I pick at the fruit on our plate—he’s eaten all the apples and grapes. Good riddance. “Atticus married my sister when I was in high school. We were close—I was friends with his sister. They’ve been part of my life for a long time.”
“And?”
“And he’s like a brother—I don’t have one, and he became that.”
He watches me closely. “You love him.”
“But I’m not in love with him. Huge difference, Knox.”
Some of the tension slides out of him, and he glances down at my phone as it rings. Again.
Asher
Kevin. Fuck. I didn’t think it would be this fast.
“Shit. He’s been trying to get ahold of me all morning.” She reaches for the phone. I swipe it from her.
“Kevin. What can I do for you?” I say, standing and walking away from Megan. She’s quiet, watching me.
There’s a beat of silence, and then, “I told you I was taking her off your account. What the hell are you doing? Where is she?”
“She doesn’t know that. It might have been a stupid move, telling me first. And before you tell me about the grand scheme you have, I’m not interested.”
“You can’t decide that.”
I scoff. “I’m Asher fucking Knox, Kevin. I can decide whatever the hell I want.”
Annoyed, I hit the end button and turn back to Megan.
“What aren’t you telling me?” she asks, her eyes narrowed.
So much. I swallow hard.
“You don’t want to know yet, Meggy. And I promise, after your spa day—I’ll tell you everything.”
She pales and swallows hard. “Did he fire me?”
“No. And if he wants to keep me as a client, he won’t. But he is unhappy—and that is on me. Just give me today. Please?”
She bites her lip, and I want to kiss it. I want to drag her into my room and kiss her until she can’t remember all the reasons we won’t work. Instead, I clench my hands into tight fists and wait for her to make up her mind.
Finally she sighs and glances down at her toes. “Fine. But only ’cause I really want my toes to look pretty again.”
I grin through a rush of relief. She stands and walks past me to her room. I catch the scent of her hair, warm and clean, and I suppress a shiver. She hesitates then goes up on tip toes, her lips brushing against my cheek, a ghost-light touch. I do shiver then, and she smirks as she drops back down on her feet. “Thanks for breakfast,” she says over her shoulder, and I mumble something—even I don’t understand what. Her laugh is a soft noise that chases me across the kitchen and into my own room. There I sit on the bed and try to get a grip on my erection and emotions.
It was barely a kiss—I’ve had more action on a screen test. So why can this girl get such a reaction from me? Why is Megan so fucking different?
I dial the front desk. “I need an appointment for the day.”
When Megan comes back out of her room, I’m sitting on the couch, my tablet in my lap while I read the script, highlighting important scenes. “You aren’t supposed to be working this weekend,” she says dryly.
“Does that mean you stayed off the blogs and didn’t answer email?” I ask, darting a look up at her. She makes a face, and I laugh. “I need something to do while you’re getting pampered, darling.”
“Read a book,” she deadpans.
I drop the script and lean forward. “I’ll come with you.”
She snorts. I stare at her until she finally looks away. “You’re insane, you know that, Knox?” she murmurs. It’s a rhetorical question. But I nod. “I have rules, you know. Those haven’t gone away just because we did.”
“I am well aware of you rules.”
“Are you? Because you didn’t seem to care earlier.”
I smile at her, a slow, easy smile. “You forget, Meggy. Those are your rules. I’ve respected them because I respect you. But I know what I want, and I’m tired of waiting for you to wake up. I won’t push you further than you want me to—but I’m done ignoring what we have.”
Her mouth has fallen open, and she’s staring at me like she hasn’t seen me before. I give her a quick smile and sit back. “So what’s it going to be, Meggy? Am I working today, or am I spending it with you?”
Chapter Seven
Luca
“Okay, that’s it”
I smirk as the blonde model in skinny jeans and pasties peels herself—slowly—off my chest. She’s all blonde hair, creamy skin, and come-hither eyes. I step away from her, my smile slipping from the one I use for cameras to the cool professionalism that keeps girls like her from thinking I want more when the cameras quit.
