Dirty Love (Dirty Girl Duet #2)(21)

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.