A Real Live Hero

by Kimberly Van Meter

  “Delainey?” he started, shocked. “What are you doing here?”

  Before she could answer and before she could playfully remind him of the last time she’d shown up at his door unannounced, he grabbed her by the jacket and hauled her forcibly across the threshold to seal his lips against hers. He didn’t care why she was there. The fact that she was there was all that mattered.

  He kissed her long and deep, all of the pent-up longing and heartache coalescing into a giant ball of need, and before she could catch her breath, he hefted her across his shoulder and carried her as she laughed and squealed straight to the bedroom. “I hope this is what you had in mind, because I’m not about to stop,” he warned, giving her behind a good squeeze. She shrieked in open delight, and he grinned as he threw her to the bed, ripping his clothes free as he stalked toward her.

  “Don’t you want to know what I’m doing here?” she asked, breathless, as her fingers made quick work of her clothes. Within seconds, she was naked and his vision crossed. He fell on her like a beast, so desperate to touch and feel her again, to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming and she was, in fact, there with him. She held his face tenderly as she kissed him deeply, her breasts rubbing against his chest with beautiful friction.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said with a hoarse groan as her deft fingers found his erection. “God, I’ve missed you so much....”

  “Ask me why I’m here,” she whispered against the shell of his ear, and he pulled away, staring down at her with open curiosity. She grinned. “Go ahead...ask me.”

  “Why are you here?” he asked, almost afraid.

  “Because I’ve finally come to my senses and I’m saying yes to the question you asked eight years ago.”

  He stared into her eyes, his heart tripping a beat, afraid to hope. “Yes?” he repeated, almost unable to breathe. “Are you saying...yes to what I think...you’re saying?” The words caught in his throat and he blinked back tears.

  “Ask me again,” she murmured, tucking the errant wisps of hair behind his ears.

  Trace shook as he stared into her eyes. “Delainey Clarke...will you marry me?”

  “Yes,” she said, nodding with tears. “Yes, you beautiful man. I will marry you. I will gladly spend the rest of my life with you. And,” she added with a twinkle in her eye, “I think we’ve had a long enough engagement. Are you busy tomorrow? My calendar is free if you are....”

  “Tomorrow?” he repeated, astonished. “You mean, going to the courthouse and just getting it done?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

  The fact that she couldn’t wait another second to be his wife filled him with such joy that words escaped him. He’d resigned himself to living without her, determined to watch her soar without him if need be. But she’d come back to him on her own, and he wasn’t about to let her go again. He didn’t know what had changed, but he didn’t care. Whatever it was, they’d make it work. “We can be at the courthouse by 9:00 a.m.”

  She grinned and pulled him close. “Perfect. Gives us just enough time to sleep in a little, because you’re not going to get a lick of sleep tonight.”

  “That’s my girl,” he growled, pressing another deep and lusty kiss against her lips, nearly delirious with the need to feel her against him.

  “Your girl...always and forever,” she said on a sigh.

  And then they took turns showing each other exactly how much they’d missed one another—over and over and over.

  Come morning, they were both bleary-eyed and sore in muscles they hadn’t even known they possessed, but they didn’t mind.

  They were about to spend the rest of their lives together and couldn’t wait to get on with it.

  Come what may, they were a team and forever more always would be.

  EPILOGUE

  TRACE AND DELAINEY were married at the courthouse with Miranda, her guy, Jeremiah, and Talen as witnesses, both eager to start making up for what they believed as lost time. But even as they shared a wondrous bond and their future together seemed rosy, Trace worried about the future. For one, the situation with his parents was likely to get worse before it got better, and he didn’t want to scare away his new bride.

  “You’re not allowed to fall into a funk a day after our wedding,” Delainey teased, tapping at the frown gathering on his forehead. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m worried about the situation with my parents and how it might affect us. And I’m worried about your new job with the Discovery Channel,” he admitted, not willing to start their new life together with a veneer of half-truths. “We’re taking on a lot, and right now I’m thinking selfishly. I don’t want anything to come between our happiness.”

  She smiled and wrapped her arms around his torso. “I love how protective you are. That’s a wonderful quality in a husband, in my opinion. But you need to stop worrying. I’m not going anywhere. Not this time. I’m not that same naive girl who expects wine and roses every day. I know times might get tough, but I’m not scared because I know whatever comes our way, we’ll handle it.”

  Her quiet trust floored and humbled him. “I love you,” he said. “Not in the easy way most people say the words. I mean, I love you more than I love anything else in this world. I love you more than a cold beer on a hot summer day. Or the thrill of tracking a lost hiker and finding them alive and well. I love you so much, Delainey Sinclair. Would it be completely corny if I said, you complete me?”

  “Yes,” she answered, but followed with a grin. “And I love it.” They shared a kiss, and when they pulled away, she sobered and said, “I know things are going to get hard with your parents. But I love your parents, too. They were there for me when I had no one. I want to be there for you and them. Plus, I don’t know why, but I’m not worried about my career anymore. I know I’ll always be okay. Especially now that I’ve found my niche. Who knew that I’d have to leave and come back to realize that what I’d needed all along was right here to begin with? It’s going to be okay.”

