Harlequin Superromance March 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: The Secrets of Her Past\A Real Live Hero\In Her Corner (42 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

T
RACE
AND
D
ELAINEY
finished their day of shooting and, after a quick bite with the crew, headed back to Trace's house. While initially the acting thing had been totally foreign, he was starting to fall into a rhythm that he could understand. It wasn't rocket science and it was a lot easier than tracking. All in all, it was the easiest cash he'd ever made.

“I'm going to take a bath,” Delainey announced, her voice trailing suggestively as she added, “Feel free to join me....”

He didn't need further encouragement and began stripping before he'd even reached the bathroom. The room was filled with steam as she adjusted the temperature in the antique claw-foot tub he'd purchased at a swap meet with Delainey in mind. She'd always loved baths and he'd planned to surprise her with it on their wedding night as a gift. He'd spent hours restoring it to its former glory, and he was humbled by the open appreciation in her eyes as she sat on the edge in nothing but a towel. “I love this bathtub,” she said, smiling. “But then, something tells me you knew I would.”

“I bought it for you. For us,” he amended, clearing his throat, wondering if they shouldn't talk about the past again. He didn't want anything to upset the mood that was building. After last night, he needed her so badly his hands trembled with the desire to touch her smooth, silky skin, and his mouth went dry at the memory of sinking into her wet heat. Satisfied with the water level, she turned off the faucet and stood, dropping her towel. Her body never failed to incite him to a fever pitch, but he watched with open hunger as she pinned her hair up, exposing her nape, and then gingerly climbed into the steaming water. Her eyes fluttered shut on a groan, and he couldn't wait another moment.

When her gaze landed on his straining erection, she smiled with appreciation and beckoned with her crooked finger. “What are you waiting for?” she teased, and he climbed into the tub so quickly, water sloshed over the sides. She laughed and moved to settle into the cove created by his body, laughing when he couldn't help but prod her backside with his insistent erection.

“Sorry, sometimes I have no control over what happens downstairs...especially with you.”

“I like that I drive you crazy,” she replied in a husky murmur. “Makes me feel sexy.”

“You are the epitome of sexy,” he growled against the moist skin at her nape. Her scent, unique to her, filled his senses, and he closed his eyes against the surge of primal possessiveness that followed. His mouth traveled a soft line up to the shell of her ear and nibbled until she moaned and cocked her neck farther to the side to give him better access. He whispered sexy little phrases that he knew pushed her buttons, and when his hand strayed south, she whimpered softly as he teased her flesh with a gentle touch. “You're so beautiful,” he said, loving the way her breath caught and her breasts rose and fell with each gasp. Her hardened nipples broke the water like two peaks in the ocean, proudly jutting from her chest and tempting him to rise from the tub, to carry her to the bed, but he wanted to draw out her pleasure first.

He pinched her swollen clitoris with enough pressure to cause her to gasp but not enough to hurt, and she groaned as her hand covered his, encouraging him to apply more pressure. “Yes,” she nodded, sliding her tongue along the seam of her lips. “Harder...”

Trace slipped his middle finger deep inside her channel and pushed up, meeting the soft, spongy area behind her pubic bone, and she shuddered against him. He could spend a lifetime listening to her soft cries and sharp gasps of pleasure. His penis was hard as stone, but he paid it no heed, so intent on wringing every ounce of pleasure from Delainey's lips until she was shaking and crying from his efforts.

“I can't take any more,” she admitted in a tight, raspy voice. He pressed harder and she melted against him as another shudder passed through her. The little nub pulsed, and he responded by pinching it again. This time Delainey jerked and water sloshed over the sides of the tub. She turned in his arms and launched herself at his mouth, rubbing her breasts against his chest as her tongue slid against his in a wild dance of abandon.

