Phoenix Falling (41 page)

"And yet there is. Ironic, isn't it?" He set aside his empty glass and rose to pace the small cabin, his balance unaffected by the amount of whisky he'd put away. "No matter how well they succeed, this kind of stain always lingers."

He stopped by a vase of flowers secured in the center of a small table, his fingers drifting over the petals. "Movie stars are creatures spun from dreams and fantasy. Reality means nothing compared to how people think of us—and they'll never think of me the same way."

She thought, aching, of the horrors he'd experienced. What incredible resilience he possessed, to have risen like a phoenix from the embers of a ruinous childhood. Now the phoenix was falling in flames once again. "Even if the stories linger, you have nothing to apologize for. You were a
child
. No one can blame you for what you were forced to do."

"So the world can see me as a victim? Charming. I think I'd rather be considered a sinner."

Kenzie played heroes. Sometimes his characters were larger than life, other times they were ordinary men who rose to the occasion and triumphed against terrible odds, but never were they helpless victims. That's why he'd had so much trouble playing John Randall. "I wish I'd known," Rainey said. "I'd never, ever have asked you to star in
The Centurion
."

"My life as a pedophile's plaything isn't a subject one raises voluntarily. Even now, I couldn't speak of this if I weren't three-quarters drunk." He pulled a daisy from the vase and studied it intently. "But I thought you deserve to know, and I trust you not to tell anyone else."

"As you wish." She swallowed, trying to ease her dry throat. "But maybe you should consider talking to someone else, like a really good therapist. Secrets fester."

"Acting
is
therapy. To be any good at all, an actor must know himself well. Even the most neurotic of our breed have a deep understanding of what makes them tick." He was pacing again, the smooth, athletic movements masking his inner turmoil. "I know what happened to me, and the ways I've been permanently warped by my experiences. I doubt a therapist can tell me anything I haven't already thought of."

"Therapy isn't talking for the sake of talking. The whole point is to find a way to heal the pain."

His brows arched. "Did you ask a therapist to help sort out your problem childhood?"

"You've got me there," she admitted. "There were times when I considered therapy. I know people who have benefited greatly by it. But for me, it seemed best to work through my problems in my own way."

"You've done a good job of that. You're functioning, sane, especially by Tinseltown standards, and doing what you love, so I'd say your instincts were sound."

He overestimated her. "Since we're being honest, why did you marry me in the first place? And why did you suddenly decide it had been a mistake after three years?"

"When we met and clicked so well, I... I didn't want to let you go. Even though I knew marriage wouldn't work for me, I decided to hell with logic." He shrugged. "You've probably noticed that I spend a lot more time in my right brain than the left."

"What went wrong?" she asked, fighting the tears that threatened to spill over. "I thought we were getting along well. Did you get bored?"

"Remember that phone call where you raised the subject of children? Even though you tried to make a joke of it, I realized how much you wanted a baby. Until then, I'd thought you were as uninterested in having a family as I was, and probably for the same reasons. When I saw that I was wrong, I knew our marriage had to end."

Her jaw dropped. Looking back, it was blindingly obvious. "So you succumbed to Angie Greene's bountiful charms."

"You may not believe this, but I never had sex with her."

She thought of her surprise visit to Crete, and the way Angie had been climbing all over him. "You're right, I have trouble believing that."

"I was certainly considering it. She was more than willing, but I wasn't interested—it was you I was missing. You popped into my trailer just as I was trying to decide whether to go through with it. I knew an affair would end our marriage, but it was such a... a cruel, vulgar solution. When you showed up and jumped to the obvious conclusion, it was too good an opportunity to pass up. It also spared me from having to actually sleep with Angie. I was rather relieved."

She didn't know whether to laugh or weep. "Why didn't you just come out and say you don't want children? I suspected that from your reaction, and after some soul searching I decided I could live without them. But you never gave me a choice. Did you think females are such hopeless breeding machines that I'd want a baby more than you?"

He smiled without humor. "No, I thought you'd be loyal to our marriage—and live to regret it. By the time you left, it might be too late for you to have children."

She stared at him. "So you decided to destroy our marriage for my own good? You arrogant bastard!"

"That did sound arrogant," he agreed. "Tell me how wrong I was."

She hesitated, furious but unable to say he'd been entirely wrong. "You were right that I wouldn't have divorced you over the issue of children, but leaving you was not inevitable. Isn't it possible we could have stayed together and lived reasonably happily ever after?"

"In a marriage where neither of us once dared to say that we loved the other?" he said gently. "The end was just a matter of time."

She was as shocked as if he'd slapped her. No, love was never mentioned. There had been occasions when they were at their closest that she'd come near to saying she loved him, but she couldn't bring herself to do it when she was unsure what he felt for her. She knew he liked and desired her, but she wasn't at all sure she was loved. "You... noticed," she managed to say.

"I noticed. Though I'm hardly an expert on emotional intimacy, I understand that it's impossible without a willingness to be vulnerable. We let our barriers down with each other a little—you more than I. But we were both too wary to reveal much." He stopped pacing to regard her with compassionate eyes. "You're less damaged than I, Rainey, but you won't be able to overcome your fears and find the love you deserve unless you're with a man who's healthier and braver than I."

She knotted herself into a fetal position, shaken by how well he understood her. He saw himself, and her, with no illusions. It had taken Sarah Masterson, fictional Victorian maiden, to make her recognize that she'd never fully committed to her marriage. Raine Marlowe, thoroughly modern woman, had always had one hand on the doorknob.

Everything had changed in the tumultuous hours since they'd stepped out of Charles Winfield's memorial service. It was time to be brutally honest about what she wanted from Kenzie, and for herself.

