophelia mumbled what they both thought. To say he thought it is a slip out of Opehlia's POV “You want to get out of here?”

They blinked at each other and Trace chuckled, his voice as lovely and carefree as a child’s. Ophelia laughed and felt herself relax, instantly at ease in Trace’s company.

Trace wet his lips. “Coffee?”

Ophelia wrinkled her nose but then smiled and tried not to blush. “I was thinking more along the lines of … a hotel?”

Trace cocked one eyebrow and did that thing that men do when they really want to smile but they don’t want to admit they’ve been caught; he forced himself to frown and shrug. It made Ophelia giggle.

“Sure,” he said. He helped her off the barstool and opened the door. Impressive, she thought, a rock star with manners.

Outside, Trace waved for a taxi. Ophelia rolled her eyes and continued walking down the street. “Hey, where are you going?”

“Us city girls walk to the Holiday Inn,” she grinned and gestured with her head. “Besides, it’s just down the block.”

He jogged a few steps to catch up and positioned himself between her and the street, walking the edge of the sidewalk. She scoffed and wavered to the right to give him more room. “Do you usually walk alone at this hour?”

She shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

“Do you think it’s safe?”

She grinned and faced him, walking backwards. Oooooh, I LOVE the walking backwards antic. Do it myself in real life. “I’ve lived here my whole life. I know this place like the back of my hand.”

“That doesn’t make it safe.” But Trace was grinning, his voice light.

“It’s okay. I have a big, tough rock star to defend me.”

Trace cocked an eyebrow. “Do I know this person?”

Ophelia laughed and faced forward as they neared the hotel. They both of them? purchased a room and raced each other up the stairs. Ophelia won, but she was certain Trace let her. She didn’t care. She gasped for air and laughed so hard her sides hurt. But her bubbly mood subsided when Trace opened the door.

The room had two beds. Ophelia couldn’t bring herself to ask for one without turning bright red. Trace, much to her surprise, did the gentlemanly thing and asked for two. But Ophelia wasn’t dumb. You didn’t rent a hotel room with a rock star but sleep in separate beds unless … unless Trace was one of those guys who refused to literally sleep with his groupies. Was that how Trace saw Ophelia? As a groupie? She certainly acted like one.

Ophelia swallowed her doubt and entered the room. She sat on the edge of the bed nearest the window. Trace glanced around the plain room and opened the mini refrigerator to survey its contents. “Want a drink?”

She shook her head. Trace took a beer for himself and sat on the edge of the other bed, directly in front of her. Without meaning to, she blurted out, “I’d rather do this sober.”

Trace glanced at the drink and then at her. He wet his lips. “What exactly are we doing?”

She glanced at her hands, folding them in her lap, and whispered. “You know.”

Trace set his beer on the counter, unopened. “Nothing has to happen tonight if you don’t want it to.”

Ophelia winced and hoped she wouldn’t sound pathetic. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Who says I’m leaving? We can just talk, get to know each other a little,” he shrugged.

Ophelia narrowed her eyes. He must be joking. “I don’t understand?”

“What’s to understand? You do talk to people, don’t you?” His tone was light, still teasing her.

Ophelia scowled. “Why are you doing this?”

Trace blinked in confusion. When he spoke, his voice was no longer playful, but deep and serious. “Why am I doing what?”

Ophelia looked him straight in the eyes. “Why, Trace Curtis, lead singer of Molten Silk, are you sitting here talking to me when you could be with any girl in world?”

He was very still for a long time, staring at her through narrow eyes. Just when she thought the whole thing was a stupid mistake, he said, “Is that all I am to you? A famous name?”

Ophelia sighed, her heart breaking at the new direction the night headed. “Trace, we’re strangers. We don’t mean anything to each other.”

“Maybe I had meant to change that. Maybe I wanted to mean something to you,” he mumbled.

Ophelia stared, momentarily shocked. Trace sighed and stood. “I should go.”

Ophelia shot to her feet, grabbed Trace’s shirt with both hands, and yanked him toward her, planting her lips on his mouth.