I don’t. A quick fuck with a pretty girl isn’t worth the drama, and I get tired of Megan’s sad smile when I get caught with my pants down.
I check my phone for what seems like the millionth time today, a little pissed off there isn’t a waiting message. I shouldn’t be mad—the resort was my idea, after all—but it rankles, to know I’ve been replaced so quickly and easily.
“Want to get a drink?” Aria asks, pulling a plain white tank top on. Even in that, barefoot and her hair disheveled, she’s slinging sex appeal like second nature.
“Can’t. I’ve got another gig tomorrow.”
“You sure that’s it? I heard from one of the other girls you have commitment problems.”
I give her a flat smile and walk away. Call it what you want, I wasn’t going near the girl with a ten-foot pole, not once the cameras went down.
Not for the first time, I wish I’d invited Sun. Then I remember why I didn’t, and I close my eyes. I don’t want to think about her. I don’t want to think at all.
In my room, I flop onto the bed and stare at the ceiling and wonder what the hell she’s doing.
Megan
We spend the day in the spa. Asher reads a magazine and makes a few comments about the color choice of my toe nails, but for the most part, he just watches. It’s distracting at first, but then I say fuck it and give myself over to the pure relaxation of being pampered. I tune out the English man as I drift in bliss.
“You want a trim and color?” an attendant asks, peeking into the room.
I nod and hear the chair where Ash is sitting creak. “I like your hair color.”
“I want highlights.” I say. For the first time. I consider that this is costing a small fortune, and then I remember that he lied to get me here. I lift my head up as the massage therapist works my shoulders. I’m mostly naked. and I clutch the sheet shielding me. “You don’t get to vote, remember?”
“I voted on your toes,” he protests.
Men are idiots. “Toes are easy to change, Ash.” I let my head drop down, groaning as the masseuse works out a particularly deep knot.
Asher mutters something indistinct, and I smirk to myself.
“Fine. I’ll move our dinner reservations.”
I glance at him. “I don’t want to go to dinner,” I say.
Asher smirks. ”I’m not asking for much, Meggy. But I do want the ability to show you off tonight. You won’t really deny me that, will you?”
“I’m not yours to show off, Knox,” I say, letting my head drop lazily.
He laughs, sitting back. “You remind me of that as often as you can. But they have fresh oysters and steak.”
My stomach growls, a reminder that I ate breakfast, but not nearly enough before I bolted from table in a fit of anger and disgust.
“Maybe I wanted to spend some alone time with you,” I say, and Asher laughs, a husky noise that stirs my languid blood.
“Darling, if that’s what you want, you just need to say so. But it’s not, and we both know it.”
I shrug, and the masseuse smacks my shoulder. I yelp. Asher gives me a dry smile.
“Fine,” I say, settling back on the table. “Change our reservations.”
He leaves while I’m getting my hair cut, and for the first time, I can inhale without worry or concern. I glance at my phone as the h
airdresser shifts around me, trimming and sniping away dead ends. I’m not making a drastic change—I’m not the kind of girl to walk in and cut six inches off at one time.
“Your boyfriend is very attentive, isn’t he?” the stylist says.
I laugh, softly. “He isn’t my boyfriend.”
“Most who come here are on their honeymoon.”
“We aren’t most,” I say cryptically. The stylist gives me a polite smile, and it could mean anything—that I’m an idiot for walking away from such a handsome man who so clearly wants me, or maybe it’s as simple as she doesn’t believe me.
I probably wouldn’t, if I were her.
As I sit, waiting for my highlights to set, I text Sun.
Me: Have you talked to Luca?
Sun: Not today? Have you? He’s being crazy, Meggy.
I frown. What the hell? It’s been less than a week since we went out together—how much could change in just a few days?
Me: What’s going on?
Sun: He moved out. Didn’t he tell you?
