Sweet Ruin Page 6

  Her eyes narrow. “When did I lose my virginity?”

  I lean back, trying to keep my breathing even. I can feel the waitress in the wings, but I want to answer this.

  Except I don’t know the answer.

  “Prom.” I finally say, because isn’t that the cliché? Isn’t that when girls typically give it up?

  “Nope. I was sixteen, and it was right after Nik left home to move into the sorority house. I went to a party with her, and it just sorta happened.”

  I feel my gut hollow out. It just happened? What does that mean? Did it not mean anything? How could she let someone who didn’t adore her touch her like that—and for her first time? The crack of the plastic on the vodka jars me back into the present. She spills a shot into the waiting glass and pushes it across the table to me.

  “Drink up, Knox.”

  “You owe me four kisses,” I say, and she inhales. Opens her mouth to say something, but I signal the waitress, and she moves forward with our appetizer as I take the first shot.

  After the waitress moves away and we situate our plates, I pin Megan with a heavy stare. “Your turn. When did I graduate?”

  “That’s a trick question—you didn’t. You dropped out before graduation and started working on a regular basis.”

  I cock my head—most people don’t know I dropped out a few weeks before graduation. It was a move most people in my life said was idiotic, and I tended to agree, even if it was the break that led me to today.

  Megan flushes. “Knowing your history is part of the job, Knox.”

  “Favorite book?”

  “The Name of the Wind. Although, you’d probably tell the paps something like Of Mice and Men.”

  I laugh, because it’s true. She smirks and takes a bite of the shrimp scampi. A drop of garlic butter clings to her bottom lip, and I want to reach over and catch it with my own. I force myself to stay firmly in my own seat, and she smirks.

  “So. You have two kisses.”

  Her expression takes on a slightly panicked expression, but she shrugs. “Next?”

  “Which captain was my favorite?”

  “Pine.”

  I smirk. “You just think so because we had drinks a few times. Picard was my favorite. Mum used to make me watch with her every time I took a sick day.”

  She tilts her head, “You loved her very much, didn’t you?”

  I close my eyes and reach for the vodka. I pour two and slide a shot to her. I need one—but then I usually do, when I think about Mum.

  “She never wanted me to come here. She was convinced it would be a bad idea for me—that the way she raised me would be swallowed up by Hollywood.”

  “Was she right?”

  Somehow, the conversation has veered away from our game, to things deeper than I think either of us expected.

  “Yes. Sometimes. It’s why I run, some days. I need to get away and remember the things she taught me, the things that make me her son.”

  She gasps, a tiny noise I don’t think she intended to release, and I look at her.

  “She would have liked you,” I say, softly, brushing my fingertips over her hand. I wonder if she knows that it is the highest compliment I can pay someone.

  “What is one place I want to see before I die?”

  “Sydney,” I say, promptly, not mentioning I will take the first role I’m offered with filming in Australia, just so I can take her there.

  “Yours is Rio,” She says, looking away as the waitress returns with our entrees.

  My phone—the one she would be furious if she knew I had—buzzes against my leg and I almost reach for it. But I know who it will be, and I’m not ready to share this with Luca—not yet. So I close the bottle of vodka and change the subject.

  We stay there for hours. Talking about nothing and everything, but the conversation shifts away from heavy topics, after that.

  “How did you meet Luca? What’s his deal?” I ask, after listening to another story about her roommates.

  Her expression softens. “He was a good friend, when I desperately needed one. The best friend I could ask for.”

  “You slept with him,” I say, and it’s a statement rather than a question.

  “No,” she says, shaking her head. “Luca—he has to have Sun. It’s not a bad thing—just his thing. And I’ve never been into sharing, so we’ve always been friends. I think he wanted more, but I…I just never wanted that.”

  I turn her words over in my head, trying to make sense of them, seeing Luca in a new light. She puts her fork down, the brownie we’ve been sharing almost completely gone.

  “I’m going to the ladies room, and then I’ll be ready to go.”

