Ruined

by Shiloh Walker

  Instead, she pushed between Sebastien and Dash and made her way into the kitchen. The pills.

  Damn it. Where was that bottle at?

  “Are you sick?” Sebastien asked from behind her.

  Seizing the plausible excuse, she nodded. “Yes. You should probably go before you end up catching it.”

  “I never catch anything,” he said, shrugging. “You know that.”

  Scowling at him, she busied herself with refilling her ginger ale, all the while searching for the bottle that had started the whole thing. She had snapped at Dash and told him to mind his own business.

  He’d laughed and told her she should learn to be less obvious.

  She’d grabbed the bottle. He’d asked if he could get a drink.

  She’d told him to go ahead and he’d popped open a bottle of the beer she had in the fridge—it was a local brew and strong.

  The smell of it.

  That was what had done her in.

  She’d almost puked right there and had dropped the pills. Dash rushed after her, calling her name.

  Where had she been standing—

  Something rattled, rolled.

  With dread, she looked down and realized Dash had just found the bottle—with his foot. The large bottle of vitamins went rolling across the floor and stopped only when Sebastien caught it with his boot.

  She closed her eyes and covered her face with her hand as he stooped down and picked up the bottle, eying it narrowly before looking up at her. After a moment, he looked over at Dash.

  “I guess congratulations are in order.” His voice was low and pleasant, his gaze unreadable.

  Marin pressed her lips together and when he came to stand in front of her, she didn’t let herself back away.

  He extended his hand and she reached out, slowly taking the bottle of prenatal vitamins from him.

  “I guess you two were more serious than you let on, huh?” Sebastien gave her a tight smile and then nodded at Dash. “I assume this is what you’re blaming on him, right?”

  Dash opened his mouth, sputtering, but Sebastien was already striding down the hall.

  She went after him.

  He was already at the door.

  “Sebastien, wait.”

  She caught his arm as he went to open the door. Heat arced between them. “Did you hear me?” she demanded.

  “I heard you.” He looked down at her, eyes flat. “I need to get going. Didn’t plan on staying. I just came by to tell you something anyway.”

  “But . . .” She searched for something to say, unsure where to start. Things were moving way too fast. Two months ago, she’d been trying to fight the tug she felt toward Sebastien. Then she was suddenly naked with him and before she could even figure out how that had happened, he was calling her another woman’s name in his sleep.

  Now she was pregnant.

  And he thought the baby was Dash’s?

  Clearly he remembered nothing about their night together. She’d suspected it for a while, but it was like that entire night was a blur.

  She just couldn’t keep up.

  “You haven’t told me anything yet,” she pointed out, a desperate attempt to keep him from leaving. Even if it just kept him here a few more minutes, it would be a few more minutes she didn’t yet have.

  “Yeah . . . there is that.” He hesitated, then after a moment, slowly reached up and cupped her cheek. “I was an asshole the last time you came out to my place, Marin. I said some things I shouldn’t have. Actually, I said a lot of things I shouldn’t have. I could give you a lot of reasons why, but . . . hell. None of it matters now.”

  His gaze slid to her belly and he nodded one last time.

  “Take care of yourself. See you next week when we start rehearsing.”

  He didn’t look back at her, not even once as he headed down the steps.

  As for Marin, she would have called out his name and demanded he stop, but a weird knot, bigger than her own fist had settled in her throat and it was choking the life and voice out of her.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I didn’t think it was possible, but you two are even better together than I’d expected.”

  Sojourne Torré, the director, stood in front of them at the end of the first day of shooting and looked like she wanted to rub her hands together. Her dark face was creased with a wide smile and she caught Marin’s cheeks in her hands, planted a quick kiss on her mouth. “Beautiful, honey. You two are just beautiful together.”

  Marin laughed as she pulled her robe on. “You’re just saying that because you want me to go out with you, Sojo.”

  As for Sebastien, he was trying not to think about all the smooth bare flesh she was covering up.

  They’d just finish shooting a dream scene—one from his character’s point of view. It was a bit more emotionally charged than he would have expected a guy like Rand to experience, but in Rand’s defense, the man had been dying at the time.

  He accepted the T-shirt somebody offered him and pulled it on. He wasn’t much for robes, but the wardrobe staff hired for this project had plenty of people who’d worked with him before. A moment later, he was passed a pair of jeans to pull over the ridiculously brief jockey shorts and he was finally somewhat comfortable with the fact and hoped he could stop mentally imagining cow guts and sheep brains.

  Normally he didn’t have to worry about things like that, but when it came to shooting intimate scenes with Marin, he’d developed a system. He had to focus on gross, unappealing things and half turn his brain off or he’d do what was considered pretty crass in the business.

  He’d get a fucking hard-on.

  Leaving the shirt hanging out, he focused back in on what Sojo and Marin were talking about and watched as the director winked at Marin.

  “Nah, I gave up on that. You’re too straight for me.” Sojourne looked over at Sebastien and pointed a finger at him. “I had doubts about you, Barnes.”

  “What . . . me being straight? Sorry to disappoint you, Sojo, but I am.” He flashed a grin at her and everybody laughed. Sojo even cracked a smile.