I stare in shock. How had I talked to him last night without him even hinting at that? How had I not noticed something amiss with him? And why the fuck would he do that? Sun was his center, the thing that kept him grounded and focused when shit got crazy—and in Hollywood, as a working actor, shit got crazy all the fucking time.
Me: Are you sure it’s permanent? He’s not just…I don’t know, experimenting again? Remember, he did that when I first moved in.
Sun: He took everything. He says he’s going back to St. Paul after Black Tides.
Well, fuck.
“Ok, let’s rinse you,” my stylist says brightly, and I type a quick response.
Me: Gotta run—I’ll call him.
Then I pocket my phone and try to shut off my mind for a little longer.
Luca isn’t answering his phone when I call. I try four times in the time it takes me to walk from the spa to our villa. And Asher’s pulled a vanishing act. Annoyed, feeling tension pulling in my shoulders, I stalk to my room and come to an abrupt halt.
The dress is soft and flirty, a silk backless halter top and flowing skirt that rests at mid-thigh, all in a blue so deep it could only be called midnight.
A heavy shawl rests folded next to it.
The heels are a vibrant red—fuck me heels.
Asher Knox is playing dress up. A smile curves my lips. Well, at least the boy has good taste.
I shimmy out of my jeans and top and step into the dress. It fits like a glove, and I’m briefly annoyed that Ash has noticed my measurements. I’m not focusing—my thoughts are pin-balling all over the place, and that’s a bad place to be when I’m sitting down with Knox for an evening. I can’t afford distraction.
Not even the current cluster-fuck that is my best friends and their relationship.
I sit on the bed and take a deep breath, focusing.
He’s a client. An attractive, moody client. Kevin will never take me serious if I sleep with the talent—no one will. I’ll always be the girl who fucked her way to the top.
I refuse to be that girl. I came here to get away from one image people have of me—I get to decide the next one. I won’t use sex as a weapon or a tool—I will not become my sister.
There’s a tap on my door. “I’ll be right there, Knox.”
He doesn’t say anything, just retreats.
No touching. No relationships. No contact when I’m not working. This whole weekend is breaking every rule I have. With a sigh, I stand and open the door.
Asher stops, turning to face me. His eyes go wide when he sees me, and I wonder if I'm disappointing. He offers me a lopsided smile. "You look gorgeous, Meggy."
I flush and look down. "You aren't supposed to notice that," I scold. "You’re Asher Knox, for crying out loud. Have a little decorum."
"What's the good of being a movie star if you don't get to use the lines on the pretty girls?"
I give him a dry look. "Your scripts have better lines than that."
He laughs, coming around me to place the shawl on my shoulders. I shiver as his hands linger, a little too tight and too long. "But none have quite as much honesty—and you like honesty, pet."
I don't respond, because he's right. And because I'm fighting back the feel of his touch.
"Phone?"
My gaze comes up, startled, and he grins. "We’re gonna try something new. No phones for the next two hours. I get you without distractions or defenses—and your phone is the biggest distraction and defense you have. So hand it over."
"Knox," I say slowly.
"Kevin hasn't called you since this morning, right? The world won't end if you put the electronics down for two hours, Meggy."
It might—mine, anyway. But his gaze is pleading, and I find myself fishing the little device out of my bra and handing it over. His fingers caress the warm plastic case, and I know what he's thinking—the same thing I'm thinking—that was just in my bra. His eyes darken a little, but he doesn't say anything as he tucks it into a drawer and opens the front door. "Ready?"
I nod, and he leads me out of the villa and down the private beach. We walk side by side, arms brushing, silent as he leads us to a small building. It's eerily quiet, and I hesitate on the sand, staring at it.
"Is it closed?"
He shakes his head. "I bought out the night."
My eyebrows shoot up. "What happened to wanting to show me off?"
