“It’s not the truth, Moira. I don’t want anything from you. Whatever comes out of that bitch’s mouth is never the truth,” he yelled.
She jumped with the sharpness in his voice. “Then you two are perfect for each other,” she yelled back. She stared into the desert behind her, hoping the darkness would sponge up some of her pain. She crossed her arms over her chest, and turned to him. “I knew it wasn’t right. I’m so stupid.” She shook her head, tears threatening to gush out. God damn it, she wouldn’t cry.
“You’re not stupid, far from it. Moira, I didn’t plan this. I don’t want anything from you.” He stepped toward her, but she backed up. “Listen to me—get on the phone right now. Tell your agent not to sell me the rights. I don’t want them—sell them to anybody else but me.”
She looked up at him. She had never felt an ache this bad in her life. If she started to cry now she’d never stop. “Stop talking,” she whispered, her forehead creasing with pain. Embarrassment overwhelmed her. She knew it didn’t make sense. Why hadn’t she just listened to her instincts? As she berated herself, the clutching cold froze her heart.
His voice broke with remorse. “Moira, I don’t want the rights, I want you.” His words twisted his expression into regret as he shook his head.
She could barely watch him and not give in to his lies.
“I know it’s too fast, I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but it’s not like we’re twenty. We’re old enough to know what we want, and I want you—from the first goddamned second I saw you, before that even. The first time I heard your voice on the yacht I should have gone to find you.” He turned away from her, taking a deep breath. “I’ve been waiting for you for so long,” he whispered.
She closed her eyes tight. “Would you mind giving me a ride back to the hotel or calling a cab?” she asked, her voice steady, but her heart reeled.
“Moira—” He said her name with so much regret she actually turned her eyes to him. “I can’t believe this was a no-win situation from the word ‘hello.’ I know trust means everything to you. Your husband shattered that first, now you think I have, too. It’s not the truth.”
“I’m all about rough edges—remember? You’re a businessman just doing business. I understand. You said you wanted something from me. You just should have told me what it was. I’m a reasonable person, Steven. I would have listened.”
“No, you don’t understand,” he argued. “What I feel for you is not a ploy. If I’d told you at the start I was bidding for the film rights you wouldn’t have given me a chance. You know that. I know that. You say you want the truth…” He stared at her until she looked up at him. “The truth is, I wanted you to know me, Moira—me—just me, not what I am, not what I own—me. I’ve spent the last twenty years of my life breaking walls of Stone Age thinking, breaking wills to get what I want. But I never did any of it with deception.” He took a step toward her. She didn’t move, so he took another. They stood within a foot of each other.
“In my corner of the world I’ve met a lot of women, Moira.”
Jealousy reared up in her. The man had deceived her and she still felt a pang of jealousy when he mentioned other women.
“Not one of them, not any of them meant a thing to me. And then you sat down across from me four days ago, and nothing has felt the same to me since. Can you really look at me and tell me that you think I would deceive you? Do you think that’s who I am?” He grasped her hands in his. “If I wanted your books, I would have asked for them.”
She looked away, not brave enough to do battle anymore.
“I want you. Why is that so hard for you to believe?” He took a deep breath. “You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. You’re using this as an excuse because you’re scared.”
“You’re a good negotiator,” she said, her heart capitulating to reason. “I guess that’s why you own most of Hollywood.” She pulled her hands from his and clenched them by her side. “I’m not good with people. I told you that. I never will be nor do I want to be. I have a small life. I live in a little farmhouse, and I work all the time, in my profession and on my writing.
“I have a vivid imagination, and I let it run wild for the last four days, but I’m a realist more than anything. I’m not a socialite, I’m not a centerfold. You have no business wanting anything other than a woman who looks like Grace. That’s what you need. That’s what the world expects.” A cold sadness clenched in her heart. “I’m all about dreams, Steven, other people’s dreams. In my profession, I’m a voice without a body. In my books, I’m words—without a sound. No one sees me, and I don’t want anyone to. That’s all I am, Steven.”
He caught her hand before she could turn away from him and brought it to his lips, closing his eyes. Her heart tightened as she watched his expression, and her soul ached with loss.
“That’s not all you are to me,” he whispered. “But there’s no point in saying anything else, is there?”
She shook her head.
“I’ll take you back to the hotel,” he said.
* * * *
As the lights of the strip got bigger and brighter, the horrible ache in his chest grew. He had kept silent, stewing in his anger for being an idiot. He swung back and forth in his mind from Let her go to Are you insane? like he was walking on the deck of a swaying ship. Right now, the angry side of him was winning, fueled by honest fear. “God damn it, no way,” he roared, swerving the car to the side of the road.
The car came to a halt, the road dust flying around them.
“Look at me, Moira.” Her concentration fastened itself on the darkened desert. “Moira!” His voice was loud enough to scare a burro fifty miles away. He’d passed frustrated ten minutes ago. Fear had control. She was about to walk out of his life. He should have known better than to lose his temper with her though.
A squall of anger blazed at him. Suddenly, before him, he saw the woman who helped to orchestrate the movements of a shipping port. Her eyes alone could break a brick wall or a dominant man in two. If he thought he could sound commanding, he didn’t hold a candle to her.
