Harlequin Superromance March 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: The Secrets of Her Past\A Real Live Hero\In Her Corner (41 page)

“No problem. I'll be there in a minute.” Miranda clicked off and Delainey had no choice but to wait. Within five minutes Miranda was there to pick her up. Delaine took one final look around the area, not having a clue where Trace had gone, and reluctantly climbed into the car. As they drove back to Miranda's place, Miranda asked, “What happened? Trace just up and left you there? Did you try calling him?”

“He doesn't want to talk to me right now,” Delainey answered sullenly. “He probably walked over to the Rusty Anchor to cool off, and I figured I ought to give him the space.”

“Sounds serious. Was it about my parents?” Miranda guessed. Delainey nodded and Miranda sighed. “I'm sorry. It's bad timing with your production, isn't it? I couldn't hold off any longer. Delainey, if you could see how my mom is living, you would agree with me. She's sleeping in the bathtub, for crying out loud—that's how bad it is. She's going to die in that house and my dad, well, all I can say is, he's not doing anything to help her.”

“It's okay, I understand.”

“I didn't mean to cause problems for you and Trace, especially when things seemed to be going so well.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Well, just that you two seemed to have been catching up on lost time.”

“It's not like that,” Delainey hedged, uncomfortable with what Miranda was implying. It was one thing not to care what strangers thought of her and Trace hanging out with each other, but she didn't want Miranda to get hurt by hoping something was building when it wasn't. “We're not dating again and I don't want to give off that impression. I mean, not to be crass, but we're just enjoying a sexual convenience.”

“Oh.” Miranda drew back in surprise. “Does...Trace know this?” she asked.

“Of course. We both know this is temporary.” But the fact that Miranda seemed unsure made Delainey extremely worried. What if Trace wanted more? What if he thought they were going to work things out and she was going to become his little woman, just as he'd wanted eight years ago? The truth was, she didn't find the idea of being Trace's woman distasteful—not in the least—but he'd already shot down her invitation to return with her to Los Angeles, and she sure as hell wasn't going to stay in Alaska. So a future together...just wasn't in the cards.

Just as it wasn't in the cards eight years ago.

But a secret part of her had hoped,
that maybe,
this time would be different.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

T
RACE
RECEIVED
A
TEXT
from his sister saying Delainey was at her place, and he realized he couldn't avoid the conversation with Delainey for much longer. He'd stormed out of Harpies like a petulant child and he was ashamed of his knee-jerk reaction, but he'd be a liar if he didn't admit that he was still a bit angry.

She could dress up the facts as much as she'd like, but the glaring truth was that her first priority had been the production and nothing else. That hurt. He supposed he'd been hoping that she'd changed and maybe they had a future together, but it was plain naive of him to hold on to that hope now.

He texted his sister, “On my way,” and climbed into his truck.

Trace arrived at Miranda's and, after a short knock, walked into her house. Immediately, Talen ran to him and tackled him. The boy's open glee warmed his heart, and he knew he needed to start spending more time with him before it was too late to be of influence. Talen's father had been a no-good piece of crap, but at least Johnny had had the decency to die in prison before Talen was born. Miranda had done an admirable job of being a single mother, but Trace was glad that she had Jeremiah now to help out because there were some things that women simply did not understand, no matter how cool they were.

Such as armpit farts.

“Have you been practicing?” he asked his nephew solemnly, and Talen broke into a delighted grin before proceeding to make all sorts of disgusting noises with his cupped hand and armpit. He laughed and high-fived the boy. “Excellent. Your mom never could master that skill,” he said conspiratorially with a sideways glance at Miranda, who rolled her eyes.

“That's because I never wanted to,” she retorted, ruffling Talen's hair and sending him off to bathe before bed. “It's way past his bedtime, but he wanted to see Uncle Trace. So if he has a hard time getting up in the morning, I will squarely blame you.”

Trace made a mock salute to Miranda and then realized Jeremiah wasn't home. “Where's the squeeze?” he asked, teasing his sister because of her former staunch refusal to date in any way. She changed her tune when Jeremiah came around—thank God. He was tired of bloodying people's noses for making unkind remarks about her, ahem, activities.

“Jeremiah had to go to Anchorage for a training summit. He'll be back tomorrow.”

“Good. Doesn't he know you're not trustworthy on your own for too long?”

