Dirty Love (Dirty Girl Duet #2)

by Meghan March

  Cav helps me into the SUV and hands my duffel bag to the driver to stow in the back before sliding into the black leather captain’s chair beside mine. The driver climbs into his seat and shuts the front door. He rattles off an address, and Cav confirms it’s correct.

  I’ve been to LA before, but never to Hollywood, so this is going to be a completely new experience for me. New beginning. New life.

  Can it really be so easy?

  As the driver navigates out of the private airport, Cav reaches over and grabs one of the hands folded in my lap. Linking his fingers with mine, he brings it between us and squeezes.

  “This isn’t the first time I’ve imagined what it would be like to bring you home.”

  Home. Cav’s home. I’m curious as hell about what his place will tell me about the man. He’s been in my space—hell, he watched me from afar, studying me and learning my habits before I even knew he existed. I’m so far behind when it comes to Cav. Maybe this is my chance to find out everything he’s hidden from me—and what I couldn’t learn in the media.

  The SUV curves around turns up into the hills until the driver pulls into a driveway blocked by a gate. Every house on this street has a gate, so apparently that’s nothing out of the ordinary. The driver must be well versed in gate etiquette because he pulls up far enough so Cav can slide down the passenger window and type in the code on the keypad. The gate swings open, and the driver pulls in and parks before hopping out and opening my door.

  He offers me a hand. “Miss?”

  I accept it and climb out, memorizing every detail of the exterior of the house while I wait for Cav.

  Like many other houses we passed on the way in, it’s Spanish-style architecture with cream-colored stucco walls and a terracotta curved-tile roof. More terracotta tiles cover the arched overhang of the front entryway. No garage doors face the street, so I have to assume they’re off to the side where the driveway swings around. Small shrubs and ornamental trees dominate the landscaping. It’s not fancy, and I assume it’s drought resistant. The lawn is green, but not as lush and vibrant as my aunt and uncle’s estate.

  After he thanks the driver and tosses the strap of my bag over his shoulder, Cav snags my hand and leads me toward the door. He releases me to dig into his pocket for a set of keys and after he unlocks the door, he pushes it open and I get my first look at Cav’s home.

  It’s quiet. No voices come from inside, so I assume we’re alone. There’s furniture, but not much. It barely looks lived in. The grand idea that I’d glean many details from Cav’s living space dies a quick death.

  “Do you spend much time here?” I ask the question as I crane my head around doorways and see nothing that screams Cav lives here to me.

  “Mostly only when I’m between projects or shooting on a studio set. I bought it fully furnished, basically move-in ready.”

  The Spanish-influenced furniture doesn’t say Cav to me either, so I assume I’m going to learn more about Cav from him rather than from a house he bought fully furnished and apparently changed very little.

  The man is still a mystery. I want his whole story, and not only because he has mine. In order to trust him, I need to understand him.

  My tour is cut short as he leads me down a long hallway into a bedroom that I assume is the master. The large four-poster bed reminds me of Belize. How many women has he tied to it before? Cav is no choirboy, so I’d be an idiot to assume I’m the first. But I can be the last.

  The thought materializes in my brain from out of nowhere. Is that where we’re headed? Forever territory? I swallow back my shock because, honestly, when I think about my future, I picture Cav as part of it.

  He drops my bag on the bench at the foot of the bed. “Tired?”

  Taking stock of my body and my brain, I consider his question. I’m exhausted—physically, mentally, and emotionally—after the night I had. From the bowling alley to being kidnapped and a cross-country flight.

  “A little.”

  “Why don’t you try to sleep for a couple hours? I need to call my director and get the schedule for the scene we need to fix a voice-over on, and then I’ll give you the rest of the grand tour and we can order in some food.”

  My eyes snap to his. “Voice-over?”

  “Yeah. According to the director, the nearest mic failed, and we need to record voice-overs for the lines in the last scene. That’s what I needed to get back for. We’re recording it tomorrow.”

