Who could I tell? The police? He was, sadly, the nicest one I'd met so far.
I knew absolutely that I could not tell Dante. He was a maniac when it came to that sort of thing. He'd fight anybody. He didn't give a damn. Cop or not. Adult or not, he'd go after this creep and end up in jail. I was certain of it.
It took a few days, but I worked up the nerve to call his partner, Detective Flynn, to try to tell her how he'd acted toward me, but she quickly put me in my place.
She was not inclined to believe anything I had to say, in fact she wanted to give me an earful.
She told me in no uncertain terms that I was nothing but a troublemaker, just like my mother, who she enjoyed informing me, spite in every word, had stolen her boyfriend from her in high school and was still feeling the sting of it.
Just my luck.
And who else did that leave? The sheriff? One of the other cops? It was just a list of people that hated me, that thought I was trash, people who had become absolutely convinced a long time ago that I was the problem.
I thought that interview was the worst of it, and the worst had been bad enough.
But the blows just kept coming.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"She's mad, but she's magic. There's no lie in her fire."
~Charles Bukowski
PRESENT
DANTE
What was I doing here?
I didn't have a good answer to that question. Not even for myself.
Certainly I had no hope. No more than I ever did.
But mostly, I couldn't help myself.
I could not stay away.
She was the siren that called men to their destruction, and I was the first and most eager to answer that deadly call.
Every fucking time.
Always there was a debate in my mind when I did this, when I gave in and went to her again.
Was this heaven or hell?
I'd never been able to answer that question, and that was the whole fucking problem.
It was both.
I'd pulled strings to gain access to her trailer while she was on set. I'd done so promising I was just leaving her a gift and then I was supposed to go.
I didn't do that. I set her gift on the small table then promptly sprawled out on her sofa, loosening my tie, kicking off my shoes.
She had to have a break at some point. I had time. I'd wait.
I was dozing when the door opened some time later. I sat up with a start.
It was her, and for some reason she didn't call security on me.
Instead, she stepped in and closed the door behind her.
I took her in, let her presence wash over me, my eyes devouring her in nonconsecutive bites; her face, her legs, her hands, her lips, her feet, her eyes, her shoulders, her ankles, her chest, her neck, my eyes darting all over her like she might disappear.
Nothing I'd ever seen could touch her. She was as ravishing as she was unattainable.
So heartbreakingly lovely that I ached with it.
A familiar, gnawing pang started throbbing in my gut, and I let the pain wash over me for a moment, indulged in it.
There'd been changes since the last photos I'd seen of her. She'd colored her hair, for the part no doubt, lightened it up just a touch, but enough so that gold streaks overtook and dominated the color, making her some deep, tawny version of blonde.
She was dressed simply, outfitted for whatever scene she'd been doing in a soft white button up blouse tucked into a high-waisted, well-fitted light gray skirt. It was an almost conservative ensemble, until you took in the shoes. They were glittering ivory platform stilettos with a peep toe, and she wore them like a weapon.
I'd have bet money she'd made friends with the wardrobe person, that she'd had at least some say in those man-eater heels.
My eyes shot up to her face as her luscious mouth turned up mockingly at the corners, her fingers going to the front of her blouse, fingering the top button.
Without a word, she started to undress.
"Scarlett." Two syllables. Utter devastation.
She undid one button, and then the next, revealing silky cleavage, a lacy white bra.
"I didn't come here for this," I told her, trying my best to sound convincing.
We always said our lines, played our parts, but that didn't mean I wasn't sincere.
The problem was, no matter my intentions, when it came to her, I did not have one measly ounce of self-control.
She smiled and it was so vicious that it made me flinch. "Once again, you're a fool. What did you come here for then?" She asked the familiar question with an unfamiliar something in her voice.
Something soft, or did I just want to hear that?
Something forgiving? No, certainly I must have been imagining that.
"I wanted to ask you a question."
She'd finished unbuttoning her shirt and shrugged it off nonchalantly. Without pausing her fingers went to the front clasp of her bra, snapping it open.
My jaw went slack, my mind blank. I may have drooled.