“That’s it?” she blurted out, unable to stop herself. “We’re not even going to talk about what happened?”
“It’s late. We need some rest.” His sigh sounded heavier than usual. “I can’t see any sense in beating ourselves up about it. Like you said, it was a lapse in judgment. Now and then, everybody suffers a lapse.”
She was perfectly capable of being inane on her own; she didn’t need him parroting her words back to her. “It wasn’t just a lapse, it was insanity. I mean, we both know better, right?”
“We didn’t do anything, Trae. Nothing happened.”
How could he say that when she could still feel his hands on her, taste him on her tongue? “Lucie deserves better,” she insisted.
“You think I don’t know that?” The cot creaked and the bedcovers rustled as he tossed and turned to get comfortable. “Me, who’s spent his entire adult life looking out for what’s best for her?”
“Really? And who was looking out for Lucie’s interests just now when you were about to sleep with her best friend?”
In the dark, she could hear his sharp intake of breath. “I don’t know, Trae. I guess I could ask you the same.”
She felt like she’d been slapped. “This is stupid,” she said, fighting a sudden need for tears. “If we’re just going to argue, maybe we should turn over and get some sleep.”
“Isn’t that what I suggested?”
With a huff, she turned on her side away from him.
A mistake? she thought angrily. Oh, no, what they’d just done was sheer, unadulterated disaster. Seemed Rhys was right, after all. Losing control
did
lead to catastrophe.
It didn’t make sense. On every date, she was the one who controlled the tempo, who chose which base the guy would reach, who never, ever relinquished the decision to anyone. Of all the men in the world, why had she so eagerly handed herself over to Rhys Paxton? What did he have that the others did not?
Those hands, she thought unhappily. She’d always been a sucker for a great pair of hands. Too bad they happened to belong to her best friend’s fiancé.
All at once, she wanted to cry. Bad enough that she would have to face Rhys in the morning, but how on earth was she ever going to face Lucie?
She waited as Trae went on, her professional tone encouraging Lucie to leave her name and number. But what could she say to the dead air between them? She needed Trae, the real Trae, with her warmth, concern and unique understanding. Not some impersonal machine.
Lucie flinched as another truck whizzed by, the ground beneath her feet vibrating so loud, she never heard the beep signaling the start of her message. She kept talking anyway, the tension of the past few days bubbling out of her. “Knowing you, you’ve probably been leaving messages, but I lost my cell phone and can’t remember how to get to my voice mail. I guess I always relied on Rhys to help me out. Oh, Trae…I really wish you were here. I need to talk to someone. Somebody I can trust. I thought of calling Rhys, but that would be unforgivably selfish. Especially after the way I left him. Oh, Trae, this time I really screwed up.”
She stopped, not wanting her friend to guess how close to tears she was.
Today had been awful, with that terrible Lou Carino bellowing at her, and tomorrow didn’t offer much improvement. For the first time in her life, Lucie realized, she now had to face her problems alone.
Well, not entirely alone. She had Bobby, lying dead drunk in the back of his van.
“Nothing is turning out like I thought,” she went on, thinking longingly of the pretty church, her happy parents, all the startled friends and relatives she’d left behind. “I should never have run away. I mean, Rhys is such a great guy, you know? Looking back, he’s given me some of the best times of my life.”
She actually did look back, over her shoulder to the van, uncomfortably aware of how recently Bobby had fit that description. “I’m confused, Trae,” she added. “And scared. Maybe I don’t have what it takes to answer the call to adventure. What if I’ve messed things up so bad, I can’t ever set them right again?”
The question hung there as another ten-wheeler rumbled past the phone booth. In the interval, Lucie imagined her friend’s response.
“Buck up,”
she could hear Trae telling her.
“And finish what you started.”
Lucie sighed. If only she was as confident in her own abilities. Sadly enough, she had a long way to go before she could hope to be as strong as Trae, or even half as smart about the ways of the world.
“And what are you waiting for?”
Lucie smiled as she imagined Trae, hands on her hips, asking her the question. She was right, of course. Wasn’t that what this journey was supposed to be about?
