Madison gladly gave the joint back, musing on what else Ryan might hate about her. Just how long was his list? Was it longer than the list she’d made of things she hated about him? Oddly, the idea didn’t disturb her.
She stretched her legs out and nudged her foot against the rumpled sheets, remembering how the party they’d started outside had eventually found its way in. He certainly hadn’t hated her then. And, if she was going to be honest, she hadn’t exactly hated him. It was totally warped, but there was something about this darker, secret-keeping side of Ryan that made her want to keep him around a bit longer.
Whether it was because she was just competitive enough to want to end the relationship as the one who got away (as opposed to the one who grew so monotonous and boring he couldn’t wait for her to go), or because she had a fascination for secrets and the way they dictated how people lived and the decisions they made—she couldn’t say for sure.
Maybe it was a combination of both.
Maybe it was neither.
It wasn’t like she was going to run her case by a shrink to have it professionally analyzed.
Madison was one of the few in Hollywood who didn’t see a therapist. Most everyone she knew, from the most elite star to the lowliest gofer, relied heavily on their weekly therapy sessions, along with the mood-enhancing drugs their therapists prescribed. Aside from a few well-vetted people, Madison’s secrets belonged only to her. Her childhood story was well documented by the press, and that wholly fabricated lie was the only version she intended to share.
Ryan sat on the edge of the bed, the joint wedged between his lips, as he tugged on his boots.
“What would happen if I took a picture of you and posted it on the net?” She reached for her phone, feeling dangerous, risky, willing to push every boundary.
He pinched the joint between his fingers and took a deep drag. “You wouldn’t.” He spoke in that pot smokers’ breath-holding way that never failed to get on her nerves.
“How can you be so sure you can trust me?” She snapped a series of pics until he pitched the joint and pounced, his clothed body landing on top of her naked one.
“Because that would hurt you as much as it would hurt me.” His gaze was direct. A bit sleepy and bloodshot, but direct all the same. That single look telling her he was well aware of the game they both played.
He reached for the phone and she swung it high over her head, grinning in triumph when he abandoned the quest and settled for kissing first her neck before working his way farther down.
He refused to stop until Madison melted beneath him. Then, grasping the phone from her hand, he deleted the pictures and said, “You smell like sex. Good sex.” He grinned and pushed away.
“You smell like someone who’s not afraid to play dirty.” She frowned at the phone he’d abandoned by her side.
“You sure you don’t want to come?” He returned to the mirror, ran his hands through his hair.
She slipped onto her side and plumped a pillow under her head. “I’d rather hang here, maybe sneak in a bubble bath.”
He grabbed his wallet and keys, came around for one last toke before carefully snuffing the joint. “I’ll miss you, Mad.” He headed for the door.
“I have no doubt,” she whispered, watching him leave as her phone chimed with an incoming call from a number she hadn’t seen in a very long while.
She’d barely gotten to hello, when a male voice said, “We have a problem.”
TWENTY
LIPS LIKE SUGAR
A self-satisfied grin crept onto Aster’s face as she headed up the stairs, well aware that Ryan Hawthorne would follow. Of course he’d follow. He’d basically followed her
directly from the Neiman Marcus shoe department to the Night for Night dance floor. It was the perfect way to end the first week.
She’d spotted him the moment he walked into the club—well, she and every other girl in the vicinity. Though unlike the rest of them, Aster breezed past, pretending not to notice or care.
Guys like Ryan were used to girls fawning all over them—happy to bask in the glow of a big-name celebrity while requiring nothing in return. While it was probably an ego boost for the guys, it was degrading for the girls. If they were after a quick hookup so they could brag to their friends, then whatever, carry on. But if they were hoping it would result in something more (and Aster suspected most of them were), then that was their first major mistake. Nobody in the history of relationships ever wanted to be with the person who was too easy to get—or at least not for long.
Aster had managed to remain a virgin for as long as she had, not because of her parents’ expectations (that had little if anything to do with it, not to mention, her virginity was a technicality at best), but because she held herself in such high regard she’d yet to find someone worthy of sharing such an intimate part of herself. Not that she thought Ryan Hawthorne was that person. For one thing, he had a famous girlfriend. For another, Aster desperately needed to not upset that very famous girlfriend if she had any hope of getting Madison to the club.
Still, there was nothing wrong with a little harmless flirtation. And what better way to drive Ryan crazy than to ignore him?
She reached the top of the landing when a cool hand circled her wrist, pulled her behind a pillar, and said, “I lost sleep wondering how this mystery might end. Would she buy the shoes—would she not?”
She lifted her gaze to meet his. “Do I know you?” She watched as he threw his head back and laughed.