Harlequin Superromance March 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: The Secrets of Her Past\A Real Live Hero\In Her Corner (33 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

T
RACE
TRIED
NOT
to check the time, but his nerves betrayed him as his gaze continually strayed to the small wall clock above his fireplace. Each minute ticked closer to the time he'd agreed to finish the interview with Delainey. He didn't know why he'd agreed to talk with her after hours when his instinct was to flatly turn her down.

And now, it was too late to rescind his reluctant agreement.

It seemed a lifetime ago that Trace and Delainey had been planning to start a life together. When he thought of how stupid she'd made him look, leaving him crying as she'd bolted, he wanted to throw something. She'd done a number on his pride, for sure. So why'd he allow her to manipulate him into this late-night interview? He was baffled by his own behavior, and he didn't like the obvious reason staring him in the face.

He hated himself for it, but seeing her again had awakened something he'd much rather ignore. Something inside him was thrashing around, banging into the furniture and roaring to be free, and whatever it was scared the living hell out of him.

The fact was, he was still insanely attracted to Delainey, even after all this time and in spite of what she'd done to him. And that shamed him to his core. He forced himself to remember what a terrible person she was deep down in the marrow of her bones, because if he didn't, he was afraid of what he'd allow himself to do.

He remembered with crystal clarity how it felt to touch her skin or hear her soft, little moans of pleasure as he'd plunged his tongue deep into her most private flesh. He remembered everything. Time hadn't dulled his memory or lessened the ache of his loss.

He rubbed at the heat gathering in his cheeks, recalling how he'd succumbed to using an erotic memory of Delainey from his mental cache to pleasure himself recently when he hadn't relied on those memories in years. Delainey had gotten under his skin in rapid time, and he was a fool to allow her into his private space.

That's it, he thought resolutely, as soon as Delainey arrived, he would tell her he'd changed his mind. Besides, how professional was an interview conducted in a person's home?

Right on time, a soft knock at his front door told Trace Delainey had arrived, and he jumped from his chair, nearly stumbling on the end table in his haste to send her away. But as he opened the door, all good intentions fled and he couldn't help but stare. Maybe he was losing it, because her platinum blond was starting to look pretty to him. The exotic, unnatural color turned his crank in an unexpected way, and he itched to touch it. Hell no, a voice screeched in his head, causing him to take a step away as if she were contagious with something life-threatening. “Let's get this over with. I don't know how much more you're going to get. I told you everything back at the office,” he said gruffly.

“Well, I need more than a few details if I'm going to re-create the scenario correctly,” Delainey explained as she walked into the living room, taking in details as she went. “Everything looks the same.” She looked to him questioningly. “What did you do with the stuff I bought for the house?”

“Some of the stuff I gave away, other I threw out. I didn't understand why you'd bought the stuff anyway since you never planned to stay. And I didn't want any reminder of you.” He hadn't wanted anything from Delainey after she'd left. It hurt too much to see stuff she'd purchased when he'd been under the assumption that they were going to build their life together in that house. Frankly, there'd been a moment when he'd considered selling the house, too.

“I really did some damage, didn't I?” she asked quietly, and he was stunned by her question. The open regret in her tone stilled the immediately caustic retort that came to mind. Instead, he remained silent. His silence was answer enough. “I didn't mean to hurt you. I don't know if that matters or not. Things were moving so quickly and I panicked. I saw my life flash before my eyes, and I couldn't handle what I saw. I'm not sure that I realized that there was no way you would leave Alaska, and then when it became apparent that you weren't going to budge, I reacted.”

“The idea of life with me caused you to panic?” he asked, blinking against what felt like an insult.

“No, it wasn't a life with you that scared me—it was life here with you in Alaska. I didn't want to be a housewife. I wanted a career, not just a job. Too many people allowed their dreams to die because circumstances changed in their personal life, and I didn't want that to happen to me.”

Trace didn't want to remember how Delainey had always been open about her dreams and goals; he certainly didn't want to remember how he'd given them very little weight. Too much retrospection and he'd start apologizing for God only knew what. “I don't need an explanation of why you did what you did,” he said. “It's done and over with.”