Trace didn’t miss a beat. He placed one hand on the back of her waist and one behind her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. He held her tight, their lips melding together. His tongue gently parted her mouth a little wider and glided over hers in a slow, circular motion. His breath tasted like cinnamon gum, warm against her lips. No cigarette taste? he is a smoker. Her hands slid along his chest and wrapped around his neck where she ran her fingers through his soft black curls.

His hands slid under her blouse, leaving trails of heat on her skin as they explored every inch of her abs and lower back. He reached up and unhooked her bra. One hand slid under the lace and massaged her breast. A tender, callused thumb traced circles around her nipple until it tightened and puckered under his touch. Damp warmth began to tingle between her legs as his other hand reached down over her jeans and gently squeezed her butt.

Trace deepened their kiss, pressing so hard against her she thought she might fall backward on the bed. Heat burned through her clothes where their bodies touched; his chest, abs, and hips aligned with hers. She felt the bump of his desire through his jeans, pushing against her thigh. Her trembling hands went for the hem of his shirt, but she fumbled, forgetting about his coat.

Trace tore himself away from her and yanked off his jacket, his pale blue eyes never wavering from her brown ones. He crossed his arms and pulled his shirt over his head, letting it land on the floor. Ophelia wet her lips and swallowed as she took in his perfectly chiseled pectorals and abs, right down to the sculpted V of his hips.

She pulled off her top, along with her bra. Pink colored her checks as Trace looked at her, POV slip out of hers. but she refused to hide from him. There wasn’t any point in being shy this far into things. He closed the gap between them and pressed his lips to her forehead while unbuttoning her pants. He got on one knee, kissed her tummy, and pulled her jeans down to her ankles. She stepped out of them, turned and pulled the covers off the bed.

Ophelia slid under the sheets. Smiling, she inclined her head and gestured for him to join her. They lay on their sides, face to face for a moment. Then he smiled and kissed her nose and forehead. Heat burned where ever his lips touched her skin. He placed a hand under her jaw, his thumb gliding over her cheek, and pulled her closed to him, kissing her lips. With each kiss, Trace opened his mouth a little wider, dipped his tongue a little further, and held her a little tighter.

She gently pressed her hands against his shoulders, easing him onto his back. Still exploring his mouth with her tongue, Ophelia let her hand glide over his rock solid chest and abs, over his boxers, into the little flap of the crotch. She found the hard, hot length of his sex and freed it from the confines of his underwear. The huge, pulsating flesh flopped against his tummy. Ophelia glanced at it from the corner of her eye and nearly gasped. She briefly wondered if it would even fit inside her. She stroked it, her fingers trembling at its size. It bobbed against her touch, like a puppy begging to be petted. His skin was so soft, so delicate as it stretched thin over the vein. Trace tilted his head back. A soft moan escaped from his lips.

An idea came to Ophelia, one that made her smirk. She sat up and moved next to his hips. She was about to lean over his sex For me, an older white bi male, I feel since they come this far I prefer to hear real words for a penis rather than 'sex'. I know it's a matter of style, I'm just expressing my feelings. when Trace grabbed her arm. “Wait,” he said while pushing himself up.

Ophelia straightened. “What is it?”

A sheepish grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “I want to be on top.”

Ophelia nodded and lay against the pillows.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked.

She smiled and nodded. “Yes.”

“Close your eyes. No peeking.”

Ophelia snickered but did as he said. “Promise,” she grinned with her eyes closed. She felt the bed bounce slightly as Trace stood and moved about the room. The light behind her eye lids darkened and she knew he’d turned off all the lamps. He joined her on the bed once more, sitting by her side. She had expected a quick entry, but that proved to be not what Trace had in mind. this last phrase reads ruff.

Instead, he took her right hand in his and held it up to his mouth. He pressed tiny kisses against the tips of each of her fingers. Then he kissed the palm of her hand, the underside of her wrist, and her forearm, slowly working his way down to the inside of her elbow. So far most of this story seems to be 'telling' with little 'showing.' Maybe u can add in here some emotions. How does she feel when he's doing all this? Invoke the senses. You're doing good w/ scent. His warm, moist breath tickled her skin as he breathed trails of hot cinnamon along her bicep and shoulder.

