Titles by Shiloh Walker
HUNTING THE HUNTER
HUNTERS: HEART AND SOUL
HUNTER’S SALVATION
HUNTER’S NEED
HUNTER’S FALL
HUNTER’S RISE
THROUGH THE VEIL
VEIL OF SHADOWS
THE MISSING
THE DEPARTED
THE REUNITED
THE PROTECTED
FRAGILE
BROKEN
CHAINS
WRECKED
RAZED
BUSTED
RUINED
Anthologies
HOT SPELL
(with Emma Holly, Lora Leigh, and Meljean Brook)
PRIVATE PLACES
(with Robin Schone, Claudia Dain, and Allyson James)
HOT IN HANDCUFFS
(with Shayla Black and Sylvia Day)
Ruined
Shiloh Walker
InterMix Books, New York
INTERMIX
Published by Berkley
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
Copyright © 2016 by Shiloh Walker.
Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
INTERMIX and the “IM” design are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
ISBN: 9781101987650
First Edition: July 2016
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Titles by Shiloh Walker
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
About the Author
Chapter One
The Sexiest Man Alive!
The man in front of Marin Lassiter had his picture plastered all over People this week, thanks to his being named The Sexiest Man Alive! And damn, but were they right.
Sebastien Barnes was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man she’d ever met. That was saying something. At thirty-two, Marin had spent more than twenty years working in Hollywood, and beautiful people were common in her world.
Sebastien was beautiful, all right. He had a beauty that went deeper than skin and it sucked people right in. Marin, included. It was more than a little disconcerting since she’d known him when he was still in diapers.
At seven years her junior, the unbelievably gorgeous Sebastien had sinful blue-green eyes—dreamy eyes—the kind that made you think he was already imagining just how you’d taste, just how you’d feel, just what kind of sounds you’d make as he stroked his poet’s hands across your skin. His hair was longer now than normal, thanks to the part he was playing—the male lead in the movie You Wish You Knew, and thanks to the part she was playing, the things she’d wished she knew . . . well, they weren’t wishes anymore. She knew far too many things about him for her own comfort.
Marin knew his hair was as thick and silky as it seemed. She knew his body was a woman’s wet dream, muscled in the absolute best way, and unlike a lot of the Hollywood stars, he didn’t seem to mind the light smattering of hair on his chest. She knew too many who still had any body hair above the waist—or below—removed, but Sebastien had an absolutely perfect chest, that light dusting of hair highlighting the defined, near perfect musculature. He was fit. If they ever needed a brunet Thor, the man could do it without any prep at all.
His face was like something carved by the masters and his mouth could have made an artist weep with envy, because no way could any human alive duplicate that kind of perfection.
She also knew the man could kiss—and she wasn’t just talking about the not particularly enjoyable kisses required for filming. Such kisses involved lots of movement, designed to look erotic, but didn’t particularly feel all that great.
Oddly enough, she hadn’t minded her screen kisses with Sebastien. She hadn’t been bored with them or in a rush to get through them, which was her norm. Granted, most of the pleasure came from having him close, feeling his hands on her and knowing she didn’t have to feel guilty about it—it was the job, right?
He was also an incorrigible flirt, not just with women, but with his public. A few days ago, they’d been having lunch with some others from the crew and a fan had seen them, asked Sebastien and Marin to “kiss” . . . just so the woman could take a picture.
And, man, had he laid one on her.
Her heart was still racing from it, despite the fact that it had been mostly casual.
Considering how gorgeous he was, how easy it was to be around him—and considering that light, easy kiss had made her body stand up and go—more, please!—saying yes to the question he’d just asked her should be a given.
Want to go have dinner sometime, Marin?
He continued to watch her.
Of all the people to ask her out . . . why Seb?
And why in the hell was she so tempted to say yes? The very idea was insane.
That was easy, though. When it came to Sebastien, she was tempted to do a lot of things. Sanity rarely factored into any of them.
“Dinner, Seb?” She almost said honey instead of Seb, just to remind him of their age difference—seven years—but she didn’t. It was insulting to him and her and she didn’t need the barb to make her point.
“Yeah. Dinner. As in a date?” He smiled, and the slow curve of his lips sent her heart rate into dangerous territory. “I mean, we’ve got plenty to talk about.” He reached out and trailed one finger down the back of her hand. “A lot in common.”
Careful not to let him see how his touch affected her, she casually reached for her glass of wine and took a small sip. She let the cool, crisp taste roll down her throat before she answered. “Sure, we have things in common—and all of them are the job. Frankly, when I’m out on a date, I talk about other things. You live and breathe this.”