“If that were true, you wouldn't still be holding a grudge,” she pointed out, and he hated to admit she was right. “Can't we talk about it and get everything out in the open?”

“I doubt it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don't want to talk about it, and it takes two people agreeing to hash things out in order for that to happen. Let's just stick to the professional aspect of our relationship and leave the past where it belongs.”

“Trace, why won't you let me explain? Maybe if I could get you to understand why, you could move on with your life.”

“Move on? What are you talking about? I did move on with my life.”

“That's not what Miranda has said.”

Damn his sister for opening her big mouth about his personal business. “Miranda doesn't know what she's talking about. And when did you see Miranda?”

“I saw her earlier today. We had lunch together.”

Great. Now his sister and Delainey were best buds again? Wasn't there any justice in the world? “I don't know what gave Miranda the idea that it was okay to talk about my personal business with you, but I wish she'd just kept her mouth shut. The fact is, I've moved on just fine.”

“Trace—”

“No. I'm done with this conversation,” he said firmly. How could Miranda betray his confidence like that? To Delainey of all people? “If we're not going to talk about the project then I'd rather just put an end to this visit, if you don't mind.” Delainey looked dejected at his curt response, and he didn't for the life of him know why he allowed her feelings to affect him. She'd made her bed and she could lie in it. But as soon as her eyes welled with sudden tears, he knew he was sunk. “That's not fair and you know it,” he said, hating how easily her tears moved him. “What do you want from me, Delainey?”

“I want you to stop hating me,” she whispered, wiping at her eyes. “It hurts more than I ever realized it would to see you look at me with such hatred. I never meant to hurt you. I was just trying to save myself. Is that so bad?”

* * *

D
ELAINEY
SHOULD
'
VE
STUCK
to the plan of simply conducting the interview and leaving, but the information Miranda had shared had been stuck in her head on a loop that just wouldn't quit. Somehow she'd thought if perhaps she began a dialogue with Trace the floodgates would open and they'd spend the evening healing old wounds with open communication. Now in the face of his rejection, she felt like a complete fool. Now she really wanted his forgiveness and she wasn't likely to get it.

“You don't get to break someone's heart and then act wounded because they don't want you around,” Trace said. “We're never going to be friends, Delainey.”

“I know that,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “But I'd hoped that maybe we could look at one another without being assaulted by our past. I made mistakes, more than I'm comfortable admitting, but I'd like to think that I've changed and grown a bit since making them.”

Trace pulled a beer from the fridge and cracked it. “I'd offer you one, but seeing as you're going to hit the road soon...”

She frowned, her fists clenching with the urge to pummel some sense into the man. “You don't have to be such an ass all the time. That's all I'm saying.”

“Maybe I'm not a nice person.” He shrugged.

“You used to be.”

“Yeah, well, I used to be a lot of things.”

“Ugh. You're impossible.”

“I've heard that, too.” He swigged his beer. “Tell me, how did you envision all of this going down between us?” he asked. “I mean, truthfully, did you think that I was going to be so overwhelmed with nostalgia that I'd completely blank out everything that had happened when you professed regret at how you destroyed our relationship?”

“No, of course not,” she shot back, embarrassed to admit she'd dared to hope such a thing could happen. “But I never thought you'd delight in treating me so badly just to assuage some messed-up sense of revenge. If you were so heartbroken over my leaving, why'd you let me leave without a fight? You never even tried to change my mind, or better yet, you never entertained the thought of leaving with me.”

“My home was here. Why would I leave?”

