by Angela Ruth
Tracen let his arms flop to his sides. He didn’t know what his hands had been doing anyway.
“I finished fixing the sink.” A lame excuse for not being out of hearing range.
“Wonderful. I appreciate it.” Violet moved to step around him. “And if you didn’t overhear the conversation in the kitchen, my daughter just said she adores you.”
So that’s where Emily got her knowing smile. Tracen watched the older woman disappear into the dining room.
Well, if he’d overheard Emily’s conversation, she must have overheard his. He stepped onto the black-and-white-checked tile floor to find her wearing oven mitts and staring at him with those round eyes of hers. An irresistible combination.
Emily pulled the Gruyère, leek, and chard frittata out of the oven. It had been awhile since she’d eaten hippie food. It smelled like dill pickles and scrambled eggs. Hopefully Tracen wouldn’t mind the organic dinner too much.
“Tracen.”
Emily dropped the skillet on the stovetop. Her mom had barely stepped out of the kitchen, yet she was talking to Tracen. How long had the man been standing there? Well, it didn’t matter because Mom announced her confession to him to be sure he knew. That was just like her mom—never considering the negative results of her actions. The woman probably thought she was helping out.
Emily’s insides suddenly felt like they had the time she’d accidentally flipped off the trampoline and gotten whiplash when her head bounced on the floor. She wasn’t in control anymore. She didn’t realize she was staring at the doorway until Tracen appeared in it. Goodness, he was gorgeous. And different. He met her gaze with intent. Her heart slammed into her chest. The something between them had just turned into everything.
“I do adore you.” There. She said it. Now he couldn’t pretend not to know any longer. If only she could have said it at a time when she wasn’t wearing orange oven mitts.
But it didn’t seem to matter to Tracen. He strode across the room and lifted both his hands to cup her face. The feather-light touch made her whole body feel heavy and helpless. She looked up into eyes that adored her right back. It wasn’t the same kind of adoration she got from fans. This was the giving kind. And she would take all he offered.
The warmth of their breath mingled as Tracen leaned down. He moved slowly, giving her a chance to savor every moment. It was pure torture.
She inhaled his scent. He’d brought his woods right into her childhood home. Mmm. She wanted to take it with her everywhere she went—though the only place she wanted to be was closer to Tracen.
Tracen’s warm gaze reflected her feelings. Then his eyes dipped down to gaze at her lips. She felt her smile down to her very toes.
Tracen’s fingers slid into her hair as he pulled her to him. Oven mitts plopped to the floor when her arms went limp. If she moved, she might accidentally poke herself and wake up from this dream. Finally Tracen’s lips brushed hers, claimed hers, traced hers. He pulled back way too soon.
Emily wanted to lean into him. She wanted more. But she also wanted to know that Tracen truly was going to start a relationship with her and wasn’t merely being swept away by emotions. “What was that?”
Tracen’s hands slid down to her arms as if he didn’t want to let her go for a second. He gave a mischievous half-smile. “Something I’ve been trying not to do for the past week.”
Aha! So he had been fighting his feelings. She squirmed in delight. “You gave up?”
“I gave in.”
Tracen tipped her chin up, then wrapped his arms behind her back. Emily gripped Tracen’s shoulders as he lowered his head to give in once again, but the distance between them reminded Emily of his argument for not dating her. As much as she wanted to surrender to his embrace, she held back.
“I’m not too short for you anymore?”
Tracen’s mouth hovered above hers. She expected him to pull away and answer, but instead, his hands slid to her waist. He gripped her hips and lifted her to sit on the countertop. The edge of the Formica bit into her thighs, but since it brought her closer to Tracen, she didn’t care. Now her forehead reached as high as his nose. With an excited giggle, she tilted her head to initiate another kiss.
The playfulness turned tender as she ran her hands over his broad chest. It couldn’t be a dream. He felt too solid, too real.
Tracen’s kisses trailed over her cheekbones, down to her neck. His lips grazed her earlobe. “Is this better?”
As if he didn’t know. “The best.”
Tracen leaned away to look at her face. “No.” He kissed her nose. “The best is yet to come.”