Miranda swatted at Trace but otherwise let the snarky comment slide. That was the thing with brothers and sisters—they knew too much about each other's lives and never failed to tease you with the information later. Delainey came around the corner and leaned against the wall, regarding him with a wariness that he mirrored. “Are you ready to go?” he asked. He wasn't going to waste time asking if she wanted to stay with him because they both knew she would.

“I'll get my purse,” she murmured and disappeared.

He exhaled a short breath and Miranda chuckled. “It's not actually funny,” he said, scowling.

“From this side of the argument it is.”

“Yeah, well, keep your chuckles to yourself,” he said.

“Such a grouch. Don't be so hard on her. She's trying to make something you both can be proud of.”

He shook his head, not wanting to get into it. He didn't agree that Delainey's motivation was purely grounded in such magnanimous soil, but he wasn't about to defend his feelings to his sister, particularly when she regarded the whole thing as one big chuckle-fest. “Thanks for picking her up,” he said.

“Sure. You're lucky Delainey isn't more like me,” she said.

Trace frowned. “Why's that?”

“Because I'd have taken the truck and left your sorry ass walking home.” She grinned. Funny thing was, Trace believed her. He supposed he
was
lucky. Delainey reappeared and she hugged Miranda briefly. “Don't let this big lug get under your skin. You do what you think is right. You always have, and you know what? Who's to say you were wrong?”

Trace glowered at his sister for her asinine advice and ushered Delainey into the truck. Delainey had plenty of sidewise thoughts in her head. He didn't need Miranda adding more.

“I'm sorry I stormed off,” he said, once they'd returned to the house. The ride home had been excruciatingly silent, and by the time they'd arrived at the house, Trace had realized the conversation needed to start on his end with an apology. “I don't know what came over me, but I reacted badly. I just want you to know I'm sorry.”

She nodded and folded her clothes before climbing into bed. He waited but she flipped on her side and gave him her back. He frowned. “Don't you feel compelled to add something of your own?” he asked.

She turned. “Did you offer a legitimate apology or did you make a strategic apology in the hopes that I would offer one, as well?”

“Well, yeah, I guess I hoped you would feel sorry, too.”

“I don't.” She returned to her side, adding over her shoulder, “Good night.”

He stared at her slim back and fought the urge to start yelling all over again.
Delainey Clarke, you are the most aggravating, singularly stubborn woman I've ever known.
He grabbed his pillow and muttered, “I'm taking the couch.”

She muttered, “Good idea.”

And he realized that's exactly what she'd wanted all along. He shook his head, realizing he'd just been manipulated. He sighed and got settled, preparing for a long and restless night.
Well played, you little vixen. Well played.

* * *

D
ELAINEY
WAS
LIVID
. And hurt. But mostly livid. How dare he try to manipulate her into some half-baked apology when he was the one who'd stormed off like a teenage boy who'd been scolded. Miranda was right—she didn't need Trace chastising her for chasing her dreams and being protective of her ambition.

The fact that he never—not once—had ever supported her ambition was something that stuck in her side like a thorn. She didn't need his approval for anything she did in her life. He was bananas if he thought just because she enjoyed sex with him she would be willing to sacrifice everything she'd ever wanted.

If he had any idea how hard she'd worked for this opportunity to shine, he'd never dream of asking her to put it on the back burner for anything or anyone. Had she ever asked him to walk away from his dream just because it didn't gel with her idea of what a boyfriend or partner should be? His job took him away for weeks at a time. How was that conducive to a stable relationship by his standards? Simply put, because he expected her to stay in the home and tend the hearth like a good little woman should.

She gritted her teeth and suffered a red-hot streak of pissed-off ire. Who did he think he was? She'd actually bought into his little scolding tirade, and that made her doubly angry. So angry in fact that she couldn't lie there and quietly simmer. She threw the blankets off and stalked into the living room, where Trace was tossing and fidgeting on the uncomfortable sofa. “Where do you get off judging me for my choices when you've never once taken responsibility for your part in my leaving?” she demanded, crossing her arms with a glare.

“Me? What the hell are you talking about?
I asked you to marry me!
How was I supposed to know that was some kind of unforgivable sin in your book? I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you!” he shouted while flinging aside his blankets to stand. “You want me to take responsibility for you bailing on every single person who ever cared about you so you don't have to take the heat? Forget it, honey. Deal with it. You bailed. Not the other way around.”