The answer to the first was blindingly clear: She wanted him with her always as lover and husband. Today he'd revealed more of himself than in the four years they'd known each other. Surely the fact that he'd acted out of concern for her showed a kind of love, even if he couldn't bring himself to say the words?

As for her—she wanted to have the courage to make a commitment, no matter what the risks. She wanted to live life as passionately as Clementine, but with more wisdom. She wanted to be able to smash the defenses she'd hidden behind her whole life.

That meant handing Kenzie her heart, even if he threw it right back at her. "I can't deny that I have fears, Kenzie, but I... I do love you. Enough to marry you even when I was sure it couldn't last. Enough, finally, to say so out loud."

She uncoiled herself from her seat and crossed the cabin to him. "And I think that maybe you love me, too, because you did what you thought best for me even though you were wrong. If we love each other in our own battered, defensive way, isn't that a foundation for building a future?"

"It's too late, Rainey." His voice was raw with anguish. "Maybe we could have continued indefinitely the way we did for three years with a relationship that was limited, but rewarding within those limits. Not now. The illusion that was Kenzie Scott has been shattered, and the pieces can't be put back together again."

She placed one hand on his shoulder, her gaze searching. "Learning about your past hasn't changed how I feel, except that I love and respect you more than ever. The last weeks have been hard on both of us, but maybe now we have a chance to build the kind of marriage that will last for as long as we both shall live."

In his eyes she saw despair, but also a terrible longing. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.

For an instant he responded, his hand sliding down her arm. She leaned into him, amazed at the power of a simple kiss when it was made with love. How could she have been willing to let him go without a fight? She felt her shields crumbling, her bruised spirit slowly opening to allow him in.

He grabbed her arms and pushed her away. His breathing was harsh, and despair had won the battle for his soul. "This won't
work
, Rainey!"

He swung away and headed for the rest room in the rear of the plane. After the door closed, she heard sounds of violent retching.

Shaking, she sank into a seat. She wanted to believe that he was ill because of too much alcohol and not enough food. Instead, she thought of the wedding night scene between Sarah and her new husband. Kenzie had come up with that powerful bit of business where Randall had become ill, torn by the conflict between the abuse he'd suffered in captivity, and the reality of the young bride he idolized.

She felt ill herself now that she knew Kenzie's idea had come from his own experience. No wonder he believed their marriage couldn't go on. For over twenty years he'd managed to function by suppressing the horrors of his childhood. He'd become a master of detachment, sublimating his emotions into his acting, and doing it brilliantly.

But that was no longer possible. Nigel Stone had destroyed the defenses that had enabled Kenzie to function.

Now the horrors that had shaped him were free to ravage his soul.

* * *

After Kenzie spilled his guts, in every sense of the word, he and Rainey hardly spoke for the rest of the trip. They went through customs and refueled in New York, then flew on to New Mexico in almost absolute silence. Rainey had spent most of that flight sleeping, curled in a ball on the bed.

He'd been tempted to open the bar and drink himself senseless, but his stomach churned at the thought. Instead, he summoned the attendant who'd been exiled to the front of the plane during the transatlantic flight, and asked for food. Though he'd been unable to eat much, at least his hands were no longer shaking.

Like a homing pigeon, he yearned for Cibola. Odd, considering he'd never spent so much as a single night there. Yet those wild acres represented sanctuary.

It was near dusk when they landed at a private resort airstrip not far from the ranch. A wide-eyed young man told Kenzie that his rental vehicle was ready. Rainey must have arranged it by telephone.

Kenzie signed the paperwork and accepted the keys, then went outside and found that Rainey's luggage had been loaded into the SUV along with his. He pulled out the nearest of her suitcases. "Careless of them to transfer all the baggage."

"They didn't make a mistake." She scowled at him. "I'm going with you."

He stared, startled and not sure whether he was glad or sorry. She probably thought he'd self-destruct if left to his own devices. "Don't be ridiculous. In London, you said several times how much you wanted to go home. That jet can have you there in a couple of hours."

"Home is where the heart is."

Her meaning was unmistakable. He felt yearning so sharp he could taste it. If only it were that simple. But she didn't understand. How could she? "You've got months of high-intensity post-production work ahead of you, and that means Los Angeles."

"I need a vacation," she said. "Even God took a day off after creating the world, and my stamina is way less than His."

"Rainey..."

She glared like an angry cat, pulling her
Centurion
jacket tight as cool mountain wind gusted around them. "Unless you use physical force, I'm coming with you."

He closed his eyes, feeling his pulse hammering in his temples. Did she want him to spell out that the kiss she'd given him, and the arousal he'd felt, had triggered unbearable images of forced sex? For years he'd been able to bury those memories in his worst nightmares, but no longer. The evil genie had escaped its bottle, and it was an open question whether Kenzie would ever be able to bear having sex again, with anyone. "Proximity isn't going to fix me or our marriage, Rainey."

She sighed, her belligerence fading. "You're not the only one who understands human nature, my dear. I've been thinking about what you've said. I can't really know what it's like to be you, but I've accepted that it would take a miracle to salvage our marriage, and I don't believe in miracles. But give me an honest answer here. You've been all honorable and noble, pushing me away for my own good. Forget being noble. Would you rather have me around for a few days, or not?"

When he hesitated, she said tartly, "The truth, Kenzie."

The truth? She'd have to return to California soon to begin the immense task of editing and scoring the raw footage into a finished movie. But for the next few days..."It would be nice to have you at Cibola, Rainey. Just... don't expect much of me."