With any other guy that would have been a line. With Tracen, it was a promise.
Chapter Twelve
Emily leaped over a mud puddle in the dim light. It was only five in the morning, so she should have been yawning and drinking coffee like everybody else. But everybody else did not kiss the rafting guide the day before. She scanned the crew spread out through the trees in the still damp-smelling forest. She’d hoped Tracen would be around, though the scene they had scheduled to shoot didn’t actually require much rafting.
The tired mumbling from those around her faded away as Char’s vibrant voice called, “There’s my Emily.” Was she trying to do an Oprah impersonation? “You’re on time for a change. But I guess once you’ve had your face on a box of Wheaties cereal, others have to adjust to your timeline.”
Emily squinted hard at a tall shadow next to a tree. Her heart hammered. Tracen? Nope, just the lighting tech. She turned to give the makeup artist her full attention. “Wonder Woman had her picture on the cereal box, not me.”
Char motioned her head toward a trailer. “Sure. Come on, Superhero. I need to put your makeup on inside today. Better lighting.”
Emily glanced around once more before following Char up the aluminum steps and into the welcome warmth of the trailer. She plopped into her chair and spun around, turning to Char with a grin. She couldn’t hold her elation in any longer. “He kissed me.”
Char pursed her lips and pulled the tweezers out from her bag of torture instruments. Emily hated those things, but with her eyebrows, waxing was never enough.
“Who kissed you?” Char’s tone sounded low and disapproving—as if nobody was good enough to kiss Emily.
Emily rubbed her lips together, savoring the memory. The way Tracen caressed her cheekbones. The way he’d lifted her onto the counter. The way her mom found them making out in the kitchen…
What had Char asked? Oh, yeah. “I’ll give you one hint. He’s tall.”
“Hmm.” Char focused on the bridge of Emily’s nose. “Then it can’t be Bruce.”
“Ha!” Emily burst into laughter at Char’s ridiculous statement, but it quickly turned to tears with the sting of Char’s tweezers. “Owie.”
Char plucked once more before exchanging the instrument for an eyebrow brush. “So Tracen made a move, huh? I don’t know about him, girl. I think he might be too tall for you.” Her deadpan voice gave away the joke.
“Char—”
“Ahh!” the makeup artist shrieked. Finally. This was the reaction Emily had been waiting for. “Tracen is perfect for you.” She dropped her brush, pulled Emily out of her seat, and gripped her fingers tightly while bouncing up and down.
Emily joined in—she never missed out on a chance to jump. Thank goodness they had the trailer all to themselves. “I know!”
Char led the hopping in a circle. “You two will make such cute babies together.”
Planning a pregnancy the week after meeting the man of her dreams really wasn’t mature, but hey, neither was using the trailer like a bounce house. With the way Emily was feeling, she’d probably be drawing hearts on her script before the day was over. “I know!” she shouted again.
“Can I be in your wedding?”
Now Emily screamed with excitement. “Ahh!” And since screaming was to Char what jumping was to Emily, Char joined in. Emily wrapped her arms around her friend, full of j
oy. So they continued bouncing even in their embrace.
And that’s how Tracen found them. Hopping, and hugging, and screaming.
They didn’t even notice the door open. “Uh, maybe I’ll come back another time.”
Emily untangled herself from Char, her eyes on Tracen. She wasn’t going to let him go. “Wait. We’re done now.” She wiped perspiration from her brow and took a calming breath before gliding over to Tracen’s side. Again, she’d forgotten how tall he was. The crown of her head barely made it to his shoulder, and she was eye to eye with his—two steaming coffee cups? “Is that for me?”
Tracen held the cups away from her. “One was. But I don’t think you need any caffeine right now.”
Emily loved the way he could bring a smile to her lips. “Well, it was very sweet of you. But I actually don’t drink coffee, anyway.”
“I do,” Char piped up.
Tracen looked over Emily’s head, as if he’d already forgotten they weren’t alone. He handed the cup to Char, then settled in the seat across from Emily as Char got back to work with the cosmetics. “Another allergy?”
