by EMILIE ROSE
“Oh.” He actually looked dejected, and Delainey felt compelled to pat him awkwardly on the shoulder.
“You’re a good camera guy and I appreciate the quality of your work. I hope this doesn’t change our working relationship.”
“Yeah, sure. It’s cool,” Trevor said stiffly, recovering some of his swagger. “There are plenty of fish in the sea, you know? It’s not going to ruin my day that you’re not digging me in the same way.”
“Glad to hear it,” she said, happy to be done with that conversation. But as she thought about it, she couldn’t help but ask, “Out of curiosity, why do you think that I would want a man weaker than me?” That just went against her entire upbringing. Men were supposed to be the strong ones. “Just because a woman is strong doesn’t mean she has to have a weak man to balance out the dynamic.”
“Wrong. It’s like having two magnets of the same polarity—they repel each other.”
“No. People aren’t magnets,” she said firmly. “Besides, your theory as it applies to me is flawed. Weak men disgust me. I need a strong man who can be my equal, not some weakling who will let me push him around.”
“Maybe weak wasn’t the right word, because I’m not a weak guy. But you need someone who isn’t threatened by the idea of a woman running the show. I like when a woman takes control. It’s sexy as hell. This is why I date older women in power positions. They know what they want and they take it. Especially in the bedroom.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Delainey grimaced. “C’mon, don’t tell me that you don’t like to take control for a little cowgirl action? I bet you’re—”
“Stop,” Delainey said, instantly covering her ears with her hands. “This conversation just got really inappropriate. Thank you for answering my question, but I’m your boss and I don’t want to get busted for sexual harassment.” She saw Molly and realized with relief they could get back to shooting. “Molly’s ready. Set up for shot fourteen and please watch the shadows. I can’t come back to Alaska for pickups.”
And then she practically ran away from Trevor, feeling as if she needed a shower.
How could he think that she would be attracted to a weak pushover? Not even close. The idea was so abhorrent and sexually repulsive. No, she was dead certain that Trace was her sexual equal, and if that was true, she was attracted to a man who was possibly stronger than she was. Trace always took control in the bedroom, and it thrilled her senseless. Just thinking of Trace in a sexual manner revved her engine unlike anyone else ever had. She pressed her palms to her cheeks to see if they felt hot.
What a morning. Why hadn’t she and Trace spent more time getting sweaty and less time arguing? A slow, private smile curved her lips. Tonight she’d have to rectify that little error in judgment. Tickled by the idea, she set about the rest of the day’s shooting with a renewed vigor and dedication.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
TRACE AND DELAINEY 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 h
er 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.
* * *
DELAINEY 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
DELAINEY 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.