She breathed deeply and turned her head away as he reached her collar bone. He kissed her neck and took his time nuzzling, sucking the delicate skin between his teeth, and playfully nipping. His trail of sweet, burning kisses continued down, between her breasts, down over her upper abs and tummy, down to her groin.

She heard him push the sheets completely away from her. His fingers slipped under the straps of her thong and gently pulled it off. He placed both hands under each of her knees and slowly parted her legs. Every fiber of her being was ready for him; she gripped the bed in anticipation. She wanted to open her eyes, to watch as he worked, but she kept them closed as she’d promised, knowing how much better it would feel.

Trace nipped at the spot where her thigh joined her hip, sending a shiver of goose bumps through her body. He pressed his lips sweetly against her sex, instantly filling her with a tingly heat. Ophelia’s eyes fluttered open just slightly. She reached down to push the soft curls of his hair behind his ear. “Trace ….” But Trace only grinned. His head dipped low and she felt the burning heat of his tongue as it entered the core of her body.

Her head fell back against the pillow and she moaned as he rolled his tongue from her vagina to her clit. He repeated the motion until her entire sex was slick with moisture. He turned his focus to her clitoris. He massaged it with the tip of his tongue, suckling every so often, until it hardened into a tight little bud. Her core trembled for attention again. Just when Ophelia thought she would scream, Trace pushed his index and middle finger inside her. They slipped in easily, invading and exploring her sex.

Trace continued to massage and suckle her clit. At the same time, he pumped his arm, slowly at first, but then increased in speed. Ophelia dug her fingernails into the mattress, moaning until she came once, twice, a third time. Is it possible for a woman to climax three times in such a short time?? Trace kept on going. Ophelia trembled under his every touch, almost to the point she thought she might explode. She shuddered so much, she had to gather all her strength just to reach down and pull his face up.

“Trace … I need you inside me.” Um, what about birth control? STDs?

He kissed her thigh, his lips glossed over with moisture. “Not yet, trust me.”

When Ophelia came the fourth time, her eyes rolled back, her torso lifted off the bed, and her hips trembled in overwhelming pleasure. When Trace released her, she fell against the bed and tried to catch her breath. Little spasms continued to ripple through her core, aftershocks reminding her body of the pleasure it had just felt. It's suggested to avoid using 'sense' words like this.

Trace lay by her side, patiently waiting for her to collect herself. He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Do you still want me inside you?”

Ophelia faced him, wide-eyed, chest still heaving. “Oh yes.”

Trace’s grin stretched across his face. He pulled the covers up and positioned his body over hers. She felt the burning heat I think u've used 'burning heat' at least once above. of his flesh poke against her tummy. She glanced at it and gasped. I was even bigger now than it was when she’d pulled it out of his boxers; beat red and throbbing from need. How can she see if he turned out all the lights before? Ophelia tried to prepare herself. She tried to relax her muscles, but she just didn’t think it was possible.

Trace didn’t try to force himself. He kissed her neck and gently messaged her breasts until all the tension melted away, replaced by a familiar warm tingle. Trace pushed his sex inside her a little bit at a time until, finally, she somehow stretched enough to take in all of him. He pulled out and this time, his entire length slick with her moisture, he drove all of it into her core at once. Ophelia gasped, feeling the most heavenly pain a woman could ever know. He filled her completely, the connection whole, perfect, like two puzzle pieces meant to fit together. She dug her fingernails into his back, drawing blood, WOW, that is severe, and so fast. Did she feel the blood? How did she knew she made him bleed? but he never flinched.

Somehow, it wasn’t enough. Ophelia wanted more, wanted him deeper. She mumbled this into his ear. He lifted her into his thick, capable arms, crawled to the head of the bed, and rose to his knees. Her back pressed against the cold headboard. He hooked one arm under her knee and pulled her leg up until her toes pointed to the ceiling. He pumped hard, making sure every inch of himself entered her body with each thrust.