Oh, he cared. “No, I always burn my tongue and spill on myself.”
“She does.” Char rummaged through tubes of foundation. “You’d think someone with her coordination would be a little less messy. But nope. The stains drove wardrobe crazy.”
Tracen sipped his coffee, a twinkle in his eye. “You two should know about crazy.”
Emily met his gaze as Char opened a new tube of mascara. Should she tell him why they’d been so excited? Char took away her options.
“We were just celebrating your first kiss.”
Tracen tilted his head as if he hadn’t heard right.
“What?” Char demanded. “Boys don’t jump and scream over those things?”
Emily knew her face was turning a bright shade of pink by the way it burned, but she was used to Char. Could Tracen handle her?
Tracen winked, as if telling her not to worry. “You didn’t see me and Jack dancing down by the river just now?”
Char’s laughter practically shook the trailer. “I like this guy, Emily. He’s a keeper.”
So Emily had apparently been pretty excited about the kisses they’d shared. The thought should have made his day. And it would have, if he hadn’t been watching Emily kiss somebody else.
“Cut!” Bruce’s voice broke the silence around them.
Emily’s eyes flew to Tracen. She seemed to be searching for his support. He gave a lift of his chin—it was supposed to be a nod that he wanted her to continue, but he couldn’t quite finish the gesture. Besides, what choice did he have?
Hadn’t actress Melanie Griffith thrown an ashtray at her husband when she saw his dancing scene with Catherine Zeta-Jones in The Mask of Zorro? No wonder so many marriages failed in this business. But he wouldn’t think about that now. Emily wasn’t going to be making any more movies after Whitewater Wedding. She’d be moving to Sun Valley with him.
If only Jack hadn’t confided his interest in Emily. Or, if only Tracen didn’t know how soft she felt in a man’s arms. Or, if only he didn’t have to watch. Maybe he should leave.
“Tracen!” Now Bruce’s bullhorn blared at him. “Will you come down here and show Jack how to pull the raft onto shore without jostling Emily all about?”
Tracen took a deep breath and trudged down to the embankment. This was the scene where Emily’s character had been knocked unconscious. So cliché. Jack’s character rescues the damsel in distress, and they declare their love for each other. It made him want to hurl.
He disconnected himself from the situation, avoiding eye contact with Emily. He couldn’t let her see how much the scene was eating at him. It wasn’t like they were serious yet. He’d only kissed her once. (Though it made all his kisses with Serena seem like a peck on his cheek from his mother.) He had no reason to feel so possessive.
He pushed the raft with Emily back out into the water, holding onto the rope that encircled the paddleboat. He didn’t look at Emily, though he could feel the weight of her body and the heat of her gaze. He wished she would just do her job and not worry so much about him. It made him feel needy and weak.
“Like this, Jack.” He planted his feet on the rocky terrain, pushed with his legs, and twisted through his core, pulling into his arms. The raft swung smoothly onto solid ground.
“That’s perfect.” Bruce appeared behind his shoulder. “Now, how do you think he should get in, Tracen?”
Was the director serious? Didn’t Jack know how to get into a raft?
Tension churned in Tracen’s gut as he lifted one leg, then the other, over the edge of the raft. He was going through the moves, showing another man how to advance on Emily.
What was Emily thinking? She lay sprawled at his feet, so he couldn’t ignore her now. Her wide eyes watched his every move as if afraid he wouldn’t say anything to her—or maybe afraid that he would. She hardly resembled the giddy girl he’d found shrieking in the trailer earlier. She’d never been so still.
“Good, good. Are you watching, Jack?” Bruce motioned the movie star over to get a better look. “Tracen, can you kneel down for us? As if you’re checking her pulse?”
Tracen dropped to one knee next to the curve of Emily’s hip. He shouldn’t focus there. Looking up, he watched Emily’s lips part, like she couldn’t suck in enough oxygen without opening her mouth. Later those same lips would part for Jack. What had he gotten himself into?
“See, Jack?” Bruce continued the lesson. “You’ll want to scramble like you’re worried, but be gentle at the same time. Tracen, take her pulse now.”