“Sorry, I don’t know why I left this message. You won’t be able to reach me anyway. We’re driving to Bobby’s place—well, looks like I’ll be driving while he sleeps it off—and I don’t have my cell phone. Don’t worry, though. Knowing Rhys, he’s probably already on his way to rescue me. He always does, you know.”
A thought that both cheered and depressed her. Yes, Lucie liked to imagine Rhys magically erasing the mess she’d made of her life, but she could also see the merit in Quinn’s Just-Say-No oath. What kind of wife would she be, what kind of person, if she never learned how to take care of herself?
As much as Lucie wished she could discuss her dilemma with Trae, it was, after all, only voice mail, and the big, drunken cowboy who’d harassed her earlier was now weaving his way toward the phone booth. The last thing she needed was to get involved in another ugly scene, so she said a quick goodbye and bolted for the van.
Cranking the ignition with trembling fingers, Lucie wondered how she was supposed to get them all the way to Louisiana, finding her way all alone in the dark on this never-ending highway. She, who always got in the back and let everyone else do the driving.
Eyeing the backseat, conceding that it was already occupied, she knew that she didn’t really have much of a choice. Especially with the big, drunken cowboy still heading in her direction.
I can do this,
she told herself as she peeled out of the truck stop.
And if not, there’s always Rhys
.
Bit by painful bit, she remembered where she was. In Las Vegas. In this awful room. Alone with Rhys Paxton.
Sitting bolt upright, she felt the blood rush to her head as she clutched the blankets around her.
“Good, you’re up,” Rhys said with remarkable calm—not to mention annoying alertness—as he set a paper bag on the dresser across the room. “I got coffee. We can be up and on the road within fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen minutes?” Fighting to focus, she watched him pull covered cups out of the first bag. She could see he was in a hurry but darned if she could remember why. On less than two hours sleep, how was a girl supposed to think?
“Oh, that’s right,” she said, figuring it out at last. “Lucie. You wanted to get to the site early.”
He turned with both cups as if he meant to bring hers to the bed, then stopped as he clearly thought better of it. Eyeing the second cup as if it would bite him, he set it back down on the dresser.
Shaking her head, Trae swung her legs to the floor. “I know you want to get there as soon as possible, but must it be at the crack of dawn?” Shuffling over to the window, she pulled aside the drape, only to see nothing in the dark, shadowed alley. “Correction, make that
pre
-crack of dawn.”
“Not a morning person, I see.”
Normally, she needed a minimum of two coffees and an hour of total silence before she could function. While he…well, obviously he’d been up long enough to shave and comb his hair. The fact that he could stand there acting so in control, so businesslike, so…so cheerful at this hour made her want to throw a pillow at his face.
“You want miracles on two hours sleep? And what about food?”
He gestured at the second bag. “I brought doughnuts.”
She must have made a face. “I was in a hurry,” he explained curtly. “I thought we were on the same page with this. Isn’t haste number one on the agenda?”
“Yeah, okay, so haste I can remember,” she grumbled, “but tell me, when did starvation get put on the list?”
“For now, just eat the damned doughnuts.” Turning away, he reached for his coffee. “You can always pick up something more substantial
after
we’ve found Lucie.”
At the mention of her name, the pieces began to fall into place. Lucie. Last night. The resulting awkwardness between them. No wonder he was in such a hurry to go.
She couldn’t help but notice that he’d said,
you,
not
we
, implying that once he located his fiancée, Trae would be on her own.
She stole a glimpse at him. He was still looking away, drinking his coffee, both hands grasping the cup as if he hoped to draw warmth from it. Trae had no need for an outside source; heat suffused her entire body as she remembered those hands on her body. Rhys Paxton, the man with the perfect touch.
As if hearing her thoughts, he met her gaze. Something sizzled between them, something almost electric, before he broke away. As his gaze inadvertently fell on the bed, he shuddered.
Oh, yes, she could see the danger in remaining too long in this room with the man.
“I’ll give you time to dress,” he said stiffly as he hurried to the door. “I’ll go check out and wait for you in the lobby.”
Disconcerted, she stared at the door he’d slammed behind him. Odd, how quiet the room seemed. How empty.
Get used to it,
she told herself firmly. They’d finally be catching up to Lucie in less than an hour, and after that…well, his hasty exit proved how little contact he’d want them to have in the future.