“I bailed because you never took me seriously and I knew if I had stayed, I was looking at eating everything I'd ever wanted! Yes, my first thought was of the production when you told me about your parents, because that's my life you're messing with, too. I already told you everything is on the line for me, but somehow that seems to fade into the ether with you because you don't value what I do and you
never have.
”

“Why does your dream have to come at the expense of everyone else in your life? For crying out loud, Laney, you even cut off your friggin' brother when you split. You didn't have to burn every bridge just to make your dreams come true, but somehow you thought you had to set fire to everything in order to succeed. And yet you refuse to apologize for hurting people when you went.”

She blinked back tears of frustration. “You don't understand and you never will. I know I hurt people, but if I'd left a path open to myself I would've known in the back of my mind that I had a plan B. I didn't want a plan B! I wanted to make sure that I had no option but to succeed at what I wanted to do. You couldn't possibly understand what it's like to fear failure so much that you would literally force yourself into cutting off your support system so that you had to rely only on yourself, because you've never been plagued by insecurity. You've always enjoyed the freedom of knowing that you were the best at what you do. I've never had that luxury.”

“Being the best at what you do for your career doesn't guarantee happiness,” Trace said. “Being the best didn't help me find Simone in time, did it? Sometimes being the best brings its own pitfalls, and I would never want to face them alone. You say I never faced insecurity? Wrong. When you left, I'd never been so insecure in my life. And for the first time ever, I felt completely alone and abandoned. You didn't give me a chance to support you in your dreams. You assumed a hell of a lot when you split. You could've given me the courtesy of failing you on my own before assuming I would.”

She swallowed. “I...” She didn't know what to say to that. She had made assumptions and she hadn't given him a fair shot because her fear had eclipsed any good sense or reason she might've had.

Trace jerked the blanket back over him and turned away from her, finished with the conversation.

“Trace—”

“Just go to bed.”

Left with only the ash of her anger, she returned to the bedroom and climbed beneath the blankets. It killed her to realize that Trace had been right in one respect. An explanation and an apology were way overdue. He wasn't asking her to apologize for chasing her dreams, only for the method in which she'd done it. To that end, she probably owed quite a few people apologies.

A tear squeezed out of the corner of her eye and she buried her face in the pillow, but there was no escaping the emptiness echoing in her heart.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

M
ORNING
CAME
BUT
no resolution to the turmoil between Trace and Delainey seemed forthcoming. Both were still stiff with resentment and hurt feelings, so much so that neither said a word to the other as they went through the motions of getting ready for the morning call.

Trace hadn't slept well. His old sofa wasn't meant for sleeping. Hell, it was barely suitable for sitting. But he'd be damned if he was going to be crawling into the bed beside Delainey after everything that had been said. But even as he was still angry and hurt, he couldn't help but think of everything that she'd proclaimed. She accused him of never believing in her dreams and for discounting her ambition. Had he done that? If he were being brutally honest, he would have to admit that there might've been some truth to that accusation. It wasn't that he didn't want her to chase her dreams. He just didn't understand why her dreams had to take her so far away. He couldn't understand how she could so easily leave him if she loved him as she professed. Maybe she had a different idea of love than he did, because he couldn't have imagined a life without Delainey by his side.

He wanted to see her succeed, but did it have to come at the expense of everyone else? He didn't understand why she was so driven to return to a place that she claimed was not a nice place. Warm weather filled with crappy people wasn't a big draw for him. But for whatever reasons, she was dead set on returning. That meant he was in the same place he was eight years ago—left behind.

Trace walked into the bedroom and found Delainey exiting the shower. Her skin glistened from the moisture as she wrapped a towel around her and his groin immediately tightened with awareness in spite of the tension between them. She cut him a short glance but otherwise ignored him. Even as angry as he was, the sight of her near-nude body had an effect on him. He forced himself to look away. The worst thing he could do right now was to confuse the situation with more sex. “I didn't mean to squelch your dreams,” he started. She regarded him warily, and he said, “I just didn't understand how much they meant to you. If I'd known, I would have stood by you.”

“Don't you think it means something that it didn't even occur to you?” she asked. “The fact is, you are who you are and I am who I am. And as much as we are attracted to one another, we're not meant to be together.”