“Stop it, Steven. You’ve lost. Grace ruined your plans—deal with it,” she ordered.
He blinked, stunned. She was like a hurricane roaring past him, knocking him flat on his ass. She didn’t just ignite his desire but his temper, and he blew. “There was no plan,” he yelled. “Stop being so fucking stubborn. I know you care about me, and you damn well know I’ve fallen in love with you.”
The only sound that interrupted the deafening silence to follow was the desert wind.
Moira’s eyes grew. Her attention darted to the desert where she didn’t have to look at him. He’d just scared her beyond belief. God, could he fuck this up any better than he already had? “Why are you fighting me?” he asked, exasperated.
“I don’t care about you,” she burst out, and practically threw herself out of the car.
“Moira!”
“What?” she yelled, whirling around as if ready to give him the reaming out of his life.
His lips took command of hers, and his body reacted, rolling over like a little puppy with a soft hand to its belly. His anger dissolved instantly as he pulled her closer, holding her so tight she probably couldn’t breathe. She wavered in his strength, his open desire for her overpowering her. He needed her to believe him, but her anger flared, and she pushed away from him.
Her hands clenched into little fists. “Are the books that fucking important to you? Jesus Christ, man, they’re just words. You can stop the game, it’s over.”
“God, woman you’re so infuriating.” He took the two steps that separated them and grabbed her, pulling her to him. His jaw tightened so hard the ridges nearly broke through his skin. “That’s not who I am,” he yelled. He wanted to shake some sense into her, he wanted to make love to her, he wanted her to love him. “If it takes a thousand fucking years I will tell you every day that I love you until you believe me, because I do.”
Her
breath caught in her chest. Her expression fell with complete and utter defeat. The fire died in her eyes. The fight left her body. “For God’s sakes, you can have the books, Steven. Just stop.”
Her chin dropped to her chest, her face folding into such anguish his heart tightened into a hard knot of pain. He could hardly believe it as he watched her will break before his eyes. Her body jolted so hard with a sob she almost lost her balance. “No, Moira, don’t,” he groaned, his voice heavy with guilt. Of all the people in this world he didn’t want to hurt, it was her. “I can’t let you walk away from me thinking that I…deceived you.”
She turned her gaze to the looming strip. “You don’t love me, Steven. Believe me, you don’t. And when you go home all will be forgotten.”
She didn’t fight him when he pulled her to his chest. He tucked his head beside hers and whispered, “Do you honestly think I could forget about you? Didn’t you hear anything I said? I understand if you don’t want to forgive me for not telling you the truth from the beginning, but don’t for one second think I will ever forget you. Moira—” He gently turned her face toward him. “I didn’t just fall in love with you. I’ve always loved you. It just took this long to find you.”
Her face contorted with pain. Tears rose like a thrashing wave, and she closed her eyes, but it didn’t help, and they erupted from her lashes. “Please.” She choked on a sob. “Please just drive me back to the hotel.”
* * * *
They drove the rest of the way in silence, her mind churning with conflict. When they reached the hotel, she got out. He clutched the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, looking like he wanted to rip the thing right off its stem.
She thought about simply walking away without a word, but she found she couldn’t do it. Circling the car, she came around to his side. She knelt down, propping her arms on the side panel. For the rest of their drive she had grappled to control her heart. Now it felt as cold as a winter’s day.
“Steven—” He set his hard, cold, eyes on her. “I believe everything in this world is meant to happen, for good or for bad. I’ve seen a lot of bad doing what I do, and I didn’t come this far in life and not experience some myself. I lost everything. I lost my family. I lost my husband. There’s nothing left, but my writing and my job, but I don’t regret any of the experiences or the pain I’ve lived through. That’s why I’m still glad I met you. You were kind and warm, and I’m going to tell myself that wasn’t a ruse but the real you.”
It was a big lie, one that she kept telling herself over and over again. She did regret—a lot of things. But most of all she wished she had never met him. She knew her world would seem so much colder now.
His forehead wrinkled as his eyes filled with sadness. He moved as if to get out of the car, but she stopped him.
“I was listening to you, Steven. I can see who the real Steven Porter is without all his successes. At least I’d like to believe that. You’re brilliant—strong.” She paused, her words catching in her throat. “You’re handsome beyond belief.” She swallowed her tears. “It was nice meeting you.” She smiled sadly at him. “And thank you.” She gave him a quick kiss on his cheek.
He nodded. She couldn’t believe it when tears glistened in his eyes. For a moment she hesitated, doubting herself. Maybe she was shattering both their hearts with her words.
She rose, but before she could walk away, he grabbed her hand. “I’m sorry, Moira.” His voice curled around her heart, thick with pain. “You’re the last person in this world I wanted to hurt, at least believe that.”
She nodded and gently tugged her hand from his warm grasp.
* * * *
He watched her walk away from him, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do. After feeling empty for so long, Moira had come out of nowhere and filled his soul. Her leaving would mean never being the same again. A bright twinkle caught his attention, and he clamped his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them, he reached for the necklace she’d left on the seat. He looked up quickly and saw her enter the casino as the first tear he had shed in years streaked down his cheek.
