Killian Read online

  When she answered, her voice was hoarse, and the flush was still evident on her face. "Where's home?"

  "West Bend, Colorado," I told her. The last place on earth some actress would be interested in going. The fact that she was still sitting in my car made no fucking sense.

  "Okay," she said.

  "Okay, what?"

  "Okay, I'll go with you." She said it matter-of-fact.

  "To my fucking house?" I asked.

  "Sure."

  "Did I ask you to come home with me?" I said. Was this girl crazy? Bringing someone like her back to West Bend? Bringing her back to my house? There was no way short of hell freezing that I was letting her within a hundred yards of my family.

  "Oh," she said. She sounded disappointed, and I found myself caring.

  Fuck.

  "No, I mean, I just assumed you were offering me a ride or something."

  Yeah, I thought. Or something, definitely.

  My cock was doing all the thinking for me. When I spoke, the words sounded foreign to my ears. “You want to come with me to West Bend?” I asked.

  “Sure,” she said, grinning wickedly. “I mean, since you’re asking and everything.”

  Shit. My cock was definitely doing the thinking here.

  7

  River

  My head was back on the headrest, my eyes closed, and I listened to the hum of the car as we drove along the highway. I was in that space between asleep and awake, trying to ignore the thoughts swirling in my head.

  Four hours ago, this seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea, driving off with some guy I just met, the same guy who had stuck his tongue down my throat in a hotel hallway.

  His tongue.

  I could still taste him on my lips. He tasted like whiskey and sex.

  What the hell was I thinking, jumping in some guy’s car and going with him to his hometown? I only just learned his name. I knew nothing about him. We had nothing in common- I was sure of that. Two different worlds and all.

  This is the dumbest idea ever, River.

  And I had done some stupid shit, that was for damn sure.

  Viper ran around on me, but it’s not like I’d always been an angel. I went to rehab once, after a bad spell of partying before I was even eighteen. I’d lucked out with a manager who was good with that kind of shit, hired one of those fixers who can manage anything. The fixer got me out of that jam. She was probably busy spinning this one already. I wondered what she was coming up with. Running away in the middle of a movie shoot? Hitching a ride to Colorado with some guy I'd just met?

  This wasn't my best moment ever.

  But it probably wouldn't be the last stupid, impulsive decision I ever made. In fact, I thought as I looked over at Elias, his gaze fixed straight ahead, I thought, he might be the next stupid impulsive thing I did.

  The thought sent immediate warmth radiating to my core.

  And just as quickly, I reminded myself that I only just left my fiancé. My boyfriend of three years. In Hollywood years, that was a fucking lifetime.

  Of course, he was the one with his cock in my sister’s throat. And it had been months since we had sex, since he touched me in any way, shape, or form. That wasn’t by my choice. He blamed it on his “art,” this new album he was doing that he wanted to “channel his energy” into.

  When the car came to a stop again, I was jerked out of my thoughts.

  “Pit stop,” Elias said.

  "Duct tape and rope?" I asked, grinning.

  "How'd you know?" he asked. "It was going to be a secret surprise." He got out of the car, and as I opened the car door, caught the handle. He reached for my hand as I slid out of the seat.

  "Come on, now," he said. "Don't tell me those Hollywood boys aren't into opening car doors for you."

  "Not really."

  "Damn shame," he said. He walked quickly, and I found myself a step behind him on the way toward the store, distracted by looking at his ass. Then I noticed his gait was slightly unsteady, but before I could think about what that meant, he turned his head.

  “Looking at something?” he asked. His voice had the same light-hearted tone as before, but there was an edge to it this time.

  Your ass, I wanted to say. It was on the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t open my mouth. I shook my head, suddenly mute.

  A dark look crossed his face. “My leg?” he asked.

  “What?” I was confused by what he was asking.

  He pulled his pant leg up slightly. “There it is,” he said, and I felt embarrassed, but not because of his leg. I was embarrassed he caught me staring at his ass, and now he thought I was some kind of jerk, staring at his prosthetic. I knew my face was red. I could feel the heat streaked across my cheeks. I had been in the limelight for so long now, I wasn’t easily embarrassed. Yet this guy, whose name I only just learned, had this way of making me flush.

  In more ways than one.

  “That’s not what I -” I started to say, then stopped, because he was already walking away toward the store. I had to jog to catch up with him, and when I did, I put my hand on his arm. “Elias.”

  “What?” He paused, looked at me, his eyes narrowed. They were this cobalt blue color, so bright it looked almost unnatural.

  He really should be a model or something, I thought. My manager would be drooling over him. I wondered how he’d gone his whole life without being discovered.

  "It's no big deal. It's a prosthetic," he said.

  “I wasn’t looking at your leg,” I said. “I didn’t even notice it until you just showed me right now.”

  “Seriously," he said, his tone patronizing. "Let it go. It's not a big deal, but you're making it one. You were staring; people do all the time."

  “I wasn’t.” I said, this time more emphatically. “I’m not an asshole." Why am I even bothering to defend myself to this guy? Who cares what he thinks?

  “No,” he said. “But most people love freak shows. Isn’t that the basis for most reality television?”

  I felt heat on my chest, radiating down my arms. I could feel it on my skin. I always got this rash when I was upset, all red and prickly like hives. My mother used to say it was because I was allergic to emotion. It wasn’t a good quality to have in an actress, but hardly anyone knew about it, at least when I was on set. I managed it.

  “You do know who I am,” I said.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” He seemed genuinely confused.

  “Reality show?” I asked. I realized I was standing closer to him now, pointing my finger at his chest. “Is that some kind of snide comment about my wedding?”

  "Wedding?" Elias asked. He made a noise, and I couldn’t tell if it was a cough or a laugh. "What are you, some kind of runaway bride?"

  “No.” I paused, forgetting for a minute that I was angry. I guess I am, aren't I? “Sort of.”

  “So, you're what, some kind of reality star getting married?" he asked. The corners of his mouth were turned up at the edges and he crossed his arms across his chest. He was fucking smirking at me. What a smug asshole.

  I don’t know why I was so pissed off. It was something about that cocky smile on his face, like he was so much better than me.

  He knows nothing about me.

  "Screw you," I said, turning on my heel and walking into the store. Inside the bathroom, I splashed water on my cheeks. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, at the flush that covered my cheeks and the pink splotches across my chest. I put my hands on the sink and took a few deep breaths.

  It was his attitude that got me, that I'm-better-than-you-are thing that cut through me like a knife. I had put my past behind me. I wasn’t that white trash girl anymore. The darkness from my past, it was filed away, boxed up like the shit of mine my mother kept as reminders, like the tattered stuffed bear I used to cry myself to sleep with at night.

  It was funny how life worked...you did everything you could to change who you were, to become the person you wanted to become, the person you