Sweet Ruin Read online

  Yes. Of course. But I thrive on it.

  I don’t say that—don’t answer his question. “Quiet weekend. I’ll even go to the store—if you promise not to vanish while I’m gone.”

  He looks away. “Where would I go?” he asks, his tone bitter. I pull back, surprised. “Every time I leave the house, I’m mobbed.”

  “Most actors wouldn’t complain about that, Ash.” Most actors would give their right ball to be in his position—being the face of a cult phenomenon is nothing to sneer at, and making it to the big screen after the TV series wrapped was just the icing on the cake.

  He smirks. “I’m not most actors.”

  I bite down on my response, choking the sarcasm off before I can snap at him.

  He rolls to his feet with unconscious grace, brushing sand from his hands. He looks, in this moment, like a young god.

  “Come on, Megs. I’ll cook for you. Nobody has to go anywhere for a while.”

  It’s a tempting offer—who knew Asher Knox would turn out to be a better cook than I am? “Real bacon? Not that turkey shit.”

  His lips curl into that infuriatingly sexy smirk, and he extends a hand to pull me to my feet.

  Asher

  She doesn’t take it. She never does. But she does rise and pads barefoot next to me toward the house. I resist the urge to stare at her—I make an effort to not be too blatant. She appreciates it. The first week Kevin had Megan assigned to me, I wasn’t so circumspect. I was obvious and over the top—everything that I had used on other girls to get them into bed.

  It didn’t impress Megan. She’d tolerated it for a few days then abruptly quit.

  I’d been reeling and stormed into Kevin’s office, demanding her back.

  She agreed—on her own terms. Romantic relationships are firmly out of bounds. I know that—and because I need her calm steady presence more than I want to fuck her, I tolerate her asinine rules.

  It doesn’t mean I don’t want her. I like to remind her that we both know where I stand on that.

  She leans against the side of the house, brushing sand from her feet before stepping inside. The kitchen is quiet and dark—the way she likes it after a night out. I can see the tension lines around her eyes and the stubborn set of her mouth. I wonder again about the young man at the bar, the one who watched her with too-hungry eyes. I’m tempted to ask, but it’s pointless.

  “Catch,” I say, and her hands come up to snatch the bottle of Tylenol out of the air. She gives me a weak smile and pops two before curling into a chair at the table, her legs tucked under her. She props one hand in her hair, scrolling through the news on her tablet.

  When she’s like this, it’s easy to see the girl fresh from college, fighting her way up the ranks of a cutthroat talent agency. It’s easy to see she’s just as young and scared as I feel. It’s easy to see her vulnerabilities.

  She doesn’t let this side show often.

  “Your staring, Knox,” she says, her voice tart. I laugh, and her green eyes dart up, locking with mine. Amused warning.

  Duly noted. I twist away, going to the fridge to gather the makings for breakfast. I start a pot of coffee for Megan as the griddle heats, and then drop a few slices of bacon into the pan.

  “What are the vultures saying today?”

  “There’s a few pictures of you and Ashley Moore.”

  I make a face. The studio likes seeing us together—and we make a pretty picture. But the girl grates my nerves. Probably, sleeping with her was a bad idea. In all fairness, she had that girl next door innocence down pat.

  I grin. Until I got her naked in my hotel room. Then all her expertise came pouring out. The things that woman could do with her tongue…

  I shake the thought. “It wouldn’t kill you to have lunch with her,” Megan says.

  “No.” I snort. “I’m not feeding that tramp’s delusions of grandeur. I wouldn’t have gone near her if I knew the paps were around.”

  “What did I tell you?” she says, annoyed. “They’re always around.”

  I ignore that, bringing breakfast to the table before retreating to get two glasses of juice. I return to find Megan staring at me, concern in her eyes.

  “How close are you to going off the reservation?” she asks, pushing aside all pretense.

  The feeling of being suffocated, the pressure of everything—the studio and my agent and Megan and my fans—all of it wells up in me suddenly. My grip on my fork tightens, and Megs glances down.