  All this Hollywood stuff is fascinating to me. I’ve never had any clue how movies are made.

  “So you’re going to go hang with famous people? Other famous people.” I quickly correct myself because even though Cav has become regular-guy Cav to me, he’s still a big freaking deal to most of the world. Especially the female half.

  “Not quite yet. I just need to find out what the timing is so I make sure I’m there. They wanted to do it a couple days ago, but I had to put them off.”

  “Because you’d already planned a kidnapping?” My tone is dry rather than accusing.

  Cav fights his grin but fails. “Something like that. Told them I had plans I couldn’t reschedule.”

  I’m not sure I could roll my eyes any harder. “I bet.” A yawn escapes me, and I glance at the bed.

  “Go on, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up. With food. How’s that sound?”

  Sleep and then food? Yes. Please.

  “Perfect.”

  He leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Get some sleep.”

  After Cav pulls the bedroom door shut, I strip and slide between the silky-soft sheets and the light-as-a-cloud blanket.

  I’m in Cav’s bed. In Cav’s house. In Cav’s town. It’s surreal.

  But that doesn’t stop me from falling asleep within minutes.

  When I finally wake, I hear voices. The dark curtains blocking the sunlight give me no indication of how long I’ve slept. I look to the nightstand for a clock and find nothing.

  Sitting up in bed, I yawn and stretch before sliding my legs over the side. My clothing choices are limited, so I grab a pair of leggings out of the duffel as well as a chambray shirt.

  Once I’m dressed, I pull open the bedroom door and step barefoot into the hallway. I hear voices from inside the house, and it sounds like they’re coming from a room on the opposite side as the bedroom. The closer I get, the more I’m convinced it’s a TV playing and not actual people.

  Peeking my head inside a study of some sort, I’m proven wrong.

  Cav sits with his feet propped up on the desk, leaning back in a chair, and a gorgeous blonde stands in the corner, one hand on her hip, gesturing with the other as she carries on a tirade.

  Whoa. What the hell?

  Cav spots me first, and his feet leave the desk and hit the floor. He sits up straight, and the blonde’s head jerks around to the doorway.

  Windsor Reed. I’ve seen her before. When I googled Cav’s name and all the elegant red carpet pictures would show up, she was most often on his arm. I hated her with a burning fury that only irrational hate can have.

  “Well, I guess this means it really is over, lover.” She drawls the words, clearly meant for Cav, but they’re directed at me.

  “Stop it, Win. You’re going to give her the wrong idea, and trust me, I don’t need that shit from you.”

  She throws her blond mane back and laughs. It’s like watching a Pantene commercial in real life—because she does the Pantene commercial. Stunning blue eyes go along with the thick blond hair and bombshell figure. If there was anyone born to be famous, it is this woman. Actually, I’m pretty sure her mother and father are both famous as well.

  “You already in the doghouse with this one?” She continues to study me as she talks to Cav.

  “None of your damn business.” Cav shoves out of the chair and crosses the room to draw me against his side.

  “Probably because she’s out of your league.”

  I choke out a laugh at her ridiculous statement. “Excuse me?
”

  She ignores my bullfrog-like croak and holds out a hand as she steps toward me. “Windsor Reed. It’s a pleasure to meet you . . .”

  She lets her words trail off, fishing for a name. The polite side of me automatically fills it in and shakes her hand.

  “Greer Karas.”

  Our handshake freezes mid-pump. “You’re the billionaire’s sister.”

  I cringe at the description. Like Cav said—I’m more than that. I’m an actual human being in my own right.

  “My brother is rather infamous,” I say instead.

  “No, screw the brother. You’re the one who got away, and this poor bastard moped for . . .” She looks to Cav. “How long did you mope? And then you got all determined.”

  Cav’s look is hard and pointed. “That’s enough.”

  “What? You don’t want her to know you were worthless and pathetic for months and months because you had to leave her in New York?” She raises two fingers and presses them between her eyebrows. “This is the kind of stuff that’s helpful to mention when you’re trying to win a woman over, Westie. Get with the program.”

