A bleached-blonde interviewer sat across from Delaney in another chair. She made some inane introductions, explaining that this was a special segment leading into tonight’s regular episode.
Tyler and Evie fell silent as the show progressed, or maybe they’d gotten up and left the room, or maybe they were having wild monkey sex right behind the couch. He really had no idea, because his eyes, ears, and heart were focused on the screen as all his senses tried to communicate with Delaney through the airwaves.
The interviewer smiled, showing off perfectly white teeth. “Delaney, I know your family is happy to have you back safe and sound. Can you share with the viewers what you’ve been doing for the last few weeks?”
Would she mention him? The house, the car, the tour bus, the hotel? The stolen backpack? The love? Any of it?
Lane smiled and gave a little laugh to cover up her hiccup. He might not have even noticed the hiccup if he didn’t know her so well.
“The last few weeks have been . . . memorable for a lot of reasons. I’d like to focus on what I’ve learned rather than the specifics of where I was or what I was doing. First of all, I’ve realized that even though I share part of my life with the public, that doesn’t mean I don’t have a right to privacy. Everyone has a right to privacy, especially in the bedroom.”
Grant took a glug of wine as Lane continued.
“As most viewers are aware, a video of me surfaced recently that was recorded and distributed without my knowledge or consent. That’s not only hurtful to me and my family, it’s also illegal and I intend to have the person responsible prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”
Another glug. He might need the bottle.
“So you will be pursuing legal action against Boyd Hampton?” the interviewer asked.
“Absolutely.”
“That must be an awful burden to carry around, knowing that the video exists. How do you feel about that?”
“I admit it bothers me. It’s embarrassing, but the thing I’ve learned from this experience is that you should never let anyone else determine how you feel about yourself. If someone takes advantage of you, speak up.”
If someone takes advantage? Is that what had really happened? Remorse swept over him. The only thing he’d seen or heard was that single magazine article suggesting she released the video herself, and he’d hesitated to give her the benefit of the doubt. She’d told him as much, but he hadn’t believed her, and that made him nearly as big of a jerk as the guy who’d made that video in the first place. Nearly.
Lane shifted in the chair, dropping one foot down to the floor, casual, comfortable, in spite of the topic. The camera loved her. She was a natural as she went on talking. “I’ve finally realized there is no shame in defending yourself. There’s no shame in owning up to your mistakes either. I’ve made plenty. I’m probably not finished.”
She smiled brightly and the interviewer laughed. “We all make mistakes, right?”
Lane nodded. “Some of us just like to go big. For instance, running away from this situation was a mistake. I should have faced it straight on. Turns out you can’t outswim a shark so your best bet is just to punch it right in the nose.”
The interviewer chuckled again. “Interesting analogy.”
Lane chuckled along with her. “I think the bottom line is that whatever life hands you, deal with it. You can’t hide. Whoever you are, whatever you’ve done, whatever the circumstances, own it. Be yourself, don’t try to hide, don’t try to be someone or something you’re not. Image is a pretty big deal around here in Los Angeles, probably in most other places too, but when it comes down to it, it’s the person we are at the core that really matters. All the rest is just details.”
Details. All the rest was just details. That’s what she’d tried to tell him about her name. And she was right. He knew who she was at the core.
The interviewer nodded, her head tilting sideways a bit as if she was pondering this very controversial point. “That’s true about image, but as a celebrity stylist, I would think you’d consider image to be pretty important too.”
Lane nodded back. “It’s human nature to want to look your best. There’s nothing wrong with that as long as that’s not your only focus. I’ve enjoyed being a stylist, but now I’m excited about turning my attention to some other projects that I’m really passionate about.”
“Such as?”
Such as? What other projects? What was she talking about?
“I have a few charity projects I’m interested in, but you’ll learn more about those as the season goes forward.”
“So you’ve decided to stay with the show, then?” the interviewer asked. “There were rumors you’d decided to leave.”
Lane giggle-hiccupped. That one was more obvious. “There are rumors I’m having an alien baby too. I can pretty much promise that nothing you read in a magazine is verifiable.”
“So what about the rumors concerning you and a certain cameraman, or you and a certain musician?”
Grant leaned forward on the couch.
Lane brushed her bangs to the side. “As I said, nothing you read in a magazine is verifiable, but this might be a good time to mention I’m making it my official policy to not publicly discuss who I may or may not be involved with. That part of my life will stay private.”
The interviewer practically wagged a finger at her. “Your fans will be disappointed to hear that.”
Delaney’s smile looked tight for the first time, but only for a second. “My fans will probably be much happier with their lives if they go out and find their own romances, and not waste time speculating about mine.” Her voice was pleasant but the point was clear.
“Even so, I have to ask,” the interviewer pressed, “with all that you’ve been through recently, being betrayed by an old boyfriend, being disparaged by some of the tabloids, Delaney Masterson, do you still believe in love?”