They were breathless by the time Trace lifted them from the cooling water and, after a quick towel-down, they fell onto the bed, entwined with one another. Delainey surprised him when she pushed him down to take his length into her mouth. His eyes rolled in his head as her lovely mouth did terrible, wonderfully wicked things to him until he wasn't sure he could hold back the need to explode. Afraid he might do just that, he pulled her to him and plunged his tongue deep, rolling her to her back. He fumbled for the condom package—their second—and pulled the last condom from the box. “Last one,” he said with a grin, and she laughed heartily as she distracted him with plenty of kisses so that he struggled to get the condom on. “You're going to pay for that,” he promised after he'd managed to roll the latex on and pounced on her. Her high-pitched squeals quickly turned to breathy moans as he wasted little time in pushing himself as far as he could go inside her willing body. She clasped her arms around his back and urged him to make love to her faster, harder, and he was only too happy to oblige.

His last thought before he tumbled into sweet bliss—he could live and die a lifetime in her arms.

* * *

D
ELAINEY
LAY
NAKED
against Trace's chest with her fingers interlaced with his. The darkness their only cover, she was thankful for the cheerfully glowing woodstove in the other room throwing off plenty of heat to keep them warm. She was sated beyond words to the point of bone-deep lethargy. She could gladly lie in Trace's arms for an eternity. Delainey closed her eyes on a happy sigh, and she would've fallen right to sleep if Trevor's words hadn't come sneaking into her consciousness, robbing her of her well-earned rest. She frowned and Trace must've sensed her disquiet, because he shifted and asked, “What's on your mind?”

Should she share what Trevor had said? Would it make things weird? She didn't want anything to ruin the serenity of the moment, but something about Trevor's assessment of her kept coming back to poke at her.

And not in a good way.

“Someone,” she hedged, not wishing to use Trevor's name, “recently told me that a woman like me needs a man who's willing to let me run things. Do you think that's true?”

She could hear the frown in Trace's voice as he asked, “Who said this? Is this someone who knows you?”

“The
who
doesn't matter, but are they right? They said I needed a weaker man than myself if I wanted to be happy. They said you and I weren't right for each other because you and I were both strong individuals.”

“That person is plainly an idiot. Who was it, so I can punch him in the face?”

She smiled. “How do you know it was a man?”

“Because that's something a man would say if he were trying to make a move on someone he couldn't have. It's the oldest trick in the book—divide and conquer.”

“So you don't believe that I need a weaker man to make me happy?”

“Hell, no. You'd devour a weaker man. You need someone who isn't afraid to stand up to you and tell you when you're being a stubborn brat,” he answered gruffly. “But I really don't like talking about this hypothetical perfect man for you when you're lying in my arms naked. Okay?”

“Of course,” she agreed, secretly happy with his answer. Trevor was an idiot and he had been hitting on her, which laid credence to Trace's answer. Not to mention, it was exactly how she'd felt about the situation, as well. They were so well-matched in so many ways, except the one that kept them apart. She exhaled softly and snuggled into Trace's side, determined to stop thinking and just enjoy the moment. Delainey was a firm believer in that refusing the gift of happiness was an invitation to misery.

She drifted into a deep sleep where she dreamed of green meadows and snow-capped mountains, butterflies and laughter. And she dreamed of babies. Beautiful, utterly charming babies with eyes of summer blue and blond hair that curled in a wild array of tousled waves and made her want to bury her nose against their sweet scalps. She dreamed of deep, soulful kisses that awakened her spirit and made her feel alive for the first time in years.

And she dreamed of Trace, his handsome face crinkling in laughter and pride as he swung the children in the air, catching them with ease, mouthing to her “I love you” as their babies smothered his cheeks with sloppy kisses. Her heart felt ready to burst with such emotion that could not be contained. This was joy. This was happiness in its purest form. But as she started to walk toward them, ready to join her family and be included in the happiness, dark clouds rumbled from an unknown direction and she stared at the rapidly changing skyline, knowing a storm was on its way. She called to Trace and the babies, but they didn't seem to hear her or the thunder that boomed from behind the roiling, ominous clouds, and she began to run, stumbling on hidden rocks on the meadow floor. No matter how fast she ran, Trace and the babies got farther away. She screamed Trace's name but he climbed to his feet and, shouldering each child, began to walk away from her. “No!” she screamed, running after them. “No! Please don't go!”

She awoke, drenched in sweat and panicked as Trace tried to calm her. Delainey clung to him, so relieved that it was just a dream and that Trace hadn't left her and taken her babies with him. But it was then she realized he was trying to tell her something.

