Ruined

by Shiloh Walker

Still, she couldn’t resist the urge to torment him, just a little. Marin slid her tongue across her lower lip as she held his eyes. An odd noise emanated from him and she had to hold back a smile as she turned away and moved back into the living room. She got herself some water from the pitcher in the fridge and when she looked back, Sebastien was as far away as he could be without being in the bedroom she’d just left.

  “Just what do you need to tell me?”

  Marin sipped her water and studied him over the rim of her glass. “Are you going to hide back there or come out here so we can discuss this like adults?” Resting one hand against the counter, she lowered the glass and gave him a challenging stare.

  He held her gaze for one taut moment before his eyes slid down, lingering on the way the silvery-blue silk cupped her breasts, then farther, where more of the silvery blue swathed her hips. The lingerie was beautiful, almost demure, a touch-me-not kind of sexy, which of course was designed to make men think of touching.

  She had a feeling that Sebastien was thinking of doing a lot more than touching as he prowled closer. Eyes roaming over her, he stopped just close enough to touch and Marin knew her heart skipped a few beats when he reached out.

  All he did was grasp the tie of her robe and belt it shut. “If you want me to carry on a rational conversation, maybe you shouldn’t tempt me, Marin.”

  She could have pointed out that she wanted to do a lot more than tempt him, but now so wasn’t the time.

  Instead, she just arched a brow. “Well, we have discussed the fact that we’ve seen each other . . .” She slid her eyes down, then back up. “Naked.”

  A muscle pulsed in his jaw.

  Before he could back away, she lifted a hand and touched his cheek. “You are probably going to be mad at me.”

  “I’m already mad.” His mouth twisted. “I get the feeling you’re trying to drive me crazy and it’s not much of a stretch at this point.”

  Marin didn’t share his sardonic smile, though.

  It was time.

  “When was the last time you had a drink, Sebastien?”

  The change in subject threw him. She could tell.

  “What’s that got to do with anything? I’m—” As she pressed her finger to his lips, he stopped speaking.

  The feel of his mouth against her skin had her nipples tightening inside the silk of the bra and only the padded cups kept him from seeing. “Answer the question.”

  He caught her wrist first, tugging it down. But he didn’t let go. His eyes held hers and Marin felt goose bumps rise in the wake as he dragged a finger up, then down the inside of her wrist. “It’s been a couple of months. That son of a bitch Smith—it was his birthday and I didn’t know. I’d logged in online and was looking around, thinking about . . . I dunno, taking a trip. Seeing my folks, but I didn’t want to stay at their place. Not yet. I wasn’t ready. And I didn’t know it was his birthday. It seemed half the damn internet was lit up with pieces on that bastard Smith. Me . . .” His voice had gone rough.

  Marin reached for him with her free hand. “Monica.”

  His eyes came to hers and he just nodded.

  “Why were you torturing yourself like that?”

  “Because I’m a dumb-ass,” he said flatly. “I saw one article and I just couldn’t stop myself. So I clicked. And then I grabbed a bottle and I clicked more. Drank more. Clicked . . . drank . . .”

  “I know.”

  His eyes moved to hers. “You . . . you came by. I’d thought so. There was food. Right?”

  “Yes. And you ended up pouring out almost everything. I’d . . .” Marin bit her lip, guilt washing over her. “Sebastien, I came by to tell you about the script. I hadn’t been online much, either, or I would have been over there well before you even surfaced. By the time I got there, you were already wasted.”

  “You’re not my babysitter, Marin.” He went to pull away.

  “No. I care way too much for that role, thanks.” She didn’t let him pull away, sliding her hands up to cup his face. “I know why you don’t drink much in public and you never did drink much around me, but I had no idea just how much time you lost when you were wasted. Do you remember anything from that day?”

  “I . . .” He frowned, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

  Marin licked her lips, the words she’d rehearsed a thousand times just . . . dying. There had never been a more important time for her to actually say something and she just couldn’t.

  So she reached down and caught his hand.

  His lids flickered at first. He was standing rigid, solid as a piece of stone but he let her take his hand, guide it to her belly. “I didn’t know you were that drunk and you seemed to be sobering up. Then you went and touched me and . . . shit. I didn’t think. I’d been fighting this thing I had for you for a while and . . . hell. You put your hands on me. I put mine on you and it just happened.”

  He jerked back.

  Marin felt it to the pit of her soul and the way he looked at her was something she’d carry for a long, long time.

  As he spun away, she wrapped her arms around herself.

  “Fuck,” he whispered. “Those dreams—I haven’t been going crazy.”

  She wanted to ask what he meant, but she didn’t dare.

  He turned on his heel and came stalking back, catching her by her arms. “Are you . . . Marin, is that baby mine?”

  “Yes.”

  He let go and staggered away, rubbing at his face as he sank down on the couch. “I . . .” He stopped and just shook his head. For the longest time, he didn’t speak. When he finally did, he asked, “Why didn’t you already tell me?”

  “I’ve tried.”

  Blue-green lasered into her. She felt gouged from the impact of that glare.