  Her confident assurance filled him with such intense emotion, he started to tear up. “Gahh,” he said, wiping at his eyes with embarrassment. “You’ve turned me into a blubbering baby.”

  “Not hardly,” she retorted, laughing. “You’re the most manly man I’ve ever known. And you’re going to make an amazing father someday.”

  “Someday?” he repeated, his heart leaping with the possibility. “Someday...”

  She smiled coyly. “Someday soon, I wager. I figure...we’ve waited long enough.”

  He cradled her to his chest, unable to believe what an incredible gift he had in his wife.

  No matter the pain he suffered all those years without her, she’d been worth the wait.

  And since she’d pretty much given him the green light...he grasped her hand and pulled her to the bedroom.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, laughing.

  “Like you said, we’ve waited long enough...and practice makes perfect, right? Time to get naked, Mrs. Sinclair...and make some babies!”

  Her delighted laughter turned to gasping moans, and Trace realized he’d never tire of either sound.

  Life wasn’t perfect—but it was damn near close.

  * * * * *

  Be sure to look for the last book in THE SINCLAIRS OF ALASKA trilogy by Kimberly Van Meter—available from Harlequin Superromance in July 2014!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from WHAT BELONGS TO HER by Rachel Brimble.

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Superromance.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  SASHA TODD STOOD ramrod-straight and narrowed her eyes as she studied the man standing near the bumper cars talking to a group of teenage girls. Unease rippled up her spine. Was one of them his daughter? Or was the son of a bitch edging in on forbidden territory? Uncrossing her arms, she pulled back her shoulders and strode forward, suppressed anger burning hot in her stomach.

  When she was two feet away from them, one of the girls gave a delighted shriek and threw her arms around the man’s neck. “Thanks, Daddy. You’re the best.”

  He laughed. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Now behave yourselves. I’ll be back at nine-thirty to pick you up.”

  The girl untangled herself from her father’s embrace and waved, linking arms with her friend, her father’s generous wad of spending money clutched in her hand. Her father stared fondly after her, before pulling a bunch of keys from his pocket and heading toward the fairground gates. Sasha released her held breath, heat pinching her cheeks. She couldn’t deny the proud smile he wore was one of a father who adored and cared for his little girl.

  She sent silent thanks to God, relieved that her continual paranoia had been proven unsubstantiated once again. Happiness relaxed her shoulders, and she smiled as she surveyed the domain that would soon be entirely hers, excitement washing through her. She rounded one of the three Funland burger stands and came to an abrupt stop, her eyebrows rising in appreciation.

  “Well, hello there.” She casually appraised the handsome stranger standing at the Ferris wheel.

  His dark, glossy hair and the gray five-o’clock shadow that brushed his jaw caught her interest...but it was the muscular forearms revealed beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his checked shirt, and the undoubtedly strong thighs covered with faded denim that reeled her in all the way.

  Dance music pulsed from the loudspeakers at the corners of the bumper cars, and screams emanated from the roller coaster hurtling along the tracks above. Sasha’s heart rate hitched higher. Lordy, the man was built. Inhaling a deep breath, she wandered closer under the pretense of cool nonchalance.

  Tomorrow she’d face Kyle Jordon’s asshole second-in-command and begin the task of taking back the fair from Kyle’s criminal hands—but for tonight, she wanted some personal time. Some time to release the pressure of having to endure years of silent frustration. Frustration that had built to bursting if her earlier, misconstrued, father/daughter exchange was anything to go by.

  She smiled. If everything went to plan, the fair would finally soon be back in the Todd family after Kyle had maliciously stolen it from her dying grandfather when he was in his most vulnerable and desperate state.

  Exhaling, she concentrated on the satisfying sight of the stranger’s taut ass. She tossed her hair over her shoulders, enjoying a rare rush of power. He stared up at the Ferris wheel as it slowly worked its romantic magic around the couples swinging to and fro in the brightly colored carriages. His jaw was a hardened line as he intently studied the ride. The man looked as though he wanted to spit at the joviality of it.

  As she drew closer, the stiff set of his shoulders and the fisted hands at his hips swayed Sasha’s confidence. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. She glanced up at the ride. What if his girlfriend was up there alone and avoiding him? Or worse, up there with a new lover? A guy pitching for a fight was the last thing she needed added to her already teetering pile of problems.

  Her smile dissolved and she shrugged on her manager persona. A potential fight brewing gave her no choice but to step in and cool the simmering fire before it had time to set fully alight. Sidling up beside him, she gave a loud, theatrical cough.

  He turned, and his dark blue eyes coolly pinned her to the spot. She forced herself to stand still as his gaze languidly glided over her face, lingering for a moment at her lips. No smile lifted the corners of his mouth. No softness seeped into his hardened study.

  She smiled even as her stomach knotted. “Hi.”

