Hollywood Dirt (Hollywood Dirt, #1)(85)

I frowned. I had a hang nail on my left thumb, and I picked at it, my hand twitching when my nail dug too deep. “I don’t really want to talk about it.” It was none of anyone’s freaking business; that was the truth of it. And plus, dragging out my drama with Scott now… when he had a wife and baby… it seemed dirty. Rotten. Whether or not I had forgiven him was secondary to the life he was currently living. A life, which was most likely already being rocked by this article.

“You don’t want to talk about it on camera? Or with me?”

I choked out a laugh. “With you? Why would you care?”

“I need to know if I should keep ambulances on speed dial for the crew.”

I twisted my mouth and tried to hide a smile. He was too close, sitting there. I could smell a hint of his cologne, and I wanted to lean forward and get more of it. “The crew? I’d be much more worried about you, Mr. Masten.”

“Don’t do that.” His words were husky, and I looked up in surprise, my hangnail forgotten and saw his eyes on mine, and in them… I have seen that look before. In my bedroom. Right before… well…

“Don’t do what?” I shouldn’t have asked the question. I should have looked back down and changed the subject. But I didn’t. I pressed.

“Call me that. Not here anyway.” He sat back in his chair, his stare still on me, that feral, dominant stare that told me exactly what he had on his mind.

“Then where, Mr. Masten?” I dragged out his last name, and his eyes darkened, the left edge of his mouth curving up. It was official. I was going to hell.

He chuckled. “I’m not playing that game with you. Last time I walked into my house with an erection the size of Texas and you weren’t there.”

“I’m here right now.” A woman I didn’t know, one who had hidden inside of me for a long time, stood up, emboldened by the look in his eyes, by his words. I reached up and undid the top button of my shirt, then the second, his eyes closing for a minute before he reached forward.

“Stop.” His hands closed on mine, and they were so warm, so strong. I looked up into his face, which was tight with regret. “Not here. I did a half-ass job with you last time. I’m not making that mistake again.”

I digested the words, then slowly nodded. “It was pretty half-ass.”

He laughed. “Easy, Country. You’re dealing with a movie star. We’re known to have fragile egos.”

I pulled my hands free and reached for my buttons, but he brushed my hands aside, his fingers doing the job, the simple act of a man buttoning up my shirt causing something in me to weaken. “Why are you suddenly being nice to me?” I didn’t look at him when I asked the question. I couldn’t.

His hands lifted from my top button and cupped my face, turning it up, forcing the connection of our eyes. “I broke something over a man’s head when I caught him f*cking my wife.” He shrugged. “Maybe you and I are more similar than I thought.”

“Not likely.”

He pulled forward with his hands and brought my mouth to his in a kiss completely different than the others—a quiet and soft kiss, one that tasted me and then let go, my eyes still closed when his hands left my face. “Don’t push me away, Summer,” he said. “Right now, you need a friend.”

“A friend.” I opened my eyes, and he was right there, those famous green eyes on mine. I laughed to take away any relationship reference he might infer. “You?”

“Yeah.”

“I have to like someone for them to be my friend.” I stepped back and hit the chair, stumbled. Of course I did. I couldn’t have one well-executed semi-witty comeback.

“Do you have to like someone to f*ck them? Tonight?” My attention turned from the execution of my dramatic exit and back to him. He sat, hunched forward, against the side of the table, his hands now gripping its edge, his eyes tight to mine.

“Tonight?” I stalled, and I could literally feel the stick of my panties to me.

“Yes.” If eye contact had a leash, his would have been wrapped tightly around my heart.

I had a plethora of options in my response:

Oh… sorry. The Bachelor’s on tonight.

I have to run lines due to your incessant script changes.

Yes, I do have to like someone to f*ck them, so no, tonight is not good.

I said none of those. When it came to him, I could only nod. Just off the cliff that I was going to eventually trip down anyway. “I’ll see you tonight, Mr. Masten.”

His mouth twitched, and his shoulders loosened a little. “Good.”

I had absolutely nothing intelligent to say to that. I swallowed, reached for my bottle of water, and headed for the door.

When I opened it, Casey stood there, her arms folded, nails rapping. “Let’s go, Summer. Right now. We need a game plan.”

I let out a deep sigh and let her take me. Through the kitchen and into the office. I let her walk me through containment and recovery process, one that would involve little on my part other than to behave. I nodded politely, tried to listen but all I could think about was my face on that cover, the words in those pages, what they’d say and how they’d paint me.

And, for the first time since he landed on this spit of country soil, I appreciated Cole’s magnetic sexuality, the obsession my skin seemed to have for his touch. Because the only thing I could focus on—the only light at the end of my tunnel, through Casey’s lectures and pen taps and gripes of dismay—was the fact that in just hours, I’d be at his house. I’d have his hands and his mouth on me. And I knew, in that moment, I wouldn’t be thinking about Scott, or The Rehearsal Dinner From Hell, or the article at all.