by J. Kenner
"Dammit, Lyle."
"Do I ever cause you problems? Do you have to run interference for me? Do I not live up to my damned golden boy reputation?"
She said nothing.
"Make an excuse for me. Anything. I don't care." For just a moment, he let his mask down. The innocent Iowa boy who'd been discovered at seventeen, plucked out of obscurity to ride to fame on his Midwestern good looks and piercing blue eyes. He'd thrown himself into the work, scrambling up through television and indie films to where he was today. A genuinely nice guy, untarnished by Hollywood's bullshit.
Except that was all just a part, too. And for just a flicker of a moment, he let Evelyn see the pain underneath. The loss. The darkness. And all the goddamn guilt.
Then he was the movie star again, and she was looking at him, her brows knit with an almost maternal concern.
"Please," he added, his voice low and a little hoarse. "It's not a good day. I need--"
What? A drink? A fuck? Magic powers so he could change the past?
"--to go. I just need to go."
"Do you want company?"
Hell, yes.
He shook his head. "No. I'm fine. But thanks."
But he did want company. Just not the kind that Evelyn was offering. He wanted the kind of company that was raw. That was dirty and fast and anonymous.
Mostly, he wanted discretion and absolutely no fucking strings.
FIND YOUR HEART'S DESIRE . . .
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