  He continued to stare.

  Okay, so he’s got that sexy, broody thing going on, but since when does a guy—any guy—leave me speechless? Say something...

  “Well, you’re all sorts of angry, aren’t you?” Great, Sasha. Just poetic.

  He lifted an eyebrow and turned his focus back to the ride.

  She frowned and glared at his profile, feeling like an idiot. The guy needed to take a serious chill pill. Did he think he had a monopoly on being pissed off? Wakey, wakey, mister, the entire human race holds a grudge of one kind or another.

  “I was only trying to make conversation. If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine.” She shrugged. “I haven’t seen you before and, as I’m the person running things around here, I thought you might appreciate a friendly word, a kind welcome. My name’s Sasha—”

  “I know who you are.”

  She stiffened. The deep, smooth lilt of his upper-class English voice filled her with equal measures of attraction and warning. “Pardon me?”

  He faced her and crossed his arms across his broad chest. “You’re Sasha Todd, exceptionally pretty and svelte manageress of this fairground, known so lovingly as Funland. You work for Kyle Jordon. Although, while Kyle’s currently boarding at Her Majesty’s pleasure in prison, you are undoubtedly forced to answer to his bull mastiff of a lapdog, the wonderfully charming and partially toothed Freddy Campton. Am I right?”

  Sasha crossed her arms, mimicking his stance as irritation simmered inside her. “Yes, but who—”

  “How do you feel about that, Miss Todd?”

  “What?”

  “Moreover, how are you going to feel knowing that from tomorrow, you’ll be answering to me and not him?”

  Sasha froze as his words filtered through her mind. What the hell did he just say? She uncrossed her arms and splayed her hands on her hips. “Is this some kind of joke?”

  A flicker of amusement lit his eyes before he blinked and they turned cold once more. “No joke. From tomorrow you’ll be reporting to me.”

  Panic and disbelief hurtled through her. Who the hell does this guy think he is? She huffed out a laugh. “I don’t think so. Who are you?”

  “Your new boss.”

  She grinned, hoping it would coerce some semblance of a smile to his lips and make him tell her he was kidding. “Very funny. You’re a funny guy, Mr.—”

  “You don’t believe me?” His face remained unnervingly impassive.

  Okay, enough was enough. “I asked you who you are. If you want to toss a revelation like that at me, the least you can do is tell me your name. Not that I’m likely to believe a word you say after this slightly creepy performance.”

  He uncrossed his arms and offered his hand, which she took without thinking. His hand enveloped hers. Warm, smooth and unnervingly large. Why did she have the sudden and unwelcome suspicion nothing about this guy was small or weak?

  “John Jordon.” He shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  She stared into his eyes, her heart picking up speed. No, no, no. She swallowed in an effort to bring some saliva back into her desert-dry mouth. “Jordon? Are you telling me you’re Kyle’s son? His brother?”

  He smiled.

  She scowled as anger shot through her body with the speed of a freight train. Frustration and the enormity of what this meant turned her vision pink with rage. She slowly eased her hand from his and fisted her hair back from her face. “Well?”

  “I’m his son.”

  She closed her eyes, struggling to maintain her equilibrium and not freak out. “As far as I was aware Kyle d
oesn’t have a son or a brother.” She opened her eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

  His gaze locked on hers for a moment before it shot toward the crowds of people walking around the fair, laughing and shouting without a care in the world. “I’m his son whether you want to believe it or not.” He met her eyes. “And I’ll be here running things for the foreseeable future. So the sooner we get acquainted, the better.”

  “Get acquainted?” She laughed as her shaky self-control snapped. “You have no idea, do you? No damn idea whatsoever.”

  The anger dissolved from his eyes and was replaced with wary confusion. “About what? This place?”

  “About everything. You need to go.”

  His brow furrowed as he stared. “That won’t be happening anytime soon, I’m afraid.”

  Trembling, Sasha walked backward, opening the space between them. She shook her head. “You can’t do this. You can’t do this to me. Not now.”

  His frown deepened. “Do what?”

  She waved her hand at him. “Do this. Turn up here. Say these things. I won’t let you do this.”

  “Miss Todd—”

  “I’m leaving.” Her mind raced and her body felt strangely numb. “This isn’t happening.”

  He put his hand out as if to touch her, hesitated and then dropped it to his side. “Wait. Just wait.” The stiff set of his shoulders slumped. “Maybe we should start—”

  Sasha fled. She resolutely fought the tears that burned her eyes and blurred the crowds in front of her as she shouldered her way through. Her breathing grew labored and she rasped as if she had sharpened needles inside her chest. John Jordon. Kyle Jordon’s son. He was going to take her fair. It was his. Not hers. Never hers.

  She choked back a sob as the green, wrought-iron gates of the fairground came into view. Stumbling, she gripped them, shook them, wanting to rip them from their hinges. A scream gathered momentum, burning the back of her throat, and she dropped her head against the gate. Damn you, Kyle Jordon. Damn you to hell.