Determined not to waste one more second fretting over that man, she went to the closet and reached for the dreaded pink running suit. The smart thing now would be to hurry up and get dressed, get the whole expedition over with. The sooner they found Lucie, the sooner everyone could get back to his or her own life.
No matter how quiet. Or empty.
Muttering under her breath, she made her way to the bathroom, only to trip over the black plastic trash bag. Cringing, she realized she’d forgotten all about the damp clothes last night. Not good, she thought as she lifted them out of the bag, not if the musty smell was anything to go by. Grabbing the bag hanging in the closet, she decided that somewhere along the way, they had to find a dry cleaner.
Even with the slight delay, she took maybe twenty minutes to shower and collect her meager belongings. The way Rhys was tapping his foot when she met him in the lobby, however, you’d think she’d kept him waiting for hours.
Anxious to prove that “haste” was item number one on her agenda, too, she misread the map and drove off in the wrong direction. Rhys quickly pointed out that he’d be happy to come to her assistance if just once, she’d let him look at Josh’s directions. Irritated by his attitude, she tossed the paper in his lap and then had to endure his air of superiority as he guided them back on course.
After forty-five minutes of solid bickering, Trae’s last nerves were frayed by the time they reached the film site. She certainly didn’t need what her weary eyes were showing her—seven dusty trailers huddled in a circle, like covered wagons that had failed at fending off an attack.
Otherwise, the place was completely deserted. No film crew, no Bobby and certainly no Lucie. Staring out at the bleak desert landscape as the sun crept up over the horizon, she fought an overwhelming urge to weep.
Trust Rhys to voice the obvious. “Now what?”
“How the hell would I know?”
He seemed surprised by her outburst, but then, the man rarely gave rein to his emotions. As he’d undoubtedly put it,
“A Paxton never loses his temper.”
“Apparently, your pal Josh gave us the wrong directions. We’ll need an alternate plan of action. I suggest we drive back to that shopping center we passed on the way here and use the pay phone to check our messages. Maybe Lucie will have reported in.”
What was he, a robot? How could he continue to act so cool, calm, and oh-so-logical? She had a sudden, strong need to tweak him, goad him into showing some of the less than self-contained being she’d glimpsed last night. “Stop pretending, Paxton.”
That got his attention. Stiffening, he turned his head to face her. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. Who do you think you’re kidding, acting like this is business as usual? You know as well as I do that last night was anything
but
normal.”
The only outward sign that she’d scored a direct hit was the telltale tic above his eyebrow. “I thought we’d agreed to move on.”
Move on?
How comfortable for him to be able to file it under been-there-done-that, don’t-have-to-do-it-again. While for Trae, the memory of their intimacy had become an infection, already throbbing, festering more each moment she left it untreated.
“No, Paxton.
You
made the decision to move on. No doubt you’ve convinced yourself that you’re being a perfect gentleman. Mr. Discretion personified. Know what I think?”
“Haven’t a clue but I’m sure you’ll enlighten me.”
She went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “I think you’re taking the easy way out. Hiding from the truth. Acting as if you just have to ignore it long enough, and you can believe nothing happened between us.”
“Technically, nothing did.” He still sounded calm, in total control, but the tic kept pulsing faster.
“You and your technicalities,” she said, throwing her hands up in disgust. “Is that how you were able to sleep last night?”
“You think I was able to sleep?” Eyes blazing, he turned to her. She could almost hear the
snap
as he finally lost it. “What do you want from me, Trae? You want me to admit that I’m attracted to you?” Sucking in an angry breath, he leaned closer. “That I’m
very
attracted? That I left the room early this morning because it was the only way I could stop myself from sliding under the covers with you to try it again?”
“Yes.” Conscious of his face so close to her own, Trae could only breathe the words. “Yes, actually. I’d love to hear you admit it.”
“Then, fine. I am. I did. But that doesn’t change much, does it? The fact still remains, I lost control.”
He looked so unhappy, she had a sudden urge to reach out and ease the worry lines off his face. “In case you didn’t notice,” she said instead, “there’s a lot of that going around. For the record, I wasn’t exactly Miss In Control, either. And let’s not forget Lucie, out there running around like some panicked chicken without a head. With all that’s happened, why should you be the only one making sense?”