  She shakes her head, drops her hand, and looks at me in female commiseration. “Men aren’t always the brightest creatures, and then put some tits in front of them and they basically lose all common sense. If it helps his case with you, he talked about you when he got drunk. Only to me, as far as I know, and never by name.”

  So Cav didn’t walk away without remorse. Even though it shouldn’t, the regret and sadness she just described make me feel a little better. Like I mattered.

  “Enough, Win. You good on the lines now?”

  My gaze darts from Cav back to the blonde, following the change in subject like a tennis ball across the Wimbledon court.

  “They should know better than to pull this crap. I forget the lines as soon as we wrap. It’s the only way I can make room for new material.”

  “It’s Casablanca. It’s not complicated.”

  “Casablanca?” I ask, insinuating myself into the conversation.

  Cav nods. “We just wrapped the filming of the remake. That’s what we have to go into the studio to do the voice-overs for.”

  Windsor grabs an orange handbag off the table between two club chairs facing the desk. “As long as you can keep from breaking Peyton’s face, we’ll be all good.”

  Cav’s expression darkens immediately. “Fucking punk. If he says a goddamn word to Greer, I will not be responsible for my actions.”

  “To me?” I’m so confused. How do I fit into this?

  Windsor smiles triumphantly. “Cav has already defended your honor with his fists once on this set. Mitch will kill him if he does it again.”

  I look from one to the other. “Umm . . . details?”

  Her laugh sounds exactly the same as it does on TV. Husky, sexy, and perfect. “Don’t you worry about it. Just be happy you’ve got a real man and not some pussy-ass bitch.”

  Hearing the crass words come out of her mouth takes me aback, and she sees it on my face.

  “I can tell it how it is. My ex-husband was way too much like Peyton for comfort.” She tosses her golden locks. “So glad that’s over. Can you even imagine what a bloodbath it would’ve been without the prenup?”

  I can’t imagine, nor do I want to. This entire conversation is so far outside of what I expected to be involved in when I woke up from my nap, I’m not sure how to react.

  Windsor tucks her clutch under her arm and turns to Cav. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t be late or Mitch will kill you. You should’ve heard him after you told him that you couldn’t get back a couple days ago. Pretty sure his blood pressure is through the roof, so that whole relaxing vacation thing is shot.”

  Cav shrugged. “Some things are more important than work.”

  Windsor’s gaze lands firmly on me. “I can see that. So nice to meet you, Greer. I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you.” She doesn’t slow, just clicks on her sky-high heels out the front door.

  I turn back to Cav. “She’s . . . interesting.”

  He smiles. “Windsor’s a fireball. Not a firecracker, because it doesn’t have enough destructive power.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him if they were . . . together, but I don’t honestly want to know the answer. Can my newfound jealous streak handle knowing that he and the perfect blonde had a thing?

  Who am I kidding? They definitely had a thing. The red carpet pics of the two of them were snapped regularly for months.

  My thoughts must be clear on my face, because Cav is studying me. “She’s a good friend. That’s all.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You didn’t have to. She was a great date to premieres because I didn’t want to take someone who was going to expect more, and she was going through a nasty divorce. She’s good people, and definitely a helpful friend to have in this business. Basically, she’s Hollywood royalty. Born and raised in this business, so she was able to teach me the ins and outs and tell me who I could and couldn’t piss off.”

  “And you actually listened to her?”

  His chest shakes against my side before the deep chuckle hits my ears. “Sometimes. Not all the time.”

  “Who’s this Peyton guy? Why’d you break his face?”

  Cav’s chuckle evaporates and he stills. “Not important.”

  I pull myself out from under his arm so I can face him. “That sounds like bullshit.”

  He sighs, looking to the ceiling before finally meeting my gaze. “That’s how I found out about the ad. Little punk wanted to go apply in person. He’s a piece of shit, and didn’t understand how to keep his mouth shut after I told him he needed to forget reading it.”

