“Sebastien.”
He didn’t respond.
“You’re big on pillow talk,” she said ruefully.
He was also squishing the air right out of her. She had to push and wiggle out from under him, because he seemed to have already dropped straight into sleep. As twilight sank deeper around them, he rolled onto his side and threw an arm over her waist.
“Glad you’re safe . . .”
She smiled.
The smile died, though, a moment later.
“. . . Monica.”
***
She couldn’t drive fast enough.
Sebastien’s home in Malibu seemed even farther from her place than usual and she had to remind herself to slow down, remind herself to pay attention as she drove home.
She’d put the top down, twisted her hair up, and had the radio blasting. It was an attempt to make herself feel a little less foolish. Reckless was fine. Foolish wasn’t.
But she wasn’t having a lot of luck.
He’d thought she was Monica.
She’d been convinced . . .
“Convinced of what?” Tightening her hands on the steering wheel, she blew out a breath, and then, because she still felt like she was running short on oxygen, she took another one.
She didn’t want to answer the question she’d asked herself, but she wasn’t going to be able to ignore it.
She’d been convinced there was something between them.
Over the past year, she’d found herself becoming more and more attached to Sebastien—something she’d known would happen. A year ago, she hadn’t even wanted to consider it, but everything had changed that day when he flung himself, bare-handed, at an armed man, determined to save the woman who’d turned him away.
Marin had called him shallow and maybe he had been, a little. But a shallow man wouldn’t have so easily risked everything the way Sebastien had.
Whatever she’d thought they’d had, though . . .
It wasn’t there.
He’d lain on that couch with her and called her Monica. Apparently, he had nightmares, or at least he dreamed about what happened. And he dreamed about the woman he’d once loved.
Marin didn’t want to think about some of the images she had seen in the months since it all happened. The most poignant one wasn’t on most of the more mainstream media sites, but plenty of independent places had posted the image of the dead actress, while Sebastien lay collapsed at her side, one hand on her cheek.
That was the image she had in mind as she parked her car.
Sebastien was still grieving over Monica. She could understand his grieving. He’d never really given himself any time to say good-bye, to let go. And if he was having nightmares . . . ?
She knew he blamed himself, just as she knew he shouldn’t.
But if he was dreaming about another woman, still grieving for her, still in love with her . . .
“What was I thinking?” Marin would have laughed if she hadn’t been hurting so much inside. “You’re getting too old to be naive.”
Tears pricked the backs of her eyes but she didn’t let them fall. Bad enough she’d been so foolish, but she’d be damned if she cried about it.
Chapter Eight
“Can a lonely man join a beautiful woman for breakfast?”
Marin glanced up at the familiar voice and smiled as Dash Harlow dropped down into the chair across from hers. “Fancy seeing you here,” she said lightly, tucking her script back into her bag. “I don’t suppose somebody tipped you off to my favorite breakfast spot, did they?”
“Somebody?” The brown-eyed blond winked at her. “You mean somebody like our mutual manager? Now, would he do that?”
“Absolutely.” She made a face. She’d been avoiding JD’s calls for the past day and a half. She hadn’t wanted to tell him that she hadn’t brought up the script to Sebastien. One, because she was still feeling bruised inside. Two, because she couldn’t believe she’d been stupid enough to go out there on Hanson Smith’s birthday without realizing it. She should have thought about it, realized that Sebastien would be in a bad spot.
“He hasn’t asked you for a favor, has he?” She studied Dash speculatively as the server paused by the table.
He didn’t answer right away, accepting the offer of coffee from the server and requesting a menu. “A favor? Such as . . . ?”
His dark eyes were guileless. He could have been lying—probably was misleading her about something—but she doubted JD had asked him to go out and talk to Sebastien. It wouldn’t have done much good. So far, Sebastien was talking to only a handful of people and last she heard, Dash wasn’t on the list.
“How are things going with you and . . .” She paused, embarrassed to realize her brain had completely blanked out on the name.
“Me and . . . ?” Dash cocked a brow. “Is the list so long?”
“I’m sorry.” Waving a hand, Marin said, “I’m distracted lately. The woman you were with last—you two were sort of serious.”