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re straight, although I know a whole lot of pretty boys cry over the fact. You nailed that scene, kid. Good job, both of you. All of you. We’re done. Get some rest. Back at it in the morning.”

  She came over to him and Sebastien stood firm. There was a time when she’d intimidated the hell out of him, but he managed to smile at her easily enough. She smacked him lightly on the arm and said, “Keep up that intensity and this movie is going to blow people away, kid.”

  While he rubbed at the back of his neck, Sojo turned to the rest of the cast, talking in a rapid fire voice with an energy that seemed to belie the fact that they’d been at it for going on twelve hours.

  Sebastien wanted to follow the director’s orders and do just what she’d said, go get some rest. Actually, he wanted a cold shower. Or a hot one and some hand service.

  Screw it. He just wanted Marin, then some rest.

  But he wouldn’t get that, so . . . shower, hand service, then rest.

  Marin definitely needed rest.

  He almost told her that, but he’d learned his lesson about hovering.

  The first day of filming, she’d been so pale, he’d suggested she ask Sojo for a break and she’d snapped at him, reminding him that she’d been acting since he was in diapers, thank you very much.

  He’d pointed out that he was just worried about her, but that hadn’t done anything to lessen her ire.

  Of course, he was the only one who seemed concerned.

  Even Dash carried on like everything was perfectly normal. He was playing the murdered cop and there were a few scenes early on where he and Marin were happy, laughing, teasing . . . kissing . . . touching.

  Kind of like what they were doing now.
>
  From the corner of his eye, he watched as Dash whipped a flower out of a vase that stood on the snack table near the exit and offered it to Marin. She accepted, then smacked him with it and put it back. As they headed out, one of the other actors in the scene moved up to join him.

  “Never would have pictured the two of them together. You two, yeah. But her and Dash?”

  Sebastien fought the urge to bare his teeth as he turned to look at Antonio Ortega. They had acted in a few projects together early on, but over the past couple of years, their careers had gone different ways. Tony had focused heavily on crime dramas, the bloodier, the better, while Sebastien rarely found a part—or was rarely offered a part in one that appealed to him.

  Torn was the first movie they’d worked on together in almost five years.

  “Whatever makes them happy,” Sebastien said, although even he could hear the lack of enthusiasm in his voice.

  “Think you can say that with a little less joy, buddy?” Tony nudged him with his elbow and then nodded to some of the people gathering by the gates. “We’re going out, grabbing a pizza, some beer. Not going to be out super late or anything, but you wanna come?”

  The desire to say yes was strong—go out, have a drink. Hell, he would be with friends. He could have a drink, even ask Tony to make sure he stopped at one. But . . . “No.” He shook his head. “Thanks for asking.”

  “Oh, come on, man. You never do anything—it’s like you’re still shut up in your house out on the beach.” Tony grabbed his arms and shook him playfully. “Come back to the land of the living.”

  Sebastien shoved him good-naturedly. “Not up to it. Spent the last year sleeping half the time. Going to take a while to get out of the habit of not being a total bum.”

  “Whatever.” Tony held up his hand and they bumped fists. “Soon, though. Not going to let you hide away the entire time we’re working, Seb.”

  “Okay, yeah.” Mentally, he told himself he’d join them next time. Or maybe the next. Soon. Really soon. When he knew he could be around others drinking and not have to fight it so hard himself. Then he headed off, his eyes automatically scanning for Marin.

  She wasn’t with Dash.

  Like him, she was walking slowly to the gate.

  Because he was watching her so closely, he saw it—the way she stumbled. Her hand fluttered out, as if to grasp some invisible support.

  There wasn’t one, though.

  He took off without really thinking about it.

  He wouldn’t reach her in time. He knew he wouldn’t. But he tried anyway, legs and arms pumping furiously. He didn’t make it. Superman couldn’t have made that distance in time.

  He skidded to his knees, hitting the ground next to her just as everybody else realized what had happened.

  She had fainted.

  “Marin!”

  She didn’t stir. Lashes lay low against her cheeks and her skin was so pale, the dark circles under her eyes looked like bruises. Fear choked him and he pulled her up into his arms without thinking twice. Tapping her cheek, he spoke her name. This time, there was a low groan in her throat.

  Vaguely, he was aware of the crowd gathering around them and he looked up and caught Tony’s eyes as the other man knelt beside him. “Where’s the medic?” Silently, he wondered where the fuck Dash was, but he kept that question locked in his head.

  Film crews worked with a set medic on-site, but they’d finished up for the day and the medic hired for this job had hit the road the moment he was given the word.

  “Gone,” somebody said. “He just caught a ride out of here a few minutes ago.”

  Sebastien swore, and then jabbed a finger at Tony. The baby. Was it the baby? Where the hell was Dash? “Call an ambulance.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Antonio.” The calm voice stopped Tony in his tracks and Sebastien looked up, his lips peeling back from his teeth.

  Sojo stood there and everybody fell back.