  “I have a friend—back home. I think he’d be a good person for you to consult with after you take the Lafitte role.”

  I struggle to keep up, making the mental leap in conversations. “Why?”

  “He’s an expert. A professor at the college I graduated from. The gentleman pirate sorta became his life’s work.”

  I’ve spent my life studying people and picking up on their ticks. And right now, I’m hearing more than a student’s fondness for a professor.

  “Who is he?”

  Megan

  Asher’s question comes out low and almost menacing. Except Knox isn’t menacing. He’s sweet and disturbed and moodier than fucking Hamlet, but he’s not menacing. I blink at him.

  No. I’m not reading him wrong. That’s anger in his eyes.

  “Atticus Grimes—a history professor at the University of Branton.”

  His gaze doesn’t falter.

  “You need a break,” I say. “So let’s get through next week—they’re going to offer you the role. We all know they will. We’ll have about a month before filming starts. So let’s get out of town.”

  “To go visit your professor?” he asks, his voice dark silk. I shiver, my blood spiking. Angry Knox is hot.

  “You and me, a road trip to Branton. You can talk to him about the character. We can eat horribly awful food and do touristy shit and get you out of the spotlight for a while.”

  He’s ignoring his food, staring at me like I’ve grown a third head. It makes me nervous, when he stares like that. I flash a smile.

  “Kevin will never let me disappear for a month.”

  Some of the tension eases out of me, and I grin. “Oh, honey. You take the role next week, and Kevin will give you whatever you fucking want.”

  Interest sparks in his eyes, and I know, in that moment more than any other, that I have him.

  And I’m not sure how to feel about that, because a month alone with Asher Knox is a disaster waiting to happen.

  Chapter Three

  Megan

  “Knox is fucking insane.”

  I switch the phone to my other hand, propping it between my shoulder and ear as I navigate through the streets of downtown LA. I’m supposed to be off today. Kevin was taking Knox to the call back. I had planned on a quiet afternoon at my apartment, a little shopping to pick up some groceries, and meeting Luca and Sun for drinks tonight. It’s been too long since I saw them, aside from that brief moment on New Year’s Eve, and I was actually looking forward to a night out when I wasn’t wrangling Knox.

  “What do mean, Kevin? He was fine when I left last night.”

  “Did you put some crazy idea in his head that he could take a month off if he landed the Black Tides role?”

  I bite back a curse. He wasn’t supposed to know that shit yet. “We talked about it, remember. He needs a break.”

  “A break. A break, Megan, is a trip to fucking Aspen for a weekend. It’s not a cross country trip in your beater.”

  “Then fork up the cash for something better,” I snarl. “Or find someone else Asher will tolerate. I think Mandy would fit—oh wait. She got thrown out after an hour, didn’t she?”

  I’m being bitchy, and I don’t care. Kevin is quiet on the other end of the line.

  “What’s it going to be, uncle? My way or should I go home now?”

  “Fuck you, Megan.”

  I laugh, a bitter noise, and hang up.

  My hands are shaking. I despise him. Sometimes, I think it’s not worth it. Not worth the deg
rading comments and the bullshit and the way he treats me like the mailroom clerk. I know my job, and I know I’m good at it.

  And it’s not like anyone back home sees me as anything but the snot nosed kid Daddy took in when there was nowhere else to go.

  I shove the thoughts of my uncle and hometown aside and park abruptly. I pull up Knox’s number and text him.

  Me: What’s wrong? K said you were freaking out.

  Knox: Where are you?

  Me: Day off, remember? Do you need me?

  I hold my breath waiting on his answer. I want my day off. I can already hear Sun’s bitching if I cancel. But if he needs me, there isn’t even an option.

  Knox: I’m fine. Enjoy your day, Megs.

  I stare at it. There are no emoticons—I don’t think Knox even knows what they are. It’s too dry, too hard to read. I hesitate, torn between wanting to call and wanting to accept his words at face value.

  My phone dings, startling me, and I read the message.