  She shoved off the counter. “I’ve tried. You’ve been avoiding being alone with me for weeks. I wasn’t about to just start discussing it on set.” Slashing a hand through the air, she demanded, “Should I have just dropped the bomb while we were all gathered around having coffee during one of the breaks?” He started to speak, but she cut him off. “I mean, I can see that conversation . . .”

  Taking a deep breath, she leaned against the counter and mimed holding a cup of coffee. “So . . . Sebastien. Do you know that a couple of months ago I came by to talk shop? Never had the chance, because you were wasted. And man, you really do lose time.”

  Marin could feel the threads of her control slipping from her and she wanted to just get away so she could calm down, but there was no calming down until this was done. “I was going to ask you to come up to my hotel room when you took me back to the hotel a few weeks ago, but you went and made plans with Miss Megatits.” He went to open his mouth and she took a step closer. “Then the next time I tried to talk to you, you suddenly had a super important phone call from Trey—”

  “Trey did call!” He shoved upright, scowling at her.

  “And that meant you had to run away like a hornet had gotten inside your shorts?” Marin sucked in a breath. Her hold on her temper was gone and it was all out now—her accent was there and pure Tennessee was showing in her voice.

  “It was a family thing!”

  “I already know Ressa’s pregnant! She texted me right after he called you!” she shouted. “Guess what! They consider me family, too!” Tears burned her eyes and her voice cracked which just made her feel stupid. “Damn it, you’re making me sound like a harpy.”

  Sniffling, she turned away and swiped at the tears that had slid free. She’d known she was going to cry. She’d known it and despite that, she was still pissed off by the waterworks. She grabbed a couple of tissues and wiped at her eyes, but when she tried to grab more to blow her nose, the box was empty. “Damn it.”

  “Here.”

  Something soft was pushed into her hand and she blinked away the blur enough to see that it was a h
andkerchief. “Wardrobe will kill you for letting me use this,” she said, blowing her nose.

  “Makeup is going to kill us both—you for crying and me for making you cry.” He brought his arms up, caging her in when she would have moved away.

  Feeling defeated, she just stood there.

  “Okay. We should . . .” He paused, then tried again. “You’re right. I have been avoiding you. Every time you come within ten feet of me, my dick gets hard. I’ve been dealing with that kind of thing with you ever since I was a teenager, but I can usually control it better than this. Lately, I have to think about boring or disgusting things when we’re working or I . . .” He turned his face into her hair, the words trailing off.

  But he stood so close, it wasn’t hard to imagine the or I part.

  The warmth of him seared her through her robe and the pitiful excuse for underwear and she wanted to pull him even closer, but this—they had to figure it out first. “Why weren’t you there when I woke up?” he asked, his lips grazing her neck. “I remember waking up. I remember feeling . . . right. It was the first time I’d felt right in a long time and I had the damnedest feeling that . . . well, I knew I wasn’t going to be alone. But you weren’t there. Why weren’t you there, baby?”

  Marin hitched up a shoulder and wished she could have shriveled inside herself. “I . . . look, haven’t we . . .”

  “Marin.” There was a warning in his voice now.

  It was enough to have her back up, but she knew it was time they got all of this out. They had to.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The look Marin gave him from under her lashes made his gut tie itself into about a dozen slippery, ugly knots.

  And here he just started to breathe somewhat normally, too.

  “What?” he asked, hardly letting himself breathe now.

  When she didn’t answer, he backed away and sucked in a breath. “Marin, I didn’t . . . Did I hurt you?”

  “No.” A smile wobbled on her lips for a few seconds before firming and he wasn’t even sure if he could believe it.

  She didn’t seem to want to look at him and that made it hard for him to really get a good feel for anything she was saying.

  It was possible she was being straight with him.

  But at the same time . . .

  “Marin, what—”

  “You called me Monica’s name.” She shoved past him and strode down the trailer to her bedroom, leaving him staring behind her.

  He went after her. “What in the hell are you talking about? There’s no way I would have—”

  “You can’t tell me what you would have done or not done,” Marin said, her voice pithy. “You were drunk. So drunk you don’t even remember that day!”

  “I might have been drunk, but calling her name when I’ve been in love with you for years . . .”

  The rest of the words died and Sebastien stood there, staring at her.

  Marin blinked at him, looking confused for a moment. Then she shook her head. “That’s . . . Okay, that’s bullshit. You said you had a thing for me—whatever that means, but you asked Monica to marry you.”

  “I was twenty-two years old! It was a lifetime ago and I’m not the same guy I was.” Stalking closer to her, he crowded in through the door, lowering his face until his lips were right against her ear. “And even when I was with her, I dreamed about you. I looked for you. Even after she broke my heart, I dreamed about you. I looked for you. I’ve done that since I was sixteen years old, Marin.”

  “You said her name,” she said again, but the murmur was softer, weaker even.

  Sebastien had no idea what to tell her. Other than . . . “I’m sorry. I . . . Hell, Marin. I’ve had nightmares about that last day ever since. Maybe I was . . .”

  A knock interrupted them.

  “Go away!” Sebastien shouted.

  “I don’t think so, pretty boy!” It was Sojo out there.