“Maybe.” He hated the possibility, but he had to admit there was some truth to it. “But if we're not meant to be together, why are we so attracted to one another? And I'm not just talking about a physical attraction, Delainey. When I'm around you I feel whole, and when you're gone I feel half a man. You know I don't necessarily believe in all that ‘soul mate' stuff, but all I can go off of is how I feel when I'm with you. I know when you leave it will hurt as much as it hurt the first time, and I should cut you loose now. But I can't bring myself to do that. I want to squeeze every last moment with you until there are none left. But how do you feel? Am I alone in this? Are you just doing time with me while you're here?”

“No, of course not,” she cried, clearly distressed. “Everything in my life is complicated—except how I feel about you. You are the one thing in my life that always made sense. I love you, Trace, and I always will.” Her eyes filled with tears. “But I guess my dream is bigger than the love I feel, because I can't imagine giving it up, not even for you. I just can't. And I might grow to regret this and I might end up hating the decision I'm making right now, but I can't bring myself to give up.”

“I don't want you to give up. One of the things that I've always loved about you is your determination. You are one of the fiercest people I've ever known. I would never ask you to sacrifice that quality in yourself for me. But I can't change who I am in the hopes of keeping your love, because in the end it would destroy the very things you love about me.”

The corners of her mouth lifted in a sad smile as she said, “We're a pair to draw to, aren't we? I wish it were simple and I wish the answer were neat and tidy. If I were another kind of person, I would gladly spend my life with you. You're good and kind and solid. Any woman would be lucky to have you by her side.”

“If you were another kind of person, I wouldn't want you. You've always been perfect for me. So, what's the answer? Do we carry an undying flame for one another for the rest of our lives but move on with other people? Or do we try to squelch our feelings and try to forget what we once had?”

She grimaced and he knew that she found the idea as distasteful as he did, but what choice did they have? “I don't know what the answer is,” she admitted, feeling trapped by their circumstances. “Do we have to figure it out today?” she implored. “Can't we just keep doing what we're doing until it's time for me to leave?”

“We can, but how much damage are we going to do to each other in the meantime?”

She closed her eyes as if trying to hold back tears, and he went to her without hesitation. “I want to be the kind of woman you deserve,” she said against his chest. “Dreams of you and our time together was all that kept me going for the longest time. At my lowest point, I imagined you by my side, cheering me on, and it gave me the strength to climb back to my feet even if you were never actually there.”

“You are always in my heart, no matter how many miles are between us.”

They held each other for a long moment, allowing the silence to fill the space between them until they ran out of time and needed to get ready. Trace's heart felt heavy in his chest and he knew it would only get worse, but he couldn't let her go, not yet. There was no help for it. He was, and likely would always remain, helplessly in love with Delainey Clarke.

* * *

D
ELAINEY
NEEDED
the distraction of work to keep her from weeping. Why couldn't she have been a different kind of person, the kind of woman who could happily be a wife and mother as so many of her friends from school had? It wasn't that she didn't want to be a wife or mother. It was that she couldn't fathom being any of those things without reaching that pinnacle of success first. What kind of example would she be to her children if she could not follow her dreams? How could she teach them to reach for the stars when she had been content with only staring at them? She used to daydream about what she and Trace's children might look like, until she realized she couldn't stay and he wouldn't go. Now the thought of children was like a sharp pain to her heart. She quickly realized the best way to prevent heartache was to avoid the fancies of her youth.

They had only a few more days of shooting left before she could leave Alaska. She needed to focus on the production because there was no money in the budget for pickup shots later. Today they would spend most of the day shooting with the little girl, and Delainey welcomed the break from Trace's footage. She would go with Trevor to shoot the reenactment scenes while Scott would shoot the remaining footage with Trace. The break would give Delainey some breathing room. Right now her head and her heart were competing for her attention, and she couldn't think straight any longer.

Seconds before they were ready to walk out the front door, she turned to Trace and said, “I'm sorry for putting the production's concerns ahead of yours with your parents. You do what is right and I'll deal with whatever aftermath might happen. Your mom's safety is most important, and I'm sorry that I didn't see that first.”

The warmth in his slow smile told her he appreciated her gesture, and he bent down to seal his mouth to hers in a searing kiss that made her knees wobble. She clung to him as if afraid to let go, and for a long moment it was only her and him in the entire world. But soon enough reality intruded and he reluctantly let go. “Thank you,” he said and slipped his hand into hers.

Nothing felt more natural than the two of them leaving for work together.

She purposefully ignored the knowledge that it was an illusion.