He laughed. “What, like you don’t? This world is your life.”
“No.” Marin managed to smile, looking away so she wouldn’t see the skepticism in his eyes. A lot of people felt the very same way he did. “It’s my job—a job I love, but it’s not my life.” And lately, she’d been feeling . . . bored. She thought maybe she needed to try something new, or take some time off, but she just didn’t know what the answer was.
His fingers brushed over hers once more. It was pathetic the kind of heat such a light touch could generate—and that it could be caused by Sebastien. He’d been like a baby brother to her growing up, th
anks to her working with his older brother Zach. That had been a lifetime ago, but she’d gotten her start in acting on the sitcom Kate + Nate, and it was probably how Sebastien had gotten bit by the acting bug as well.
When they’d agreed to work together on You Wish You Knew, she’d hoped this odd attraction she’d developed for him would fade. That she’d kiss him and feel like she had the few times she’d had a screen kiss back when she was still working with Zach—a whole lot of nada.
She’d felt a whole lot of bam instead.
But it was no good.
The idea of dating Sebastien was . . . impossible.
Sleeping with him, maybe, if it was just a one-night thing. If they didn’t have the complicated history between them, she would definitely have gone for it. It wasn’t like she hadn’t had passing attractions in her life. A few times, she’d acted on them. A few times—very few—she’d thought maybe there was something . . . more.
But this wasn’t a passing attraction.
She’d figured that out over the past few weeks as they finished up shooting. She found herself thinking about him far too often, wondering what he was doing, or what he might think about this shirt, or if he’d enjoy that book. Then she’d remember he wasn’t as into reading as his other brothers and she’d think about the comments she’d heard him make over the years when other women had asked him about their clothes.
It looks good on you, sugar. It’d look even better off.
Sebastien, as beautiful as he was, as kind as he was under that playboy exterior, still had too much fun running around. The youngest of five brothers, he’d spent his entire life doing just that, playing, having fun. He’d worked damn hard to get to the top in Hollywood, but now that he was there, he was enjoying it.
The truth was, Sebastien Barnes was spoiled and shallow.
She adored him, but it was the truth. Even his brothers ragged him about it, and Sebastien had been known to agree.
It hurt to acknowledge it, because Marin thought she could feel a whole hell of a lot of something more for him, but she wasn’t going to risk the misery that would come from getting involved with him. And it would come. Sebastien Barnes was a charmer, a true lover of the ladies, but he didn’t know what commitment was.
Marin was ready to be the focus of somebody’s life.
Sebastien was all about being the focus of somebody’s life, too. But only for as long as it took him to get bored.
Sighing, she looked him straight in the eye and told him the truth.
***
Her eyes, a blue that was almost violet, and real, had always dazzled him, and right now, Marin’s eyes held him spellbound. For a second there, he’d forgotten what they were talking about as he thought about leaning over the table and kissing her.
Really kissing her. Not for rehearsal and not because the cameras were rolling—no cameras here, in this relatively private area of the production set in front of her trailer. It wouldn’t be some peck like the one he’d given her for a fan, either.
He wanted to really kiss her, the way he’d been dreaming of . . . oh, probably since he’d been twelve years old.
They were done shooting for the day, but Marin had the habit of unwinding at her trailer with a glass of wine and going over the scenes planned for the next day. He’d waited until most people had left. Then he’d joined her.
It was fairly quiet at the studio now, with almost everybody gone, save for a few people who were getting a jump on setting up for tomorrow. Nobody was paying attention to them.
Sebastien had gone over this in his head a hundred times, had it all worked out. She’d say yes.
They’d have a nice, romantic dinner—maybe at that little seafood place up the coast. He knew she liked it—they’d eaten there the last time Zach and Abby were in town. Then they’d go to his place and he’d finally have a chance to put his hands on her for real—
“What do you mean you don’t think it’s a good idea?” he asked, jerked out back into reality as her response finally clicked.
Marin shrugged. She’d pulled on a skinny strapped tank top over a lacy white bra and an even skinnier pair of jeans, and he’d been fantasizing about tugging her blonde waves free from the ponytail, then smoothing those straps out of the way, tugging her bra off, and filling his hands with her breasts. Small and firm, Marin’s were the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen. She had resisted the trend a lot of women in Hollywood followed—no implants anywhere on her and she was that much more beautiful for it, he’d always thought. She was herself and she was confident with it, and she was real.
Shaking his head clear of the fantasy, he focused on her face.