“Because that’s how I’ve always lived my life.”
“Well, lucky you.” The way he said it, you’d think he expected a medal. “Welcome to the real world. Take a glimpse of how the rest of us have to live.”
He tilted his head, studying her, as if her words—or maybe just her—left him bewildered.
“Lucie’s running off, your missing wallet, no luggage,” she went on. “Everyone else deals with that kind of stuff on a regular basis. You can’t always expect life to follow your rules of logic, Paxton. It’s full of surprises, and you can’t always see them coming. Sometimes, no matter what you try to do, there’s no way you can control the situation. Much less the outcome.”
“So exactly what are you suggesting? That I give up?”
She shook her head. “No, give
in.
Stop fighting the inevitable. Let it go.”
“Let go?” he asked, his gaze narrowing. “Like last night?”
“Yes.” Staring into his eyes, distracted by his nearness, she could only breathe the words. “I mean, no. Not that way. Not with Lucie…”
“Yeah.” As he gazed into her eyes with unrelenting intensity, she could smell the soap from his shower, could see the nick on his chin from shaving, could feel the warmth of his body mere inches from her own. Lord help her, but she could happily drown in every last detail.
Where had it come from, this sudden need, this overwhelming hunger for him? And how in the world was she supposed to fight it?
Think Lucie,
she told herself, breaking their gaze with an inward groan.
His was more audible as he gestured toward the windshield. “We have company.”
Following his outstretched arm, Trae saw a large, swirling cloud of dust steadily approaching. As she watched, a convoy of battered pickups emerged out of the cloud, the lead truck holding a dozen or so day workers in its bed. Rattling ominously, it whipped to a stop ten yards in front of them, while one by one, the other trucks parked in front of the varied trailers.
“Maybe they can tell us what happened here,” Rhys said, getting out of the car.
Unable to move, Trae watched him walk up to the group now spilling out of a rust-red Silverado. Amazing, how Rhys could so quickly recapture his poise, while here she sat, still weak in the knees, a victim of overloaded senses.
She should have had a second cup of coffee, she decided as she forced herself out of the car. She was never at her best this early in the morning.
Approaching the men, she could hear the driver, a hefty middle-aged man with bad teeth and an accent reminiscent of someone from the Appalachians, explaining that they’d had quite a little brouhaha yesterday. Mr. Boudreaux, the producer, had gotten into it big-time with his financial backer. Seemed the progress of the film, not to mention its quality, wasn’t quite up to Mr. Carino’s expectations.
Still and all, Boudreaux might have scraped by, if not for the sexy little blonde he’d had with him. The princess, they’d been calling her on the set, but only when the boss wasn’t listening. Crazy protective, Boudreaux was. Wouldn’t let a sand flea touch his woman’s lily-white fingers. Got so he was spending more time in his trailer listening to her than he was out on the set. And apparently, word of this got back to Lou Carino, who pulled the plug and just like that, everybody was out of a job. He and the boys were here today to break down the site and haul away the trailers.
Thanking the driver, Rhys ushered Trae back to the car, obviously lost in thought as he automatically opened the driver-side door for her. Standing so close to him, aware that she might as well be miles away, Trae felt as if each and every one of her nerve endings were on fire. It was all she could do not to reach out and touch his shoulder.
She had to stop reacting to his nearness. It put her at a distinct disadvantage.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, she cranked the ignition. “So Bobby got fired,” she said, determined to prove she could be as calm and impersonal as he. “No big shock there. He never seems to hold a job for more than a month.”
“This is great,” he muttered, still ignoring her. “Just great. Now what the hell are we supposed to do?”
Glancing over at him, noticing his stiff posture and clenched fists, she realized how much he’d been counting on this being the end of it.
And given his current temper, he hadn’t listened to word one of her little lecture. The man would go to his grave striving to gain control.
“Obviously, we have to follow them,” she said tersely, shifting into Reverse with more force than necessary. “Which means figuring out where they’d go next.” Whipping the car around, making a dust cloud of her own, she squealed back onto the highway. “I can’t imagine Bobby staying here in Las Vegas, and he certainly can’t show his face again in Los Angeles.”