  Sebastien stared her down. “She passed out. She’s—” He managed to keep that last bit behind his teeth, but just barely. Hardly anybody knew about the pregnancy and even fewer knew that Marin’s pregnancy was why production had been stepped up. “She passed out.”

  The words had no sooner left his lips then he felt Marin stirring in his arms.

  He looked down just as her lashes lifted and the impact of that connection hit him straight in the heart. The ugly words they’d thrown at each other—no, the ugly words he had thrown at her—they lingered between them like an unseen wall.

  He wanted to reach down, stroke his hand down her cheek. Pull her up against him.

  If he’d kept his mouth shut, kept his cool . . . maybe . . .

  But he’d lost his temper, pushed her. Been an asshole.

  As her eyes focused on his, he brushed his thumb across her cheek. “You okay there?” He hadn’t needed to touch her, he supposed. Except he had. It was necessary in a way. Necessary to him. Only him.

  Marin blinked a couple of times, clearly confused. Then her eyes widened as awareness washed over her. “Here,” he said, slipping an arm under her. “Let me help you sit up.”

  “I’m . . .” She scowled, tensing up as she realized they had an audience. “I’m fine, Sebastien. Let me go.”

  Let you go . . . He wanted to laugh. Did she think he hadn’t been trying?

  But he kept his face expressionless. “You passed out. You need to go to the hospital.” He tried to impress on her the importance of it. “I can take you or I can find Dash. The general doesn’t want an ambulance called.”

  Sojo didn’t say a word.

  “No.” Marin pushed at his chest again, her mouth folding into mutinous lines.

  He wondered if she could feel how fast his heart was racing.

  “Let me go, Sebastien. I’m fine. I’m just . . . I’m tired. I didn’t eat much today and I haven’t been drinking enough water, either. I’m fine.” Her brilliant blue eyes glared up at him and once more, she shoved against his chest.

  “That not eating thing is pretty common,” he responded, setting his jaw. “But the passing out? Not so much. If you don’t want me to take you, I’ll get Dash.”

  “Why . . .” She stopped and blew out a breath between her teeth. “I’m fine, Sebastien.”

  Slowly, he let her go. She certainly seemed fine, color once more returning to her cheeks. She was also looking at him. Straight at him, instead of away or through him. Unless they were working, she didn’t do a lot of that anymore.

  Nodding, he let her go and stood up, offering her a steadying hand, which, to his shock, she accepted.

  A few murmurs moved through the crowd, but he was too busy staring at her to care about what anybody else was doing or staying.

  Once she was upright—and steady—she tried to tug her hand free, but he held on. “If you don’t want to go to the hospital, fine. But if Dash isn’t around, let me drive you back to the hotel. We can tag Dash on the way, call the set medic, have him come take a look at you. Once Dash gets there, I’ll leave you alone.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  If he said Dash’s name one more time . . .

  Dash was gone—he had a date.

  She didn’t want to point that out to him, though. Sebastien still had it in his head that Dash was the baby’s father.

  Marin hadn’t been able to disabuse him of the notion. When she tried to talk to him, he went out of his way to either invite others into the conversation or he just suddenly had somewhere else to be.

  He wasn’t staying at the hotel, so she couldn’t even ambush him there.

  With every passing day, it was getting harder to figure out how to do anything about the craziness that now stretched between them. Staring at him, painfully aware of others staring at them, she closed one hand into a fist.

  “Dash had to leave already,” she
said, keeping her voice calm. If she didn’t say something, Sebastien was likely to push the issue. “I’ll give him a call once I’m on my way back to the hotel. You don’t need to drive me. There are still cars going to the hotel. I’ll catch one of them.”

  “Maybe you should let Sebastien drive you,” Sojo suggested. Before Marin could even sputter out a response, Sojo took a step forward. Voice low, she added, “People are going to get curious if you keep this up, Marin. Just take the fucking ride already.”

  She gave both of them a silencing look, and then turned back to the others. “I heard there was going to be pizza and beer tonight. Is there a reason I wasn’t invited?”

  Marin looked over at Sebastien and huffed out a breath. “Fine.”

  She’d better go, otherwise tomorrow, Sojo would never let her live it down. The other woman never went out with the crew. It wasn’t that she didn’t like to hang out with the others, but she wasn’t much on socializing on a large scale. If she was doing it, it was to draw attention away from Marin.

  Sebastien gave her a look that told her he knew exactly why she’d given in, but he was courteous enough—today—not to call on her on it.

  When he laid a hand at her back, she had to fight not to jump away.

  Not because she didn’t like his touch—she did.

  Oh, did she like it.

  The feel of his fingers, the warmth of his palm was something she wanted to just sink back against. Part of her wanted to turn to him and just melt against him. The other part of her wanted to smack him, because why in the hell couldn’t he see what was obvious?

  Sojo had already figured it out.

  She’d bluntly asked Marin, “Why is Sebastien always pushing you toward Dash? He’s the daddy, isn’t he?”

  Dash hadn’t made that connection yet, but he would.

  And if she wasn’t careful about things like . . . oh, say passing out in front half the crew, others would put two and two together and realize she was pregnant, then others would start making stabs in the dark. Sooner or later, one of them would hit the target.