“And I made it no secret that I never wanted to stay!” The moment stretched between them as they held each other's angry stare. The tension in the room was palpable, but neither was willing to back down. Delainey couldn't believe how cold Trace had become. At one time, he'd been sweet and kind, generous and loving. And he was blaming her for the change? What a cop-out. “Playing the blame game is fun when you know you're cheating to win. Admit it, Trace. You were content to let me eat my dreams so your world remained the same. You didn't care that I wanted so much more than this place could give me, because you never considered my career choice a real one. In your mind, I was never leaving Alaska. Did you imagine me popping out a few kids and then dutifully putting my hopes and dreams on indefinite hold while you pursued your dreams?” The charged silence was enough of an answer for her. “You selfish bastard,” she muttered. “Well, screw you. If you want to vilify me for chasing my dreams, so be it. I'm not looking for your approval. Not anymore.” She grabbed her purse and stormed past him, but his arm snaked out and grabbed her, pulling her roughly to him. She squeaked in alarm but he wasn't actually hurting her. Her heart beat like a wild thing and her breath seemed in short supply, but she held his stare, determined to seem unaffected by his close proximity. “What now, Trace?” she taunted him, the tip of her tongue wetting her lips. “You slap me around or something?”

“You know I would never hit a woman,” he said, his eyes burning but his voice changed to a silky timber that sent shivers of awareness tripping down her spine. “Not even you.”

“So what do you want to do with me?” she asked, painfully aware of how Trace's touch sent her logical brain scurrying for shelter. She ought to wrench her arm free and leave, but she didn't want to go. The honest truth was that she craved Trace's touch even if she would die before admitting it. Leaving him had been the hardest thing she'd ever done, and it wasn't only because she'd loved him. She'd known that Trace was the only man who would ever make her heart and body resonate. And she'd been right. No one had managed to make her feel as Trace had. He'd known her body instinctually, as if they'd been cut from the same cloth, and he'd known exactly where to pleasure her until she was hoarse from crying out, her body completely wrung out and limp. And, God help her, she missed that! Was she a terrible human being for hoping beyond hope that he would simply throw her down on the bed and make love to her as he used to?

She was afraid to breathe, afraid to say another word. Time ticked by with the slowest of increments until Trace lowered his mouth to hers. And then she was fairly certain time definitely stopped, and she was glad because she wanted to savor this illicit moment until its sweet, inevitable end.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

T
RACE
DIDN
'
T
WANT
to think about what he was doing or the possible ramifications. He just wanted to feel. He gently twisted Delainey's arm behind her back and pulled her close as his mouth sought hers. Her lips opened with very little coaxing and her tongue touched his in a tentative motion that set his blood on fire. His tongue slid along hers, exploring hungrily as she rose on her tiptoes to press herself against him more securely. No words were said or needed, as if both knew one single utterance might destroy the fragile moment.

Need flowed between them as if time evaporated, and suddenly they were two young lovers desperate to feel each other's body, mindless of what tomorrow might bring. Within seconds Delainey's sweater was ripped from her body, and she tilted her head back with a groan as Trace pressed a trail of urgent kisses down the column of her neck. She smelled of citrus and a cool mountain breeze, two scents that should've been discordant but created a harmony of sensual awareness throughout his body.

She clung to him as he lifted her into his arms and carried her to his bedroom—the room that had once been
their
bedroom—and laid her on the bed. He snapped the bedside lamp on and the room filled with soft, hazy light. He quickly unlaced her boots and she kicked them free so he could help her wiggle out of her jeans. Within moments, she was in nothing but her matching set of bra and panties, looking like an exotic pinup girl whom most men only dreamed about but never had the privilege of touching.

She smiled shyly under his perusal and he jerked his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor. She couldn't hide the way her eyes warmed with blatant hunger as her gaze traversed the muscles of his chest and dipped to the softly furred trail disappearing behind his zipper. Her pupils dilated with arousal, and he could barely contain his own.

She started to unhook her bra, but he stopped her with a gruff “Let me” and proceeded to release her beautiful breasts from the dainty cups. So much was different about her—her hair, her nose—but her breasts were exactly as he remembered. He cupped the pert, rosy-tipped globes of soft womanly flesh and nearly lost control as he slipped a tight nipple into his mouth. She'd always thrilled at his rough hands touching her tender skin, saying she enjoyed the feel of a real man. Time hadn't dulled that appreciation, as evidenced by the way her mouth fell open on a gasp and her fingers threaded through his hair and gripped almost painfully. But the sensation spurred him on, and he suckled harder, squeezing the other breast with his free hand.