  I nod absently. As soon as she’s gone, I grab my phone and dial quickly. Luca answers immediately.

  “Your ignoring my texts,” he says.

  “And you’re playing a dangerous game,” I hiss back. “What is this? Is it some elaborate game your playing to get her in bed? She told me you like to share.”

  “Fuck.” He sighs. “Look, English, don’t overreact.”

  “How exactly do you think I should react?” I ask icily.

  “What did you want me to say? That I love her and, by the way, I’m into threesomes? I just met you, man.”

  “And yet you sent her away with me.”

  “She needs this. Don’t fool yourself into thinking I did this for anyone but Megan.”

  I shake my head. I don’t know why he did this, and I don’t have the energy to figure it out right now. Not when Megan will be back any second.

  “I gotta go,” I say abruptly.

  I hang up and drop my head into my hands. What the hell does it mean? What does he want?

  “Asher?”

  I will never get tired of hearing my name on her lips. I love Knox, in her crisp tone that borders on exasperation. But when she softens enough to use Asher—that never fails to get me a little hard.

  She’s standing there, head cocked as she waits for me to respond. I shove all thoughts of Luca aside and stand.

  Megan

  I keep waiting, and he doesn’t say anything. We walk through the cold night, and for the longest time, I think he’s forgotten the kisses.

  Nerves are strung tight in my belly, and I don’t know if it’s the dinner or the place or what he said about his mother. All I know is that I need something, rules be damned.

  “You earned five kisses, you know.”

  The words fill the space between us, and I feel my cheeks heat. “You earned three,” he says, a tease in his tone.

  I did. But I can’t use them. Can I?

  I make an impatient sound and step away, ahead of him. I hear the soft whisper of satin, and then he grips my arm, pulling me around until I’m in his embrace without ever deciding that I want to be. His arms are around me, resting low on my hips, the tips of his fingers brushing the top of my ass. My hands come up, gripping his lapels, and I have a heartbeat to stare into his vibrant, blue eyes, and then his lips come down on mine.

  They’re as soft as they appear, a silky fullness that rubs across mine in a shallow kiss that lingers and slides, deepening without ever pulling away. His grip shifts on me, pulling my body tight against his, and I squirm against the press of his erection as he deepens the kiss, catching my lip with his teeth and sucking softly. I gasp, and his tongue slides against mine, an erotic velvety rub that has me aching for more.

  I moan, and he makes a low noise, half growl, half groan, in the back of his throat, shifting to lift me. My legs come up and around his waist, my skirt riding up, and I have a heartbeat to wonder what the hell I’m doing before his tongue is retreating and he’s sucking, lightly, the slightest pull, on mine. I want to scream, and I can’t, I can’t even breath. I need something—anything—more. My nails dig into his chest, and he shudders. My back hits the door. I slide down his body as I feel him fumbling. I catch his hand and I guide it where I want. He gasps when I let go, breaking the kiss finally, as his fingers trail
over the skin of my thigh.

  I go up on tiptoes, arching into his caress. “Don’t stop.” I beg, and I don’t even care that I’m begging.

  His gaze darkens, just a little, and then his fingers drift, lazily, up. I whimper when he brushes against me lightly, a fleeting touch that does more to aggravate than it does to soothe. “What do you want, pet?” he murmurs.

  “Asher, please,” I whimper, and his hand is there, brushing against my thong.

  “Lace? So impractical,” he says, a grin in his tone. I want to say something, but his finger is there, a soft pressure as he strokes me, and his lips are pressing against my neck, hot, open mouthed kisses that are driving me crazy. They aren’t enough.

  It’s not enough.

  I said it out loud. I must have. He pulls back, his gaze hot, and jerks my dress to the side. My breasts spill out, and I gasp as the cool air hits me. Then the warmth of his mouth covers me, and his tongue is twisting over my nipple. I shudder, and his hand moves, fingers dipping, dragging over me. I feel my orgasm coming, every nerve in my body tight, a taught coil of need focused on the two points he's touching me. I whimper, and he bites down, lightly, as his fingers thrust deep.