Emily lay silent, awaiting Tracen’s next action. How would he feel if the situation were real? If Emily had been knocked unconscious while rafting? Adrenaline surged like the river within him. There was no question that he’d risk his life to keep her safe. Trying to reign in his intensity, he slipped two fingers to the side of her slender neck. Her pulse wasn’t hard to find. In fact, the throbbing seemed to speed up at his touch. His own heart began to race, as if trying to beat Emily’s to the finish line.
Okay, maybe the scenario wasn’t so far-fetched. If he were in Jack’s character’s shoes, he’d fall for the delicate spitfire, and once finding her alive, he wouldn’t be able to keep his fingers from stroking her cheek and slipping into her hair. That’s what Tracen wanted to do, and from the way Emily’s eyes pleaded with his, that’s what she wanted too.
Too bad Bruce was watching so intently. “Emily, that’s beautiful. Now when we’re filming, I want you to look at Jack with that exact same expression—after you become conscious again, of course.”
The guy should have just kicked Tracen in the teeth. It would have been less painful than the thought of Emily begging for Jack’s kiss. Emily’s muscles stiffened under Tracen’s touch, and he pulled away.
“Oh, one more thing, Tracen.”
Tracen tensed. What more could the director want?
“You know CPR, right?”
Mercy! Was he going to have to pretend to give Emily mouth-to-mouth?
“Do a quick check to see if Emily is breathing. Jack needs to see how a professional does it.”
Tracen looked back down at Emily. She waited innocently—possibly breathlessly. It was his job to check. He gave a little sigh. It wasn’t her fault they were in this position. It wasn’t her fault she’d momentarily be in the same position with Jack. She was just doing her job. Later on she could dance with Charlene in the trailer about how he’d almost given her CPR. The corners of his lips slipped up. Emily’s face relaxed. She really did have a thing for him, didn’t she?
Tracen dropped to both knees, tilting Emily’s chin up to clear her airway. Bracing himself with one hand at the bottom of the raft, he leaned over to listen and feel for breath with an ear to her mouth. From this position he was also able to watch her chest to see if it rose and fell. And boy, did it.
In the background Bruce explained his every move to J
ack, who obviously wouldn’t know how to save another’s life since he hadn’t even been able to save his own. But it wasn’t Bruce’s words that mattered. From where Emily lay “lifeless” she spoke softly into his ear. “I’m going to pretend I’m kissing you instead of Jack.”
The warmth of her whisper fanned over his skin, causing the cool air around him to seem freezing in comparison. A shiver ran down his spine, and goose bumps stretched his skin taut. But the words themselves stirred something inside, heating him up like the cup of coffee he’d hoped to share with Emily that morning. And just as he was addicted to coffee, he’d now become addicted to Emily.
She was going to pretend to be kissing him? It would be caught on film forever. From now on, whenever people mentioned the kissing scene between Emily Van Arsdale and Jack Jamison, he could tell them that Emily Van Arsdale had been fantasizing about kissing him. They—whoever they were—would probably laugh in his face. But he would remember this moment. And then, if he had any say in the future of their relationship, he’d simply introduce the skeptics to Emily herself.
It was a fun little daydream. But it didn’t change the fact that he had to get out of the raft and let a famous movie star take over where he left off.
Tracen turned his face back to Emily’s before standing. Her full lips looked so inviting. He desperately needed to retreat. “I’m going to pretend that you’re not kissing anybody,” he whispered back.
Then he left. Headed up to The Point. He shouldn’t have awakened so early. He’d wanted to see Emily again but had forgotten that he’d have to see her in somebody else’s embrace.
Honey hadn’t even arrived at work yet. Tracen seated himself on a barstool but left the menu facedown. Food didn’t sound that appealing, but it wasn’t like he could start returning phone calls for his business yet, since most people were only just getting up at six in the morning. His running shoes were stashed in his truck. Maybe he could go for a jog—sweat out his frustration.
“Where’s Emily?” A panting Jor-El dropped into the seat next to him. The kid was dedicated, if nothing else.