Her smile turned genuine and Grant’s heart paused. She pressed her thumb against her lip for a second before dropping her hand into her lap. “Absolutely. Life is messy, it’s complicated, and sometimes we let down the people we love the most. And sometimes they let us down, but you can’t give up. Every day is a chance to get it right. So, yes, absolutely. I believe in love. You know what Elvis said. Sometimes you can’t help falling.”
Grant nodded at the screen. She was telling the truth. Sometimes you can’t help falling.
Chapter 27
“COME ON, MELODY. HURRY UP,” Delaney called to her sister from the kitchen. “If we get to yoga late we’ll get stuck in the front of the room where all the mirrors are.”
Sun shone in from every window as Melody hopped down the hall with one hand on the wall while trying to pull her shoe on with the other. “I like being in the front by all the mirrors. How else can I see myself?”
“Hurry up.” Delaney screwed on the top to her water bottle just as Melody tipped over and fell on the floor.
“This is actually yoga right here,” Mel called out, giggling. “Me trying to put on my damn shoe.”
Delaney laughed at the heap that was her sister. She was glad to be home. Life in the Masterson household had returned to its loosely structured chaos, and the outpouring of support she’d received from friends and fans in the four days since her interview aired was helping to boost her spirits. But the Grant-sized canyon running its way through her heart was just as craggy, sharp, and deep.
She’d thought for sure he’d try to call her by now, but nothing. It had been over a week since she’d left Memphis, but no calls. No texts. Nothing. Then she’d seen a picture of the two of them on the cover of a magazine and wondered if he realized he’d become part of the story. He wouldn’t be pleased by that. He probably thought she leaked those pictures herself. So maybe she should call and tell him she hadn’t, but what would be the point?
She wanted him back. Desperately so, but she
hadn’t yet figured out how to make that happen. She’d even thought about calling and pretending to care about the rent money, even though she didn’t care about it. If anything, she was glad for that last link connecting them. But pretending had an awful ring to it these days. No more pretending for her.
Melody scrambled up from the floor after finally managing to put on her shoe, but then she bent over to peek out the front window. She walked over and moved aside the curtain.
“Oh my God, would you stop dawdling? You’re like a little kid.” Delaney picked up her keys and headed to the front door. “I’m leaving without you.”
“Why is there a hottie standing next to a yellow Volkswagen in our driveway?” Melody asked.
Delaney skidded to a halt, her shoes squeaking on the floor tiles. “What?”
“Hottie. Volkswagen. Driveway,” Melody said, pointing out the window and kneeling on the sofa that was in front of it to get a better view. She moved the curtain farther to the side. “Damn. Superhot. Like, supernaturally hot.”
It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be.
Delaney plunked her keys and the water bottle down on the coffee table and knelt on the couch next to her sister to look outside.
And there he was.
Grant, in her driveway, next to her piece of shit Volkswagen. He was standing there in jeans and a white T-shirt, with his phone in his hand.
Delaney’s ringtone chimed from the kitchen, and she nearly twisted her ankle trying to scramble from the couch back to the counter in record time. She did manage to knock Melody on the floor in the process, a feat that had been mostly accidental. Those Masterson girls were nothing if not graceful. Delaney scooped up her phone and stared at the screen.
The number was Grant’s, of course. Of course, it was Grant’s. She could see him through the window. She could just open the door, but . . . she took a big breath. In. Out. Then she answered, trying to keep her voice mellow, which was no easy task.
“Hello?”
“Lane?”
“Yes?”
His pause was just long enough to rattle her senses. Was he happy to be there? Was he still mad? She needed him to talk. She needed him to set the tone.
“It’s Grant.”
“I know. You’re in my driveway.”
“I am? Thank God. I couldn’t figure out if this was the right house or not. The address matches your luggage tag but the place looks completely different on TV.”
She turned around and looked out the kitchen window to stare at him. God, he looked good. He looked perfect.
“That’s because on TV they use a shot of a different house so we don’t get crazy stalker fans hanging out in our front yard.”
Why? Why was this what they were talking about? She watched him nodding his head.
“Oh. Oh, that makes sense. I guess.”
“Yeah.”
She wanted to say something else, anything else. She’d been waiting for his call since the moment that taxi had driven her away from his aunt’s house. Now it was more than a week later, and in spite of all her rehearsing, she couldn’t think of any of the stuff she’d meant to tell him.
He cleared his throat. “So, um, I can’t stop thinking about you,” he finally said, and her heart slammed so hard inside her chest she may have just broken a rib. It felt like she’d broken a rib. She might need an X-ray.
“You can’t?”
“No. In fact, I’ve been thinking about you a lot. Pretty much all day, and . . . definitely all night.” He leaned against the side of the yellow car.
“Really?” It was hard to breathe. She might need a pulmonologist too. Her lungs were struggling as much as her heart.
Grant sounded as breathless as she felt, and she was glad. Glad he missed her. Glad he’d been thinking about her. And very, very glad that he was standing in her driveway.
He rubbed his fingertips across his forehead. “Yeah, really. Do you suppose I could come in there or you could, I don’t know, come out here? Maybe? I managed to get your car back from the police, and I brought the suitcase that you left back in Bell Harbor.”