  And everything explodes, a thin cry breaking free as my body tightens and lights dance behind my closed eyes. Euphoria and a wave of sleepiness slide over me as the orgasm eases. I shiver, slumped against the door. Knox straightens slowly, and I pry my eyes open to stare at him. He tucks my panties—when did he tear them?—into his pocket and adjusts my dress so I’m covered. As he opens the door to let me inside, and I have the first pangs of what the hell, he leans down, smelling of sex and male, and whispers in my ear, “That’s one kiss, darling.”

  Asher

  She's already reacting, already shutting down and retreating from me as we enter the house. Irrationally, I'm angry with her. I knew that this would happen. But after the brief intimacy and feeling her come apart, I'm not ready to let her go.

  Still, something says this is for the best, so I give her space and let her retreat into her bedroom and shut the door behind her. Leaving me with a serious case of blue balls. And even though I understand her reasons and why she's running, I'm angry and frustrated and more than a little drunk. It's a bad combination.

  Growling, I jerk my shirt over my head and stalk into my bedroom, throwing it onto the ground. My phone is a solid weight in my pocket, annoying me even further. Before I can figure out the consequences or why the hell I'm doing it, I'm dialing Luca’s number.

  All I know is that this man exploded into my life. He's her best friend, and it's clear that he wants her, so why the fuck is he helping me? What game is he playing? I hold the phone to my ear, and, as it rings, I have to wonder what I'm even going to say?

  “Hello?”

  “What are you doing?”

  The question comes without preamble or artifice. He sighs. I can picture him, sprawled half naked in the big bed by himself. For some reason the picture, while lonely, doesn't disturb me as much as I expect. “Why are you doing this?” I demand.

  “Do you trust that I love her?” he asks.

  Of course I do, but that's the only thing I trust about him. “I know that you won't hurt her.”

  He laughs. It's bitter and mocking, a little bit hateful. But I can't figure out if it's directed at me or him.

  “You know, she's my best friend. She's the only thing that keeps me sane. I'm watching her, and I'm watching you, and I'm watching what she does for that asshole she feels like she has to impress. You know what I see?”

  I don't respond. There's nothing to say. I don't know, and I'm not sure I want to.

  “She's losing herself. She's letting go of everything that makes her special and unique, beautiful and perfect. Everything that separates her from the city. She's letting it go because she feels like she has to to survive. And she’s so hell-bent on proving herself, she doesn’t even realize what’s happening.”

  A long moment of quiet. As if he expects me to respond to that, but how do you respond to that? What do you even say? His words are ripping me to shreds. The more I think about it, the more I look back over the time I've spent with her, and I know it's true. Eventually, he says softly, “You asked me what I'm doing. You care about her. I care about her. And I'm trying my damnedest save her.”

  “From Kevin?” I ask.

  “No,” he says, so softly that I almost don't hear it. “I’m trying to save her from herself.”

  There's a long moment of silence as both of us absorb that. His goals and how I play into them. I still don't know, but for the first time tonight, I’m okay with that, because I believe him. He does care about her, and so do I.

  “What happened today?” he asks.

  Part of me doesn't want to tell him about the kiss. I don't want his memory there between us, but the truth is, Lucas has been between us since we arrived here. So I tell him, and I listen as his breathing gets deep. He's not even trying to hide that he’s turned on.

  I remember what she said about his sharing, and I wonder what will happen when we arrive in Las Vegas tomorrow.

  Part of me wants to ask, but part of me is scared. I’ve never done this before—and I've done a lot. He takes away the option. “Get some sleep, English. You have a long drive tomorrow.”

  Luca

  I sit staring at the phone after Asher hangs up.

  I can picture them easily, him pressing her against the wall, her dress pulled aside. That's not what occupies my thoughts. Not completely.

  I miss her. Which is irrational, because I saw her only a few days ago. But then, when it comes to Megan, I've never been the most rational person.