He shrugs. "You aren't mine to show off—and when I started thinking about it, I decided I didn't want to share you. I didn't want to worry about people taking our pictures and interrupting, thinking they have the right to. I just want to have dinner with you. Is that ok?"
I stare at him, searching his face for the lie—for the hint that this is just another part of the game he's playing to get me into bed, but it's heartbreakingly open. And I see nothing there but a plea for understanding.
There's a question, lingering on the tip of my tongue, and I want to ask him. But I follow him inside the dark restaurant and let the hostess seat us in the corner booth. Soft jazz is playing, low candles burn on each table, and a low light hangs in a wire light fixture, pieces of crystal catching and throwing the light beams dizzily, and I wonder how much it cost. Asher snaps his fingers lightly in front of my face, and I jerk, looking at him.
"You have a question."
I frown, and he smirks. "You aren't the only one who notices things, Meggy."
Fair enough.
"Why are you doing this? Is it simply to get in my pants? I promise it's not worth all of this," I say, gesturing at the empty room.
He laughs, and I sit back. A waitress approaches and sets a bottle of sangria on the table for us. I pour a glass, and lift it to my lips, watching as the amusement fades in Knox's eyes.
"Why do you think that's the only reason?"
"Because you’re a twenty four year old guy?"
"Fair point. But it's not why--you know I want you, Megan. I haven't tried to hide that. I've respected your rules. But I haven't lied. And I've gotten to know you, as much as you'll let me."
"And what do you think you know about me."
He hesitates, and cocks his head. "No. I'm not playing this game, unless there are some real stakes to it."
My pulse spikes, and I lick my lips. "Like what?"
"If I am right, I get a kiss."
I feel, suddenly, like I'm at a frat party again, playing strip poker and other drinking games. "And if you’re wrong?"
"I'll do a shot."
He can't know that much about me. It's not like I tell him everything—how bad can this possibly be?
"Fine," I say, and signal to the waitress. "Can you bring us a bottle of vodka and a shot glass?"
"Two," Knox interjects. "You have to play too."
"But I don't want to kiss you," I protest.
His eyes dance in quiet amusement. "That's a lie, and we both know it, Meggy."
Why does it turn me on, when he calls me on my bull
shit? His eyebrows go up, and I shrug. "Fine. Order our damn dinner and we'll play your game, Knox."
Asher
She's furious. But I can see just how dilated her pupils are, the way her breasts are lifting with each breath—she's also turned on, even if she doesn't want to be. I sit back and nod at the waiting waitress. The girl vanishes and, a few minutes later, reappears with a bottle of Gray Goose and two shiny shot glasses.
Shit. When is the last time I did vodka shots? Why do I think it's a good idea now?
Oh. I don't. I'm not going to do many—because she's wrong. I do know her, and I'm damn well going to prove it.
"Favorite color?" she asks, and I laugh.
"Purple." She makes a face. "You’re going to have to make them a little harder than that, pet."
"Fine. College major?"
"Psychology and business management—you double majored and graduated top of your class. You still have friends in both departments at Branton."
"You don't get extra tongue action because you have a long answer, Knox."
I almost choke on my tongue.
"Cats or dogs?"
"Neither, you prefer ferrets. Although, you do like puppies."
She sniffs, "I like kittens too."
"Everyone likes kittens. It doesn't mean we all want to adopt one."
She laughs, and I relax a little. If she’s laughing, how mad can she be?
“Favorite vacation?”
I hesitate, thinking, and her smile turns into a self-satisfied smirk. “When you were a senior, you and your best friend drove from Branton to Orlando for a casting call during spring break. You worked as extras for a few days, and movies got into your blood. You stayed in cheap motels and ate greasy diner food, and when you got home, you avoided her for a month even though you adore her.”
Her mouth forms a little ‘o’ of surprise, and I smile. “You talk, Meggy. And I listen.”
“Clearly,” she mutters, shifting in her seat.
“I haven’t opened the bottle, Megs. Should we keep going?”
Sweet Ruin Page 5