The Lion's Den(37)

“So, what do you do for your dad?” I asked.

“I do mostly future site research and development—figuring out where to build what and the best way to do it.”

I nodded as if I understood what that meant. “And what did you do before you started working for your dad?”

“I was a journalist. Spent three years in the Middle East, trying to change the world.”

“Ah, so you used to be an idealist,” I said.

“Yeah.” The corner of his mouth turned down. “Let’s just say I learned my lesson.” He shrugged it off. “What about you? What do you do?”

“I’m an actress,” I admitted. “Just like half the other girls at this party.”

“Oh. Am I an idiot for not knowing who you are?”

I laughed. “Not unless you watch the Family Channel or have a knack for remembering one-liners and girls who get killed on TV. I’m currently slinging drinks at a pool bar in Hollywood, if you must know.”

“Sounds glamorous. So what’s your favorite role that you’ve played?”

“Hmmm…that’s a hard one. I’ve done a couple of guest-star roles on TV that were great experiences. I mean, those sets run so smoothly, they pay well, and you’re working with seasoned actors.…But I think my favorite thing is a web series I’m working on right now, playing a medical school student who gets into heroin and is trying to overcome her addiction while going to school.”

“Heavy.”

“It’s not a big-budget project or anything,” I conceded, “but it’s my first real lead role, and it’s a good one. I can’t tell you how sick I am of playing the sidekick, trying to make my handful of expository lines interesting.”

“I admire you,” he said. “It takes a lot of bravery to put yourself out there like that.”

“I love it.” I laughed. “When I was a kid I used to make up these extremely complicated and long plays where I would be every character, then perform them in the living room for my poor parents.”

“It’s funny.” He smiles. “I guess when you have a talent for something, you just know. Eric and I used to spend summers with our grandmother in France, and at the end of the summer he’d put on an elaborate art show with all the art he’d made that summer. Had the staff serve canapés and sparkling apple cider in champagne glasses and everything.”

“You had a staff?”

“He’d always try to get me to participate, but I don’t have an artistic bone in my body.”

I couldn’t tell if he didn’t hear my question or he was ignoring it. Either way, I didn’t press. “But you were a journalist. Writing is artistic,” I pointed out.

“It’s not the same.” He shrugged it off. “Anyway, that was a long time ago.”

I wanted to know more, but we were interrupted by a loud moan coming from the forest. I quickly spotted the source: a couple in flagrante against a tree just off the path. They were hard not to spot, with the lights of her fairy wings twinkling in the dark and her legs wrapped around him while he plowed her, his pants around his ankles. Dylan noticed them at the same time as me, and the couple clearly saw us but didn’t seem to care. If anything, they were only encouraged by our presence, turning the volume on their moans up a notch. Dylan and I hurried down the trail giggling.

“Enchanted Forest—try Fornication Forest,” I whispered.

“Show-offs,” he agreed with a laugh.

He grabbed my hand and pulled me up an offshoot of the path that led past a view of the shimmering lights of the city into a grotto lit only with floating candles. It was covered in flowering jasmine, and surprisingly deserted.

His hand lingered on my back as we walked along the water’s edge in the flickering darkness. “So I’ve met a girl who’s beautiful and smart,” he said. “Not to mention a great dancer. And I’m leaving for Europe tomorrow. How’s that for luck?”

“Now you’re just trying to get in my pants,” I teased.

He caught and held my gaze. “Would that be such a bad thing?” His fingertips lightly touched my thigh, lifting my skirt ever so slightly. I looked down at his hand resting on my leg and without warning I was in the elevator again, Eric’s breath on my neck.

No, no, no, not Eric. Dylan. Just as hot and not involved with Summer. I looked up to meet his dark eyes, unflinching as his fingers traveled farther up my skirt. What the hell, I figured. He was leaving tomorrow. This was the only chance we’d get. I let him kiss me.

His kiss was surprisingly fervent, his scruff rough against my skin. It was sexy, but I was a little caught off guard by the intensity of his ardor, my heel catching on a stone as he backed me toward the wall, leaving me off balance. He caught me without missing a beat, his biceps hard beneath his shirt, and cradled the back of my head with his hand as he pressed me into the stone. It was the kind of scene that would play as steamy in a movie, but this wasn’t a movie, and all of a sudden I was sixteen again, pushed into the corner of a dirty couch by an overgrown frat boy.

Come on, Belle, get it together! You like this guy. Just enjoy it!

I forced the memory back down deep into my psyche, doing my damnedest to stay in the moment. A rock pressed into my spine. I tried to move over, but he was too heavy against me. I gently pushed him back with my hands, and he stopped abruptly. “Is everything okay?”