  I’m not jealous. I know I'm not. I’ve never been the type to get jealous, and I knew when I told Asher to take her to that stupid villa that this would happen. Megan is very good at putting up walls and building rules and shielding herself against everything that she wants.

  But she does want, and I knew that if she was given a little bit of space and a little bit of room to breathe away from Kevin, it was just a matter of time.

  But she's there with him, and I'm here alone, and Sun’s nowhere in sight and won't be for I don't know how long.

  The worst part is I should miss Sun. I know I should, but I don't. I miss Megan. And Asher, the stupid English idiot with all of his uppity manners and his smiles. I can understand why she can't get past him. I grab my phone again and send a quick message.

  Nothing that'll freak her out. Just a quick reminder that I'm still here—he might have just brought her to an orgasm that made her knees weak and I would pay good money to watch, but I'm still here. Me. Her best friend. The one who rescued her.

  I hope she still needs me.

  I turn it off after sending. I don't want to deal with the apologies or the guilt that I know she's feeling.

  I hit the lights and lie down. As the city comes to life around me, I lie in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, and I wonder what will tomorrow bring.

  Chapter Eight

  Megan

  “I love Las Vegas.”

  It's the first thing I’ve said all morning, and it feels almost like confession of sorts as I stare at Asher from across the table.

  Irrationally, I wonder when he'll kiss me again. Nope, wrong train of thought. That's not what I'm supposed to be thinking at breakfast today, after I did something incredibly stupid. Something I'm not going to repeat.

  Right. Because if I keep repeating that over and over, maybe someday—today, tomorrow, next year—it'll be true.

  I clear my throat. “What are you looking at in Vegas? Aren't we supposed to be getting on the road on Monday?”

  Knox drops the paper and gives me a steady stare. “Remember how Kevin's been trying to get hold of you?”

  I straighten. “Yeah, what about it?”

  “He might not be happy. But it's not your fault, and he knows it's not your fault, so don't worry too much, okay?”

  Very slowly and very
precisely, I set down my spoon. Knox edges away from the table, expression wary. “What the hell did you do, Knox?”

  “I said don't be mad.”

  “You lied to get me here. And then you seduce me against my damn door. And now there's something going on with my job, the job that I take very seriously! And you're telling me not to get upset? You better explain yourself right now, or I swear to God I will walk out the door and you will never see me again.”

  He winces, a defeated expression coming across his face. And then, with a heavy sigh, he tells me.

  I don't want to believe him. It’s been forty-five minutes since he told me about fight with Kevin, his ultimatum and Kevin’s retaliation. And I want to believe he's lying. But I know my uncle, and this is just the exact jackass bullshit that he would pull.

  He's been jealous since he gave me the client. Me. The little niece that he didn't want to work with, the one he didn't want to give a job, and the only one who can keep the biggest client happy. I zip my bag with an angry twist of my hand and stalk out to the living room.

  Knox is standing there, worried expression stitching his brow. “Relax, Asher. I'm over it. Mostly. Okay, not at all, but I'm not mad at you. Much.”

  His eyebrows goes up, and he smirks. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”

  “Did it work?”

  “Not at all.”

  I sniff, “Then no. It wasn't.”

  He laughs, like he’s supposed to.

  That's me. Doing my job, keeping the talent happy. Except it's not my job anymore, is it?

  “Hey, Megs?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It's going to be okay. I don't know how, but it will be. I promise.”

  Despite my anger and the generally fucked-up situation, I have to admit my heart melts just a little bit. Because he's trying—he's trying to save me, and nobody does that. Nobody but Luca.

  Suddenly, the desire to see my best friend is overwhelming. I grab my bag. “Come on. It’s a long drive, and I want to go.”

  The way he's looking at me, Knox knows something is going on. But all those times I let his bullshit slide finally pay off. He doesn't comment on my suddenly erratic behavior, just takes the bag for me and leads the way out of the little villa.