  “So you shut it for him?”

  A single nod.

  “You’re such a caveman.”

  A smirk tilts the corners of Cav’s mouth. “Call it like you see it.”

  I don’t have time to react as he ducks his shoulder and tosses me up and over it.

  “Cav!”

  “Just showing you how much of a caveman I can be, baby girl.” He heads for the door and pauses in the entryway. “Now where should I take you?”

  His hand lands on my ass with a light smack just as my stomach growls too loudly for either of us to miss.

  Cav turns away from the bedroom. “I guess that answers that. Time to feed my woman.”

  And that’s how I get my first tour of Cav’s house. Upside down and over his shoulder.

  Having Greer sit on a bar stool in my sprawling kitchen, sipping a glass of Napa chardonnay while I peruse takeout menus and we debate dinner choices, is everything I’ve wanted for years.

  I finally feel like I can offer her a life that’s up to her standards. I’m so far removed from the guy who lived in a 400-square-foot studio apartment with more water stains on the ceiling than paint on the walls. Back in those days, I could read it in her eyes—why doesn’t he ask me to come home with him? Because home was nothing I could be proud of, and I didn’t want Greer to see me that way. Pride is a dangerous thing, but when it’s all you’ve got, it’s everything.

  We decide on a whole spread of Thai food, and I make the call.

  “Thirty minutes,” I tell her, and Greer’s stomach rumbles again. “You gonna make it?”

  She takes another sip of her wine and nods. “Of course. Although, I can’t promise not to be tipsy by the time it gets here.” She lifts the almost-empty glass toward me, and I pick up the bottle and pour another measure in. “Empty stomach plus alcohol, and we know what can happen . . .”

  “That’s not always a bad thing.” I like the idea of Greer tipsy enough to lose her inhibitions, but still together enough to know exactly what she’s doing.

  “I figured you’d say that.”

  I pour myself a Scotch, neat, and lift the glass. “Why’s that?”

  “Because you’re already thinking about how you’re going to fuck me tonight.”

  She doesn’t mince words. />
  I tip back a sip of the Scotch. “You’re not wrong.”

  “So, what’s it going to be?” She lifts a dark eyebrow. “How do you want me, Cav?”

  Tonight I don’t want anything crazy. I just want to have her under me in my own bed, like I’ve imagined for years. It sounds too sentimental to say aloud, though.

  “I guess you’ll have to wait and see. First, food.”

  I’m falling in love with her again. It isn’t the second time. Or the third. Or the fourth. With Greer, it seems to happen constantly. In Belize, it happened over margaritas and again over jellyfish stings, and tonight it’s over pad thai and tom yum soup.

  After we’ve stacked the leftover takeout containers in the fridge, I lead her into the media room. She may be expecting something depraved and wicked, but I want a normal night. The kind we never really got to have together. I bring up the movie menu and hand her the remote.

  “Your choice, baby girl. What do you want to watch?”

  Greer looks down at the remote and then back up at me. “Really? You’re a guy handing over the remote? What do I owe you for this?”

  “Hush.” I press a kiss to her lips and walk her backward until she bumps into the edge of the plush gray leather sofa and plops down onto the cushion. “Any more sass and I’m taking your movie-picking privileges away.”

  Greer clutches the remote tight to her chest. “No way in hell. You can’t take this back. It’s not every day I get the chance to watch your movies with you.”

  I wince at her words. “You’re not really going to pick something of mine, are you?”

  Her little smirk is too cute not to kiss off her lips. When I pull away, she has an eyebrow raised. “I’ll play fair. Which one did you imagine me watching? Which one did you want me to see? And don’t you dare lie to me and tell me you didn’t.”

  How does she cut right to the heart of me every time? It’s like she has an uncanny knack for it. Or maybe I’m just that transparent.

  I take the remote from her and flip through the movie listings, not even sure the one I’m looking for will be included. When I land on the title, Greer makes a grab for the remote but I hold it out of reach.