  Knox: Promise, Meggy. Have fun. I’ll text after the call back.

  I let out my breath and smile.

  While I’m still thinking, I write a quick email.

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: Huge Favor

  Hey brother man.

  Can I still call you that? I haven’t emailed since the divorce was finalized—sorry about that. Uncle Kevin has me super busy.

  That’s actually why I’m writing now. I’m headed back to your neck of the woods with a client—I was wondering if you could maybe talk to him about Jean Lafitte. I can’t give you much more than that over email, but if you’d like to contact me, my number hasn’t changed. And if you’re totally busy, I get it. Maybe we can grab coffee when I’m in town. Believe it or not, some of us miss you.

  Okay, that’s it.

  Meg*

  I hit send before I can rethink it. As I slide out of the car and slip my sunglasses on, I let myself consider that Nik is going to be furious.

  The thought makes me smile.

  Later that night, I’m sitting crammed between Sun and Luca at a noisy bar. Luca is eyeing the pretty blonde girl leaning over the bar, her little ass peeking out the bottom of her dress. He’s almost drooling.

  Actually, Sun is eyeing the same girl.

  “Quit undressing her with your mind, you pervs,” I order, catching the eye of our waitress. I make a circular motion, and she nods.

  “Thong?” Luca guesses, still watching Blondie.

  “Ten bucks says she’s not wearing underwear,” Sun shoots back, licking her lips.

  Oh sweet lord. “You two are not,” I say, lifting up a hand. “No. We’re out for fun.”

  Sun turns wide brown eyes on me, her expression full of false innocence. “Oh, sugar, we’ll have so much fun.”

  Luca laughs on the other side of me, a silent rumble that shakes my body.

  “I’m not watching you two seduce the tourists,” I say flatly.

  Luca leans in, lips whispering over my pulse point. “We could seduce you, lovely girl.”

  I smirk, shaking my head. “I’ve lived with you. I’ve seen you work this line on too many girls to fall for it.”

  Sun pouts, leaning into me. I pat her arm then point at the waitress, approaching with a fresh round of shots. “Look. Tequila!”

  Sun squeals happily and leans forward, bouncing in her seat.

  As they flirt with the waitress, I sneak a glance at my phone. Nothing from Knox. I’m starting to worry a little.

  “Phone down, lovely girl,” Luca purrs in my ear. I shiver and drop it into my bra.

  Luca and Sun are the first friends I made in LA when I arrived eighteen months ago, fresh from college and eager to make my mark. Kevin slammed the door in my face—and Luca was there to catch me. An indie actor, he’d been at the office when Kevin turned me away. He’d taken pity on me—in retrospect, he probably thought he could get me in bed.

  And Luca is sexy enough for it. Skin the color of midnight, a shaved skull, and eyes deep enough to drown in—and the body of a fucking athlete—the boy has sex appeal in spades. It keeps him in cash when he isn’t acting—there is always someone willing to pay him to stand around and look sexy in their clothes.

  Going to bed with him would have been a done deal, if it weren’t for his particular brand of kink.

  Sun and Luca aren’t a couple. They are best friends and fight like cats and dogs and know each other’s darkest secrets. There is a world of knowledge between them that I can’t even attempt to understand. She’s been with guys, before. Dated one pretty steadily for most of the time I shared their two bedroom apartment.

  Luca didn’t. He isn’t with her—and doesn’t seem like he wants to be—but he rarely sleeps with anyone without bringing Sun into it.

  It works for them.

  It doesn’t work for me. Sharing isn’t my thing. So I shut him down, and they became my best friends. My only friends, really. I don’t have a lot of free time to socialize, and most people, when they find out who I work for, are too intent on that for me to get close to them.

  “Where is English today?” Sun asks abruptly. Luca tenses on the other side of me.

  “Audition. He was supposed to call me after. I’m starting to worry.”

  I can feel the look they exchange above my head, and I groan. “No you guys. It’s not that.”

  “Sweetheart, it should be that,” Sun says fervently.