  The director. And you can’t exactly ignore the director.

  Sebastien wanted to punch something, hit something.

  But Marin edged around him and moved to the door before he even had a chance to decide.

  ***

  “Makeup. Now.” Sojo had pointed a finger at Marin and sent her packing.

  She could imagine why. She probably looked like a nightmare. She felt like an automaton, moving through each motion mechanically and while makeup was never her favorite aspect of the job, she figured it wasn’t a bad thing that she was going to sit her ass in a chair for the next little bit.

  She’d use it to get her focus back.

  I’ve been in love with you.

  Sebastien had said he was in love with her.

  Or had been.

  Was he still?

  Did it matter?

  Her heart jeered at her. Does it matter . . . The nagging bit of flesh practically blew a raspberry and rolled imaginary eyes at her stupid question. Did it matter if he was in love—had been in love?

  Absently, she slid her hand down and rubbed at her belly, ignored the hands glopping something on her face and the nagging whine of the makeup tech working on her. What were you doing, peeling onions?

  That would have been more pleasant, less destructive.

  And . . . less fulfilling.

  Sebastien had said he was in love with her.

  If he was . . .

  “So.”

  Marin opened her eyes.

  “Don’t move your face!” Geneva smacked at Marin’s arm.

  Marin glared at her. “Watch it, Gen.”

  Gen huffed, sulking a little but she lapsed into silence as Sojo took the empty chair next to Marin’s. “You are causing me a headache today, Marin.”

  “Well, I could be like some of the other people you work with.” Marin gave her a look of mock innocence. “I only give you a headache on occasion. Some make it their fulltime occupation.”

  “Don’t be cute.” Sojo’s mouth thinned out as she continued her study. “Are you two going to be able to finish this project?”

  “Of course.” Seeing the pissed-off look coming from the makeup artist, Marin closed her eyes. “You know me better than that. I finish what I start.”

  “Well, true. Under normal circumstances. You’re not under normal circumstances now, though.” There was a faint brush of cloth against leather. “Be ready to knock me dead today, Marin. We’re not spending all night shooting these scenes.”

  She heard Sojo stalking off and tried to tell herself she could breathe easier. But Geneva wasn’t done. “Keep your eyes closed,” she said irritably. “And the next time you think about crying over a man, think of me instead. I can make you cry more.”

  Marin sighed. She didn’t want to tell the woman that she hadn’t been crying over Sebastien—exactly. But she wasn’t going to confirm or deny anything right now. She knew better than that.

  And Geneva was fishing. She was one of the biggest gossips in the business and everybody knew it. Because she was a genius, people pretended otherwise, but Marin wasn’t about to play into her games.

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Gen.”

  Then she settled down and started to work on clearing her mind.

  She was going to need calm more than ever before.

  “I dreamed about you. I looked for you. Even after she broke my heart, I dreamed about you. I looked for you.”

  ***

  “I’ll have you know that Zach owes me fifty bucks.”

  It was the final break of the day and Sebastien and Marin were both taking great pains to look unaffected. Everybody else was taking great pains to look uninterested in them—save for Abigale Applegate Barnes—Sebastien’s sister-in-law and Marin’s best friend.

  She’d shown up just as Sebastien issued his warning to Dash and had spent most of the day watching and speculating—and listeni
ng. She didn’t pay as much attention to the filming process, but Abby had grown up on the set of a TV show. She didn’t much care for the bright lights of Hollywood anymore.

  Besides, the real life drama playing out between Sebastien and Marin was a lot more entertaining.

  Marin paused in the middle of taking a drink of water. “What are you two betting on now?”

  “You.”

  She sat down on the couch, nudging Marin’s slim hip with her own, decidedly less slim one. Abby was a study in lush curves. After she’d left Hollywood behind, she’d stopped watching every calorie, stopped concerning herself with whether she should or shouldn’t. Her life plan had been all about doing the things she hadn’t been allowed to do growing up in front of a camera. It had ended up a wreck—then that wreck had turned into Zach, so it was all good. And she still didn’t have to count calories, so she was happy.

  “Why are you betting on me?” Marin narrowed her eyes.

  “Just something I said once. Zach told me no way, no how. I told him it could happen.” Abby slid Sebastien a look and smiled at him. “Now you two just need to get all official so I can collect.”

  Sebastien stared at Abby for a long, hard moment. She just smiled, and then leaned over, murmuring something so low, only Marin heard.

  When she got up and walked off, Marin gulped water.

  “What did she say?”

  Somebody shouted out the time, signifying the end of the break.

  Sebastien didn’t move, still watching Marin.

  She got up, starting toward the door.

  “Marin.”

  Huffing out a breath, she glared at him. “She’d planned to take me out to dinner, but she thinks I’m probably already otherwise engaged. She said she’s got to fly back tomorrow so I better stay in touch. She also had a warning—you Barnes boys can be a headache.” She sniffed. “Like I didn’t already know that.”

  ***

  “No.”

  Sebastien folded his arms across his chest and glared at the assistant director. Eddie Horowitz was a great guy, an artist in his own right, and while Sebastien could see where he was coming from, he wasn’t doing it.