“Trace,” she cried softly, rocking against him, her feminine core rubbing against his erection almost frantically, but the thin scrap of silk of her panties blocked his way. Her breathy moans were like gasoline to his fire, and his hands trembled as he framed her face and claimed her mouth again, slanting his tongue deeply inside, desperate to taste her again. She clutched at his back as he moved over her, pressing her into the bed with his body. He ground his erection against the sensitive spot between her thighs and she groaned into his mouth, her nails digging into his back. “Tell me you want this,” he said against her lips, needing to hear her say the words.

“I want this,” she whispered, almost desperately. “I want this more than anything.”

“What do you want me to do to you?”

“Everything.”

He reached between them and pressed the heel of his hand against her, causing her to squirm. The damp heat of her arousal smelled of heaven, and he couldn't wait a moment longer. He rose to his hands and knees and then bent down to pull her panties free from her hips with his teeth. Her stomach trembled and she put her hand over her eyes, as if she were embarrassed to watch what he was about to do. He chuckled at the memory of her doing that very thing each time he had plunged his tongue deep inside her. He'd always found her bashfulness so sexy because it was part of who she was. And seeing that that part of her hadn't changed made him all the more intent on touching her so intimately.

He settled between her legs and buried his face against her sensitive skin, grazing the swollen nub with his teeth and causing her to jerk, her breath coming in short pants. He teased her with slow, deliberate motions until she was writhing beneath him, begging him not to stop. Her soft cries were better than the sweetest music, and before long she shuddered beneath his tongue, thrashing against her climax as it claimed her. He smiled as the sweet, responsive nub pulsed with pleasure, and he pushed up to climb her body as she gulped in air, trying to recover. Before she could speak, he kissed her deeply, and she melted beneath him, her body limp and sated.

He ignored his straining erection to focus on her, loving how soft and feminine she looked with her eyes at half-mast and her mouth slightly open as she swallowed, trying to catch her breath. “I just need a minute,” she said, but he shocked her when he rolled her to her stomach and pulled her to her knees. Her round behind had lost some of its cushion, but it was still the loveliest one he'd ever seen. “You have the best ass,” he couldn't help but murmur, intent on impaling her on his length. But before he could bury himself inside her, she looked back at him with a panicked expression, saying, “Condom!” and he realized belatedly that he'd used the last one several months ago.

At his chagrined expression, Delainey realized he didn't have one and she dropped her head in disappointment to the bed. “Crap,” she muttered, which didn't even come close to the expletive that he wanted to say. “I'm sorry...not without a condom. I can't take the risk,” she said and rolled away from him. She worried her bottom lip when she saw his erection and he knew she felt bad for refusing him, but she surprised him with a suddenly coy look, saying, “But there is more than one way to get the job done,” before pushing him down on his back. His eyes rolled back into his head as the warm, wet heat of her mouth enveloped him and he discovered that she'd remembered his particular likes and dislikes just as easily as he'd remembered hers. Seconds before he lost his mind, he wondered how he'd ever let this woman get away from him.

She was damn near perfect.

* * *

D
ELAINEY
AND
T
RACE
lay sated and quietly reflective, neither saying a word. After their heart rates had settled into a normal rhythm, Trace broke the silence first.

“Have you had many lovers since moving to Los Angeles?” he asked.

“That's probably not a question you should ask,” Delainey warned. “You might not like the answer.” Trace knew she was right but for some reason he needed to know. When he remained silent, waiting, Delainey sighed and answered, “A few. Nothing serious. It's hard to start a relationship in the field I'm in. Well, I should say, it's easy to start a relationship but hard to maintain it.”

“Why?”

“Well, for one, it seems everyone is always looking for the bigger, better deal, and sometimes you're on the losing end of that arrangement. Plus, when you're on location, away from your loved ones and whatever your particular reality is, you turn to the people you spend so much time with, and that creates a false attachment. There are a lot of affairs that happen,” she explained with a shrug. “And I'm not one for an open relationship. I'm old-fashioned that way.”