“Your stepmother just called.”

“What?” Delainey asked, still a bit disoriented. “What do you mean?”

“I thought the phone ringing had woken you up, but then I realized you were having a nightmare. She left a voice mail.” He handed her the cell phone and Delainey accepted it with trembling fingers. She looked to Trace, feeling sick inside. There was only one reason Brenda would be calling this late, and it was not good news. She pressed Play and listened to the message.

“Hi, honey, I know it's terrible late, but I wanted you to find out right away. Your daddy passed about five minutes ago. He didn't suffer none and he's at peace. Call me tomorrow when you can.”

Delainey dropped the cell phone to the bed and stared at nothing in particular. Her father was dead. Trace was waiting but she couldn't quite get the words out. When they did finally break free from her mouth, her voice was strangled. “He's dead. He died five minutes ago.”

“I'm so sorry, Laney. Do you want to go to your family? It'll just take me a minute to get dressed.” He started to climb from the bed, but she stopped him with a desperate shake of her head, tears already starting to flow.

“Don't go. Please stay here with me. I...I'll go tomorrow.”

He nodded in understanding and quickly gathered her in his arms. She sobbed against his chest, unable to fathom that her father was dead. Trace had been right. She should've made her peace with him before this moment, but a part of her never truly believed he would die. Her father was stronger than death, meaner than death for sure. But he hadn't been and he was gone.

And now she could do nothing but cry because she hadn't said goodbye or done a single proper thing as his daughter. In fact, their last words to one another had been terse and angry—that's what she had to keep as her lasting memory.

The knowledge made her sob harder.

Trace held her until she passed out from sheer exhaustion.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

D
ELAINEY
CALLED
HER
CREW
and let them know the situation, and everyone agreed she ought to take the day off. Scott, bless his heart, promised to get more B-roll footage so that they were assured of having enough when they returned to Los Angeles. Trevor, surprisingly, made himself scarce and didn't offer anything aside from a short condolence, and Delainey was grateful. She didn't have the stamina to deal with one of his petulant fits today.

Delainey and Trace arrived at her father's house and Delainey walked in, unsure of her reception given how she'd avoided her father's hospital room. But Brenda gathered her in a tearful hug, shocking Delainey with her kindness. “He didn't suffer none,” Brenda said, patting Delainey softly. “He just went to sleep and never came back. Wherever he is, he's not in pain no more, and that's what matters.”

She nodded, unsure of how to handle Brenda's lack of judgment. Shouldn't she be mad at her for avoiding Harlan when he needed her the most? She pulled away and realized her brother wasn't there. “Where's Thad?” she asked, wiping at the stray tears that had escaped. “I thought he'd be here.”

“He's down at the funeral home making the final arrangements for me. I was plain tuckered out and he offered to do it, bless his heart.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling small for not helping one bit. If her father knew he was sick, he probably made arrangements for the funeral and whatnot, but Delainey didn't know a thing about what needed to happen next. She didn't even know if her father had made a will. He probably had but the fact that she knew absolutely nothing about her father's final days made her heartsick and ashamed. Delainey glanced at Trace and he, sensing that she was under water, came to stand by her side. She immediately leaned on him for support as she offered a tremulous smile of gratitude.

“Is there anything you need?” Trace asked solicitously, and Brenda shook her head as she wiped her nose with a tissue. “You'd be surprised but my Harlan did everything ahead of time. He wanted to make sure everything was taken care of when he went. But I appreciate the offer. We're planning to have a small get-together here tomorrow for his friends and crew. He wasn't much for social gathering but he was known for being fair and honest, and that carries a lot of weight around here.”

“I'll help,” Delainey offered, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Whatever you need.”

“That's good of you, sweetie. I appreciate it. I know you're going through your own pain, too. Your daddy told me that you had a rough time of it growing up. I just wished you could've worked that out before he went. He was real proud of you.”