Soon their skin dripped with sweat, gleamed silver in the moonlight filtering through the window. Ophelia and Trace had sex until the sun rose. Did they have intercourse all that time with him inside of her or ????? Either way, a pretty long time, altho I don't know the hour they started. At some point, Trace took Ophelia’s hand and held it against his chest, directly above his heart. He fell asleep, holding her hand there.

But Ophelia wouldn’t let herself rest. Somehow, at some point while they were supposed to be having casual sex, Ophelia fell in love with Trace Curtis. She knew it. She recognized it. But she couldn’t allow it. Well, as an older male, I don't believe in love happening in a few hours.

What did she expect him to do, stay in the city with her? Have a real relationship? Marry her? No. Trace Curtis would get on his tour bus, go to the next venue, perform another show, and have sex with another woman. There would always be an endless supply of willing ladies for Trace Curtis, even if there was never another man for Ophelia. Trace would easily forget about her.

With a heavy heart, Ophelia slid her hand out of his and gently left the bed. She dressed quickly, in silence. She grabbed her shoes and tip-toed out of the hotel room, away from Trace.

***

When Trace awoke later that day, he was shocked to find himself alone in the room. He cursed himself. Of course she would assume it was a one-night stand. He hadn’t asked her for phone number or anything that would suggest otherwise.

He hadn’t meant to have sex with her. He only wanted to get know her, to understand the strange attraction that pulled him to her. But when they kissed, his heart melted and suddenly he couldn’t get enough. Even when he was deep inside her core, nothing he did felt sufficient.

He’d shared his bed with plenty of women in the past, but none of them made him feel the way she did; that sweet, frail girl whose voice rung when she laughed, whose skin smelled like honey dew melon. An urge rose from his chest, one so overwhelming it suffocated him. He wanted to be with her always. He wanted hold her close and protect her, to be the only one to touch her, to love her.

Love.

Yes, that was it. Love. Trace loved her. The realization sent his hand clawing at his chest. He had to find her. In a panic, he dressed and flew out of the hotel room. He almost forgot to check-out at the desk. Once outside, he realized he didn’t know where to begin looking for her. Hell, he didn’t even know her name. Great, Trace. This is just great.

His only hope was The House of Blues, where they’d met. He flagged down a taxi and was back at the venue in less than five minutes. The front entrance was closed, but he knew they’d let him in the back door. Inside, the sound check crew tuned the instruments and the bar tender wiped down beer mugs with a cloth.

Trace rushed to the old man. “Have you seen the girl who left with me last night?”

The bartender shook his head. “Ophelia usually doesn’t get here ‘till late.”

“Ophelia?” Trace could almost taste her name as it rolled off his tongue. Ophelia. It left a rich, sweet sensation in his senses, like chocolate. “Do you know where she lives?”

The bartender shook his head. “I don’t know anything about her, except that she’s my best customer. Comes in every night.”

Trace nodded and thanked God that Molten Silk had one more show before they left the city. He could wait for her to come to him.

***

That night, Trace sat alone at the bar in the very back of The House of Blues. The concert was long over. The instruments were towed away in the tour bus where his band mates waited.

During the show, Trace spent every second on stage scanning the crowd for Ophelia. Every time he thought he saw her, it turned out to be someone else; a groupie flashing him, or guy trying to high-five him. The later it got the more panic set in his chest until Trace had to face the truth. She hadn’t come back.

“Excuse me, Mr. Curtis, but we have to lock up for the night,” said the venue’s bouncer. Trace nodded and rose from his seat. He walked to the door, his movements stiff, robotic. Outside, the chill in the air froze his heart. He’d lost her.

He started toward the bus and was almost inside when he heard a voice.

“Trace?”

A smile inched across his face. He turned and there she was, standing in the shadows just inside an alley. He jogged over and stood before her, but he didn’t know what to say or do after that. Hug her? Kiss her? Shake her hand? He wet his lips. “Ophelia.”

She glanced at him, her eyes wide and dazzling in the dimness. “You know my name?”

“I asked the bartender.”

“Oh.”

Trace ran his fingers through his hair. He really wanted to tangle them in hers. “Listen, Ophelia --”

“I almost didn’t come here tonight,” she blurted out. “But … I couldn’t stay away.” She glanced at her hands. “God, this must sound so stupid to you.”