“Is there a lot of that going on? Open relationships?” He couldn't fathom being okay with someone else touching his woman. Even though they'd been apart for eight years, he hated the idea of someone else occupying space that had previously belonged to him.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “It's an incestuous little circle. Everyone is doing someone that someone else knows. I hate that part. Feels dirty. I tried to date outside of the business, but it's complicated and they often don't understand the long days and, worse, the politics. In the end, it's just easier to date within the circle.” She turned to regard him with open curiosity. “How many women have you dated?”

“Not a lot. My job makes it difficult to make too many attachments.” Plus, he wasn't about to let another woman get her claws into him. He'd learned his lesson, but he didn't see the sense in ruining the tentative truce between them. “Besides, I'm not the boyfriend kind.”

She stilled and he knew she was thinking of their time together. “Because of me,” she surmised quietly, and he didn't deny it. She held his gaze and he felt his heart lurch. She was so beautiful in this light, almost ethereal, and he wished this time together were real and not an illusion. “I hurt you pretty bad.”

He shrugged. “Things happen. I'm not hurting now.”

“I don't believe you. If you weren't still hurting, you would've settled down with someone else. I know you, Trace. You're meant to be a husband and a father. You have a kind and generous heart that was meant to share a life with someone else.”

Good feeling fading, Trace moved to the edge of the bed and started to collect his discarded clothing. “Let's just leave it alone,” he suggested as he pulled his shirt on and reached down to grab her bra. He tossed it to her and stood to slide into his jeans. “I'm sorry about...
this—
” he gestured between them “—I never planned to...”

“Yeah, I know. Me, neither,” she said, quickly dressing, and he could feel the awkwardness growing like mold on bread. “Well, for what it's worth, I enjoyed myself, but we probably shouldn't do it again. It's not very professional.”

He tried not to take offense but he bristled all the same. “Sorry. I'm new to this Hollywood game. My apologies for breaking the rules.”

“Don't be like that, Trace. I'm just saying, that even though it was great, I can't afford to lose my objectivity. This project means everything. It's imperative that it succeed.”

“Nothing stops you from succeeding, does it?” he said with a subtle sneer in his voice, and even though he was ashamed of how it made him sound, he was helpless to stop it. “Delainey Clarke, ambition personified. Homer still has the boot print on its back from the last time you marched on by in your quest for success.”

“Oh, this again?” she said sharply, her eyes flashing. “I thought we were past this petty crap.”

“Why? Just because we fooled around a little? Honey, in your business, I thought this was just part of a normal day's work.”

She gasped at his insult and slapped him hard. “How dare you! I can't believe you went there. I thought we were sharing some private information and you just used mine against me. Real classy, Trace. Real classy.” She scrambled from the bed and quickly gathered her clothes and jerked them on. “If my job weren't depending on this stupid assignment, I'd tell you to go screw yourself and find someone else to play your part. I didn't want to believe it, but you're right, you have changed and not for the better! Forget the damn interview. I'll get what I need from the news footage. The sooner I'm done with Alaska—and you—the better.”

“That goes for the two of us, sweetheart!” he called as she slammed out the front door.
Damn it!
Trace wanted to yell to the rafters and do collateral damage to anything in his path, but he reined in his rage and frustration by the thinnest margin. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut and play along? Because he wasn't that kind of person, he answered himself. He wasn't the kind of guy who shared his woman, or laughed when he wanted to scowl, or handed out false compliments to someone who was plainly an idiot and
he never would be.
And as such, he couldn't pretend that everything was all right between him and Delainey just because their bodies still craved one another even when their brains said
bad idea.
He could make love to Delainey all day, worshipping her body until they were both soaked with sweat, and it wouldn't change a damn thing between them. He didn't trust her and he never would, and she was never going to stop chasing that elusive dream, no matter the cost. Nothing had changed—except now they had brand-new baggage between them.

Well, hell.

So much for using sex to mend fences. By the feel of things, they'd just started a whole new war.