“You did?”
She could see he’d brought the car but it was still a surprise. A sweet, sweet surprise. But darn it! All that stuff she’d rehearsed to say, and still she couldn’t remember a word of it. She walked from the kitchen to the front door and glanced at Melody.
Melody fanned her face with both hands and mouthed the words, “So hot!”
Delaney nodded and yanked open the door. She set her phone down on the little table in the entryway and stepped outside. “You didn’t need to drive that lousy car all the way to California,” she said, walking down the brick sidewalk that connected the front porch to the driveway. She was dressed for yoga. Maybe he’d notice. He seemed to have liked the yoga. This was to her advantage. She stopped walking when she was a few feet away from him.
Grant lowered the phone and slid it into his front pocket, his eyes roving over her until they locked on her own, hot, intense. His were green in this light. She loved it when they looked so green.
“Well, I wanted to bring you your suitcase anyway. So . . . you know.”
She crossed her arms, not certain what to do with her hands because mostly what she wanted to do was twist up her fists in that white T-shirt and pull his mouth down to hers. But it seemed like they should talk a little more first.
“That was . . . um . . . that’s really thoughtful of you. It’s still a pretty long drive.”
“Well, I was heading this way anyhow. I have some LA producer types interested in financing my show so I’m meeting with them over the next couple of days.”
Her heart tripped and fell. Is that why he was here? But his gaze drifted toward her mouth and she knew he wanted to kiss her just as badly as she wanted to be kissed. He should just do it then. She inched a little closer.
“Your show? The one about the charities?”
He nodded. “Yes. I made a few calls and got the green light. Good news, huh?”
She nodded. “Yes. I’m happy for you.”
He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s a problem though. A big, big problem.”
She pressed a thumbnail to her lip. If being involved with her had somehow led to difficulties for him and his new show, she’d feel terrible. “What kind of problem?”
A shy but hopeful smile crooked one side of his mouth. “I need a host. A beautiful, adventurous host. Any chance you’re looking for a job?”
She heated up from the center outward and felt her own smile spreading slowly. “Um, I’d have to think about that. Are you sure you’d want me? I have sort of a lousy reputation with the public, you know.”
His hands reached out and grazed her hips, pulling her into the space between his feet.
“The public adores you, and anyway I don’t care about what the media says. I don’t buy into that sort of hype. I know who you are. I know about the stuff that matters.”
His fingers squeezed and he continued talking, which was a good thing because words were beyond her capability just then. “Lane, I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time back in Memphis. I was an ass. I was angry because . . . well, because I was so crazy about you and then when I found out about some of the lies, I just thought that maybe everything had been a lie. And I wanted what we had to be real.”
She closed that final distance because she couldn’t bear not to. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. His arms went tight around her waist and they were face-to-face. Blissfully face-to-face. Right where she wanted to be. She leaned back to gaze at him.
“It was real. I should have told you everything right from that very first night, but it all happened so fast. The truth is I’m not a very practiced liar, and the whole situation spun out of control before I could figure out what to do. It was stupid of me
and I’m so sorry you got caught up in it.”
He nodded. “I know. I get it, now. I do. The press was always pretty decent to me and my show but I’ve seen how they twist things when it comes to you. I should have realized that sooner. I should have given you more time to explain. I guess I was embarrassed because I felt like I’d been tricked, but then I saw your interview and I realized how you must have felt about, well, about what happened to you. I see how you got caught up in all of it and it wasn’t fair. I’m really sorry about that, Lane. And I never would have sent you back to the hotel if I’d known the press was there waiting. You do know that, don’t you? I feel terrible about that.”
“That wasn’t your fault.” It wasn’t his fault he smelled so good either. She couldn’t possibly stay mad at him when he smelled this good.
“I still feel terrible,” he said.
“Well, I still feel terrible about lying to you in the first place. So where does that leave us? Both feeling terrible?” She looked up at his face and wondered if she’d ever get tired of seeing it. His eyes, his smile, his subtle dimples.
“I have a much better idea,” he said, smiling down at her, and she had her answer. She knew for sure, she’d never get tired of any of that.
“What’s your idea?” she asked, pressing against him, feeling the heat from his body and nearly melting from it.
“We start over. Tell me about yourself. Tell me the stuff that’s real.”
She sighed, a big happy sigh, and the world seemed to right itself after being off-kilter for far too long. “Well, for starters, I’m Delaney Masterson and I live here.”
Grant’s gaze dropped to her lips. “That’s a good start. What else?”
“My parents are both famous, I’m regrettably infamous, and I swear to you that everything that happened between us in bed, everything I said about my feelings, that all was true. Every moment, every word. Do you believe me?”
His hands moved up from her hips to cup her face, and he looked into her eyes so long she wondered if he’d forgotten the question.
“I do believe you. Let’s promise from here on out, no secrets. No lies. Always tell me the truth and I’ll do the same. Even if it’s not comfortable. It’s the only way I know how to do this and be able to trust that it’s real.”
Love Me Sweet (A Bell Harbor Novel) Page 26