He drove in the desert for hours not able to rid himself of his anger or his regret. Eventually, he parked the car on the side of a deserted road. He gazed into the darkness of an unending Nevada sky. A million stars twinkled in the heavens, and he wished she was beside him. She belonged beside him.
He had met and fallen in love with the woman who’d written the words that made a generation of people believe that death is not the end. That a power greater than them still existed—and watched. When it seemed that everywhere you looked the world had lost its faith, she gave it back to them. She wrote about eternity. That our loved ones are never really gone, only separated—and with that—she gave those who read her stories hope.
His eyes strayed to a brilliant star in the northeast quadrant. There had been so many women in his life, and none of them shone like Moira. None of them looked at him like she had, with truth, with warmth. She’d given people the words they needed to hear in her stories, words they wanted to believe. Yet, she didn’t believe them herself.
Somewhere inside of her, she knew he loved her, and she still walked away from him. She had no hope or faith for her own happiness, and because of that, had in turn—taken his. There was no way to fix this. He pulled his phone out and sent her a simple text message. It said, “Remember me, Moira, I love you.”
Chapter Sixteen
Moira didn’t text back, and on the fifth day when he knew she was leaving he thought he could almost sense which plane out of the hundreds that took off from Las Vegas was hers. He sat in his car by the fence of the airfield. His phone beeped with an incoming text, but he didn’t bother to look at it. He’d spent the entire night grabbing it with every incoming mail, hoping it was her, but he didn’t hope anymore. He threw the car into reverse, looked down at his phone, and slammed on the brakes. He lifted it and read the few words. “My heart will never forget you, good-bye.”
* * * *
He drove back to Los Angeles that afternoon, and plunged back into his work, burying himself in it. Every day her memory got stronger instead of fading. He sent her e-mails, but she never answered. He even called her home just to hear her voice tell him to leave a message, but he never did.
The LED picture frame on his desk caught his attention. His parents flashed by, a picture of the twins and Dane at the beach smiling at him flipped by, and then her image centered on the screen. He didn’t know why he had put it in there, maybe it was to torture himself. He’d taken it the morning after he’d brought her back to his hotel.
It was a black and white photo. She lay on her stomach, her perfectly shaped legs bent and twisted up in the bed sheets. Her chin rested on her crossed arms. As always, her bangs fell into her eyes as she looked into the distance with a warm and soulful expression. He could only imagine what she had been thinking at that moment.
It occurred to him that it was the essence of who she was. She was a woman who stood on her own two feet, alone in the world, not asking for anything from anyone. Deceit had crumbled some of her biggest milestones in life. Yet, she carried it all. She carried it all on her shoulders, never letting it break her will or who she truly was.
The familiar tightness filled his chest. It was something he had never experienced before—heartbreak. He reached out and pushed the button to stop the frame from advancing. How many times in the last two months had he stared at that face? She was all by herself, and so was he. The cold ache inside him reminded him he had made the second biggest mistake of his life letting her go, and he turned the frame from him abruptly.
“Mr. Porter.” Sharon, his administrative assistant, peered around the door. “Your parents are here.”
“Hey, Mom,” he said sedately. He rose from his chair, giving her a kiss and a hug.
“Hello, darling. Are you ready for lunch?” she asked looking at her first born with concern.
“Su
re,” he said. “Hi, Dad.”
“Son.” He eyed Steven.
“Mr. Porter,” Sharon interrupted. “Sorry, but a letter came for you, and I think you’ve been waiting for it.” She extended her hand with the envelope.
“Thanks, Sharon.” He turned it over, recognizing the address. The letter suddenly felt heavy. He thought about dropping it on his desk and forgetting it, but he tore it open anyway. The letterhead said it was from a literary agent, Moira’s agent. He’d pulled himself from the bidding for the movie rights soon after getting back from Vegas. His conscience wouldn’t let him do anything but. He’d been expecting the confirmation from her firm.
He took a few steps toward the window and read the few words on the page. It said simply that the bidding for the books had been pulled. As per the author’s request, he would be given the rights. He closed his eyes. She trusted him enough with her novels, but she didn’t trust him enough to believe that he could love her.
His mother scanned the room, her gaze stopping on the picture frame, and she nudged his father, nodding toward the desk.
He walked to the window and looked out at the Pacific that rolled in the distance. He had achieved all his dreams. But the only dream that had ever meant anything to him lived about eleven hundred miles away. Night after night he’d lain awake thinking about her. Fate trembled with the thought that somewhere on the Pacific, across their northern border lived a woman who had taken his heart with her.
“She’s very beautiful, son,” his father said, moving to stand beside him. “I think I understand now, but we never thought it would happen. You haven’t dated a meaningful woman in your adult life, son. Every one of them wanted you for who you were and what they could get. You never seemed to mind.” His father waited for Steven to look at him. “This woman has depth, and there can be only one reason why she sits amongst the rest of the family photos—you’ve finally fallen in love, haven’t you?”
Too Grand for Words (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 23