Trace scowled. She thought coming back to him was stupid? She really had no idea. He cupped her face in his hands and pressed his lips against hers. Her lips were so soft and warm. The yearning to hold her tighter, kiss her harder, retuned with a force that left him weak in the knees.

***

Tears rose to Ophelia’s eyes and threatened to spill. She pushed Trace away, but he held her tighter. His expression turned guarded. “Ophelia, what’s wrong?”

“Trace, please. I only came here to say good-bye. It didn’t feel right, walking out on you at the hotel.”

His lips pressed into a thin line as he searched her face. “What do you mean ‘good-bye’? Where are you going?”

Was he joking? She gestured to the tour bus behind him. “You are the one who’s leaving.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the bus and then wet his lips. “No, I’m not. I won’t. Not without you.”

She shook her head, not understanding. “You’re … not leaving the city?”

He took a deep breath and held her hands a little too tight. “I can’t. I thought I lost you, Ophelia. But I won’t make that mistake again.”

The buss’ horn sounded followed by shouts from his band mates. Clearly he was supposed to go somewhere. “I don’t understand. Your band --”

“Damn it, Ophelia, forget the band. I love you.” His eyes widened and he whispered, “I love you,” as if he couldn’t believe he said it the first time.

This was a nightmare. Ophelia knew she’d regret coming here. Trace only made this harder. She would have to be the bad guy and push him away, no matter how much it hurt. “What are you going to do, quit the band? Stay in the city with me?”

“You could come with me.”

She scoffed. “Typical male, assuming the woman will make all the sacrifices. I have a life, Trace. My home, my family, my career is here in the city. Your career is on that bus.”

Trace scanned the ground between them as though he could find answers on the grimy sidewalk. “I can stay here, with you.”

“No, Trace. You don’t know me at all. If you throw away your life for one night of sex--”

“It wasn’t just sex for me, Ophelia, it was …,” he shouted but stopped himself and lowered his voice. “It was more than that. From the moment I saw you, something was different.” He wet his lips and looked her in eyes. “I know you feel the same way about me.”

Ophelia glanced away. “No. I don’t.”

“I don’t believe you. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel anything for me.”

Tears flowed down her cheeks. She took a deep breath, drew all the courage she could, and faced the man she loved. She had to do this for him. She owed him that much. “Trace, I don’t have any feelings for you. It was just sex.”

He scowled and his hands dropped to his sides. Nodding, he turned his back to her and walked toward the bus. Ophelia hugged herself and started walking in the opposite direction.

“Wait!”

Ophelia glanced over her shoulder as Trace jogged to catch up. “I only went to the bus the get my cell phone.”

Exasperated, Ophelia whipped the tears from her cheeks and scolded. “I thought I told you to --”

“Ophelia, you’re a horrible liar,” he grinned. “I just want your number, okay?”

“My number?”

Trace nodded. “I get it. You think this can’t be real because we’ve only just met. But I refuse to lose you knowing that you do have feelings for me, even if you won’t admit it to yourself. So … I’ll call you from the road. We’ll get to know each other.”

“You don’t give up, do you?” she murmured.

He held out his phone. “I won’t lose you again, Ophelia. I promise you that.”

She took it and punched in her number. Trace hit a few more keys and then stashed the phone in his coat’s breast pocket. “I’ll keep you with me always.”

Ophelia managed a weak smile. “Good-bye, Trace Curtis.”

He shook his head. “I’ll talk to you later, Ophelia.”

She nodded and continued down the street, away from Trace.

***

Molten Silk had only been on the road for three hours, but Trace couldn’t wait. He made sure all the guys were asleep and the door to the cockpit was shut tight. Then he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Ophelia’s number. The click of an automated phone operator sounded on the other end.

The number you have dialed has been disconnected. Please hang up try your call again.

Trace stared at the phone, his jaw slack in disbelief. His tensed until he thought every bone in his body would snap. Like the release of a taunt sling shot, he slammed the cell phone against the floor. But it was his heart that shattered.