Delainey fought the violent urge to run from anything that resembled praise from her father, even secondhand, but she jerked a short nod of acknowledgment, not trusting her voice. Trace put his arm around her and she leaned into him, so grateful he was there. Brenda's red-rimmed eyes cleared as she found a purpose, saying, “Can't think on an empty stomach. How about you join me in the kitchen?”

Trace looked to Delainey for the okay, and she nodded and said, “Would you mind checking on Thad and making sure he's got everything under control? I know he probably does, but maybe the moral support would be nice.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes, I'll be fine. Thank you,” she said, rising on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss on his lips. “Call me if you need anything.”

Delainey watched Trace go and took a deep breath as she joined Brenda in the kitchen. She could tell Brenda was the kind of woman who equated food with love, and she was going to make sure Delainey felt loved, judging by everything she was getting ready. Brenda pulled out leftover lasagna and started reheating it while directing Delainey to make a salad. “I'm not really all that hungry, actually,” Delainey said, but Brenda waved away her comment, clearly intent on putting some more meat on her bones.

“Honey, if you're going to stick around any much longer, you're going to have to fatten up or you're going to freeze in the middle of the night,” Brenda said, clucking at her. “Besides, I need to do something to keep my heart from breaking in two, so please let me feed you something.”

“Okay,” Delainey said, smiling. “Although I won't be staying for long. I have to head back to California soon.”

“Oh, that's a shame,” Brenda said. “I'd hoped that you and that young fellow of yours had worked things out.”

Delainey quieted. She realized Brenda had probably made assumptions from the obvious way Delainey had been leaning on him for support, but she sensed that Brenda knew more about her history with Trace than what she'd just seen. “How do you know about me and Trace?” she asked.

“Oh, honey, your daddy told me, of course. We didn't have any secrets. I know it's hard to believe, but your daddy had changed. It's just a shame you never got to see it.”

“If he'd changed so much, why was he so terse with me?” she asked, unable to mask the bitterness leaching out.

“Sometimes, even when we want to, it's hard to break free from the roles we play in our lives. Your daddy didn't know how to be anything but what you remembered of him. But I know that if he'd had more time, he would've been able to show you.”

Was that true? She had no way of knowing. It already felt as if she'd tumbled down a rabbit's hole. What was one more thing to add to the incredulous nature of her life right now? She focused on shredding the lettuce, but a tear fell from her eye. She wiped at it and rinsed her hand, trying not to get tears in the salad. “What did he tell you about Trace?” she asked, curious.

“He said he was a good man and that if you were smart you'd find your way back to him,” Brenda said. “Nothing harder to find than a good man. I spent twenty years married to a no-good, rotten—pardon my language—SOB, and I was glad to be rid of him. I used to cry myself to sleep because I never had any children, but I realized later it was a blessing in disguise. When Bart died, I near cried myself silly with joy because I hadn't had the courage to leave him like I should've. I found Harlan a few years later.”

“You weren't married for long,” Delainey said. “You must feel cheated to have spent all that time with your ex only to lose your new husband after a few years.”

Brenda shook her head resolutely. “Absolutely not. Any time with Harlan was a blessing and I was grateful. He was a good man.”

“I have to admit, it throws me when you say things like that. You do realize he used to beat me and my brother? He was a terrible father.”

“All in the past, love. There's so much that we do in our youth that provides the wisdom for our later years. Your daddy was very sorry for all that.”

“I'm sorry. I have a hard time believing that. You didn't know him like I did.”

“No, I knew him better. He shared with me things a parent couldn't possibly share with their child.”

“Such as?” Delainey bristled a little.

“Such as the toll it took on him to have a wife who was clinically depressed.”

“My mother was depressed because she had my father for a husband,” Delainey snorted, irritated. “She probably died to get away from him. Their life was no picnic, I can promise you that.”

“Love, you remember things as would a child who is loyal to the memory of their mother. I have no allegiances that cloud my judgment. Your mother was sick and beyond your daddy's ability to help or understand. In the end, her death was surely a blessing to them both. That's harsh, I know, but life is filled with harsh twists and turns, and you of all people should understand that.” She sighed. “My aunt Dee was sick like your mama. She ended up killing herself one fine summer day. I can still hear the echo of the shotgun in the sweltering Kentucky stillness and the dogs barking like crazy.” Brenda lost the far-off look in her gaze and grabbed a few plates. “The thing is, sometimes there's nothing we can do for those who are determined to leave this earth. Wherever they go, they're happier than they were. At least that's how I like to think of it.”