When they arrived on location, the crew was already there, sipping coffee to warm up as well as wake up, and the little girl hired to play Clarissa Errington was laughing with Scott as he showed her coin tricks while they waited. If any of the crew noticed that Trace and Delainey always arrived and left together, they wisely kept their opinions and their ribbing to themselves. Delainey spent ten minutes going over the shot list with Scott, and then after a brief introduction to the little girl, whose real name was Molly, Delainey and her crew set off to start shooting the reenactment scenes.

They'd managed an hour into shooting when Trevor started giving her a hard time during a short break so Molly could use the bathroom. “Are you going to pack your man-toy into your suitcase on the flight home?” he asked, and Delainey cast him an irritated glance.

“I'm just saying, you seem attached at the hip. Didn't know if you'd be able to leave him behind.”

“First, it's none of your business, and second, refer to the first. How's the light?” she asked, redirecting the conversation. “I was a little worried that her face would be in shadow with all the trees.”

“Suddenly you don't trust me to adjust for lighting?” Trevor asked, tsking. Then he said, “You know, he's really not your type.”

She stopped writing notes to herself for the editing later and glared at him. “And what do you know about my type?” she asked.

“He's too rugged and manly. You need a man you can push around. Strong women don't need a strong man. It creates a power conflict. You need someone who doesn't care about the power but is turned on by strong women. Like me,” he added, shocking her. She stared, unsure of what to say. How'd she miss the signs that Trevor had a thing for her?

“Trevor...I don't know what to say...”

He mistook her awkwardness for something else and grinned. “Baby, you and me are a natural foregone conclusion, and don't say you didn't think of it, too. Why else do you always pick me for your projects?” he pointed out.

Oh, good grief. The reason she always picked him was because he was the best. Definitely not because she was attracted to him. “Listen, hold up. Before you start spouting poetry and bringing me flowers, I have to set you straight. You and I are not a foregone conclusion no matter what signs you thought I was throwing out. We work together and that's it. Sorry.”

“Oh.” He actually looked dejected, and Delainey felt compelled to pat him awkwardly on the shoulder.

“You're a good camera guy and I appreciate the quality of your work. I hope this doesn't change our working relationship.”

“Yeah, sure. It's cool,” Trevor said stiffly, recovering some of his swagger. “There are plenty of fish in the sea, you know? It's not going to ruin my day that you're not digging me in the same way.”

“Glad to hear it,” she said, happy to be done with that conversation. But as she thought about it, she couldn't help but ask, “Out of curiosity, why do you think that I would want a man weaker than me?” That just went against her entire upbringing. Men were supposed to be the strong ones. “Just because a woman is strong doesn't mean she has to have a weak man to balance out the dynamic.”

“Wrong. It's like having two magnets of the same polarity—they repel each other.”

“No. People aren't magnets,” she said firmly. “Besides, your theory as it applies to me is flawed. Weak men disgust me. I need a strong man who can be my equal, not some weakling who will let me push him around.”

“Maybe
weak
wasn't the right word, because I'm not a weak guy. But you need someone who isn't threatened by the idea of a woman running the show. I like when a woman takes control. It's sexy as hell. This is why I date older women in power positions. They know what they want and they take it. Especially in the bedroom.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Delainey grimaced. “C'mon, don't tell me that you don't like to take control for a little cowgirl action? I bet you're—”

“Stop,” Delainey said, instantly covering her ears with her hands. “This conversation just got really inappropriate. Thank you for answering my question, but I'm your boss and I don't want to get busted for sexual harassment.” She saw Molly and realized with relief they could get back to shooting. “Molly's ready. Set up for shot fourteen and please watch the shadows. I can't come back to Alaska for pickups.”

And then she practically ran away from Trevor, feeling as if she needed a shower.

How could he think that she would be attracted to a weak pushover? Not even close. The idea was so abhorrent and sexually repulsive. No, she was dead certain that Trace was her sexual equal, and if that was true, she was attracted to a man who was possibly stronger than she was. Trace always took control in the bedroom, and it thrilled her senseless. Just thinking of Trace in a sexual manner revved her engine unlike anyone else ever had. She pressed her palms to her cheeks to see if they felt hot.

What a morning. Why hadn't she and Trace spent more time getting sweaty and less time arguing? A slow, private smile curved her lips. Tonight she'd have to rectify that little error in judgment. Tickled by the idea, she set about the rest of the day's shooting with a renewed vigor and dedication.