  I flick some beer at her and she smirks. “We don’t want to see you hurt, Meg. You know it can happen. English isn’t known for fidelity or longevity. And you’re a country girl at heart,” Luca says, pushing a lock of hair from my face.

  “Which is why we have rules,” I say, a little angry. “I’m not an idiot.”

  Luca laughs and shakes his head. His eyes are a little sad when he grabs my hand and pulls me from my stool. “Yes, you are, Megs. But you’re our idiot, so try not to let him break your heart. I don’t want to put you back together.”

  His hands are low on my hips, hugging me to him, and I can’t feel Sun behind me—which means this is the most we’ve ever had, just the two of us. He rolls his hips into mine, in time with the music, a hand low on my back holding me to him. I shudder, and a dark smile touches his eyes.

  I twist away, unwilling to face him, and he holds me close as we dance. His lips whisper the music in my ear, and for a while, the worry fades under the pressure of his hands and the soothing warmth of Sun’s gaze.

  Luca

  Sun is watching us, her dark eyes too knowing. I twist, turning Megan into the crowd as we dance. This is torture—there’s nothing that can come of it, and getting myself turned on when I won’t push her to act is a bad idea.

  So why am I here, instead of with the blonde from the bar?

  Megan’s hips roll, and I groan, hardening against her. She laughs, a slow smoky noise, lifting an arm above her head to wrap around my neck.

  What the hell? She tugs me down, closer to her, and I swallow hard and let go of all the reasons this is a bad idea. Push my dick against her ass. She shivers as I lean down, dropping a soft kiss on the nape of her neck. “What are you doing?” I ask, my voice low.

  “Dancing.” She giggles.

  Ah. Those shots are working, then. “You don’t dance like this, lovely girl,” I murmur. “Not with me.”

  “Mmm.” She nods and whimpers when I bite lightly on the curve of her neck. My hands skate up, thumbs brushing the curve of her breasts. “But I’m tired of watching you and Sun with strangers.”

  I don’t respond, just hold her as we dance. It’s nothing—not really. Her hands cover mine when they slip to rest low on her hips, and I can feel the tension that fills her.

  My fingers are close, but not where she wants them. And she’s just drunk enough to want them.

  I’m not. And I won’t cross that line with her until she’s sober. I’ve waited too long for Megan to fuck it up over a few shots
of tequila.

  So I pet her, gently, until she’s as turned on as I am. I tease and let her grind against my erection. And after a few songs, I catch Sun’s eye and hand Megan over to her while I retreat to the bathroom and deal with the worst case of blue balls I’ve ever had.

  Asher

  I delete the message.

  Again.

  It’s asinine. I’m a top-tier actor. I could walk down any street, any day of the week, and have my pick of girls to shag. I could call any number of actresses and they’d be here in a few hours. So why, then, do I want the one woman who consistently ignores my flirting?

  I’m a good flirt. I know I am. I know she notices.

  What is especially asinine is that I am actually considering going out just to see her. Me. I hate going to clubs.

  It’s been over twenty-four hours since I saw her. My skin actually feels itchy and tight, my temper short. The ocean didn’t even do its job of soothing me.

  And I know what it is. I miss her.

  I growl and head to the kitchen for a beer. My phone is still and black.

  I’m a fucking idiot.

  The doorbell rings, followed by an impatient rap that gets my hackles up. I want to turn away when a rough, masculine voice yells, “Open the damn door, English.”

  English.

  I jerk it open, and a black man spills inside. A statuesque young woman in stilettos, black hair a sharp line around her face brightened by a streak of pink, and a silver scrap of material they’re passing off as a dress stumbles in after him.

  He’s carrying Megan, her long hair spilling down his arm, one hand looped around his neck as she cuddles into him.

  “Where the hell is the couch?” he mutters then makes a pleased noise and dumps her on my sofa.

  Megan makes a sharp noise of surprise, and I shout, “Hey! What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Oh, god, Ash, keep your damn voice down,” Meg whimpers.

  The other girl giggles. “She said the tats weren’t real.”