“I'm sorry about your aunt, but my mother didn't kill herself,” Delainey said quietly, not quite sure what to think of what Brenda had shared. Ordinarily, her first reaction would've been to tell her to mind her own business and leave, but Brenda's matter-of-fact kindness stopped her. The truth was, she hadn't known much about her mother, only that she'd always seemed sad. Delainey had attributed her sadness to the fact that she was in a miserable marriage. She didn't know what to think about the possibility that her mother had been mentally ill.

Brenda noticed her disquiet and said, “Honey, don't waste your life thinking about what was when you have an opportunity to create new memories. Do you love this man, Trace?”

“Yes,” she answered cautiously. “Unfortunately, there are bigger things to consider.”

“Not true,” Brenda disagreed. “Having been a person who lived without love for too long, I can tell you it's the only thing that matters. Your daddy showed me how a man is supposed to treat a woman, and he treated me right.” How was she supposed to argue that point? Delainey swallowed a sigh and focused on the salad, but Brenda wasn't finished. “The first time you walked through that door, you had a chip on your shoulder as big as a boulder. It was written all over your face how unhappy you were to be there. But I don't think your unhappiness was solely because of your issues with your daddy. I think you have unfinished business with your man.”

“He's not really my man,” Delainey corrected Brenda with a flush in her cheeks. “He's his own man.”

Brenda chuckled. “Oh, I know it's not politically correct to call a man yours, but honey, when you've lived a life like mine, when you have a man worth holding on to, you take pride in calling him your own. And if you love him, you'd better do what you can to hold on to him before he finds someone smarter than you.” Delainey drew back, hating the idea of Trace moving on to someone else. But wasn't that the natural order of things? If she was planning to leave, how could she expect him to sit and wait on the shelf like a forgotten toy?

Brenda chuckled knowingly as she ladled steaming portions onto two plates. “Darlin', you've got to stop listening to that head of yours and just go with your heart. Your head carries all sorts of angry memories, but your heart just holds on to the love.”

Delainey was tempted to roll her eyes if only to dispel the feeling that Brenda knew what she was talking about, but she reined the impulse before she ended up insulting the kind woman. She wanted to retort that the older woman didn't understand the rigors of a career in television and film, but she knew Brenda would call her out for making excuses, so she remained silent.

“Time to eat,” Brenda announced, carrying both plates to the scarred table in the dining room. Delainey dutifully followed, carrying napkins and utensils, but her mind was moving in dizzying circles. Had her father changed so much for Brenda? Had he become a man worth knowing? Did it matter? No matter how he'd changed for Brenda, he hadn't changed for her, and he'd been a miserable human being to live with.

“This is good,” she said around a hot bite, but she didn't actually taste anything. She was too twisted in knots to truly enjoy her stepmother's Southern cooking. She just hoped Trace came back soon. She'd had just about all she could handle of this episode of
This Is Your Life in a Parallel Universe
before she completely broke down and lost it.

If only she could simply change the channel and move on.

“Your daddy loved my cooking, said I put all the good stuff he wasn't supposed to have into everything I made. Secret is I cooked everything with butter and plenty of cream. I tried to stop on account of his doctor making stern faces at me when I took him to his appointments, but he said to me, ‘Baby, you and your cooking is about the only thing keeping me going these days. Don't deny an old man his luxuries.' And so I just kept on cooking him his favorites because that's what my man wanted,” Brenda said, choking up for the first time. But with obvious effort she recovered and put up a soft smile. Must've been that Southern hospitality ingrained in her to never let a guest feel unwelcome or uncomfortable. Unbidden, Delainey grasped Brenda's hand and squeezed. She wasn't a hugger but she could do this. Brenda seemed to sense this and smiled gratefully, a moment of understanding passing between them, and Delainey realized no matter what kind of man her father was to her, he'd been a good husband to Brenda and it wasn't her place to say otherwise.