Her dark blue gaze flicked to his for a moment, and then returned to the script. “Sebastien, look . . . don’t take this personally, but you’re not the kind of guy I’m looking for these days.”
“Oh, yeah. Sure. I won’t take it personally . . . Oh, wait. It is personal.” Bracing his elbows on the table, he leaned forward. Insult washed away the cloud of heat that tended to fog his brain whenever he was around her. “Just what kind of guy am I? I mean, I’m not a big drinker. I don’t do drugs. I’m not an abuser. I don’t cheat.”
Marin passed a hand over her eyes. “Shit.”
He waited.
When she looked back at him, he almost got up and walked away.
But he wanted to know.
“Well?”
“I’m thirty-two years old,” she said quietly. “You’re twenty-five. You’re still having fun with the high life, hitting every party you can, going out there just to be seen. You like just being seen—you love being Sebastien Barnes—and that’s fine. You worked hard to get where you are, and you’re perfectly entitled to enjoy it. But . . .”
Her voice trailed and she averted her gaze. “I’m done with that part. I want something quieter. I want to do my job and go home. I want to have a quiet dinner and curl up with a good book.” She slid him a quick look and shrugged. “I’m ready to start looking at what’s next . . . You’re all about what’s now.”
“Why shouldn’t I be?” he half snapped, and then he wished he’d kept his mouth shut.
It wasn’t like she wasn’t entitled to feel how she felt.
Abruptly, he found himself remembering another day—a different day—not when he’d given her that chaste kiss that had made his blood burn and his cock pulse. It had just been the two of them. They’d decided to go out for lunch when they unexpectedly had a long break—there’d been a minor emergency and the director had told them all to just take an early lunch and meet back at two. They’d gone out instead of eating the same catered lunch they’d been having for the past few weeks.
They’d been walking down the street and somebody had recognized him despite his attempt to avoid it. He hadn’t minded and he’d gone to catch Marin’s hand, intending to include her in it, but she’d pulled away, ducking into a nearby store while he smiled and laughed and signed autographs.
He met her gaze and saw that she knew exactly what he’d been thinking about.
“It’s okay to enjoy your time in the sun, Seb,” she said softly. “I know I did. But . . . after a while, it gets awful cold in that spotlight. Awful boring and empty. I need something more.”
“Marin . . .” He swallowed, and then forced a laugh. “Look, I’m not asking you to marry me or anything. I just thought we could have fun together. Hang out. I’m not looking for anything more.”
“No.” She pushed back from the table, picking up the script and her bag. She hefted the wide pink strap over her shoulder before she spoke. Her eyes were sad as she met his. “I am.”
***
It’s okay to enjoy your time in the sun.
Brooding, he stared into his martini. Sebastien had been convinced he’d feel better once he hit his favorite restaurant, but so far, he’d been wrong.
The maître d’ normally struck him as friendly, but tonight, the service had seemed more like . . . gushing.
The dim light and the music, all of it had seemed too contrived.
The martini he’d ordered was bland, and another person came by his table to talk about how they needed to get together and soon, he just might gouge his eyeballs out if another person came by.
“Sebastien?”
He bit back a snarl, only to swallow it completely when he looked up to see Monica Dupré standing before him.
Monica.
Monica Dupré. Save for the women in his family, there had been only two women who had ever really made an impact on his life. One had just shot him down flat earlier, and he was trying to tell himself it was no big deal.
The other was now standing in front of him.
The day before he’d planned to ask her to marry him, Monica had ended their relationship and told him she had fallen in love with another man. For a little while, he’d thought he was heartbroken, but it wasn’t long before he realized that if he was really heartbroken, then he was as shallow as his brothers always said he was—even when he was brooding over being dumped by Monica, even when the ring he’d bought was sitting on the nightstand, he still dreamed about Marin.
He’d always dreamed about Marin. Some thought of her or what she might think had an effect on his decisions and almost everything he did.
Yeah, well, you’ll just have to get over it, you miserable son of a bitch. As far as she’s concerned, you’ve got about as much depth as a rain puddle—here in drought-ridden LA.
Clearing his throat, he managed to say Monica’s name and offer a hello as he rose to his feet. Sitting wasn’t an option for a Barnes man. Even though she wasn’t there, Sebastien was still convinced that if he didn’t stand when there was a lady around, his mother would hear about it, and he’d never hear the end of it.
Monica held out a hand and he took it, lifted it to his lips. She blushed, the faint pink color rising to her cheeks, turning them almost the same color as the dusky, strapless sheath she wore. It was a pale color, somewhere between peach and orange, and it made him think of the color of the clouds as the sun was sinking below the horizon.
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