Wicked Grind (Stark World #1)

I nod, and one of the uniformed men opens the car door for me. I walk the short path to the house, step inside the already open front door, then gasp at the view.

I’d expected stunning, but this blows me away. There are no walls. Or, rather, there are, but they’re entirely glass. So it really does seem as though we’re floating in space.

I’m dying to get over to the far wall—I’m curious to know if the illusion is shattered the closer you get—but we get waylaid by a tall, skinny man with wiry, ginger hair and purple-tinted John Lennon glasses.

“Griffin! The man behind the curtain! The voice of the future! I am so glad you could make it.” He grabs Griff’s shoulders, then leans forward to deposit air kisses on either side of my brother’s face while Griff endures this absurdity with an expression that resembles polite civility. But I know him well enough that he’s wishing he could bolt.

“And who is this lovely creature?” The man turns to me, then glances back at Griff. “Your wife? Girlfriend? Mistress?” he adds with a wink, as I force a smile and tell myself that I can suffer through this party because I’m here for Griffin.

“Sister,” Griff says. “Kelsey, meet Bird. My director.”

“Oh!” I reach out to shake his hand, grateful I hadn’t made some snarky comment earlier. Instead of shaking, he pulls me close for my own air kisses, followed by a rib-crushing hug.

“Darling, your brother is the best. The absolute best. The nuances he’s bringing to Lorelei’s script.” He lifts himself up on the balls of his feet, making him look even more like a scarecrow, and peers around the room.

“I know she’s here somewhere,” he mutters. “And she simply must meet you. And say hello to you, too, Griffin. But damn that woman, where is—ah! Well, he’ll do. Come here, come here. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

I practically go en pointe, but I can’t see who he’s waving over. At least not until a cluster of women to the left of Griffin parts—and there he is. Just standing there looking sexy as hell in tailored gray slacks, a white Henley, and a collarless gray jacket.

Wyatt.

I feel him as much as I see him. That sizzle on my skin. That squeeze around my heart. The warmth that infuses my blood, teasing me in all the right places.

He’s looking at me, too, and though I know he must be furious at me for backing out of the project, his expression is entirely unreadable. Even so, I have to force myself to stand tall under the weight of his gaze. And it takes all of my strength not to reach out and clutch Griff’s hand for support.

If Bird notices the tension between us, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he hooks his arm around Wyatt’s shoulder and pulls him closer. “Wyatt, buddy, you have got to meet this man. Griffin, this is Wyatt.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says, extending his right hand. Griffin takes it, and I hold my breath as I watch Wyatt’s face, wondering if he’s going to react to the feel of the burn scars or the fact that Griff’s missing his right pinkie.

But he doesn’t react at all, even though there’s no way he can’t have noticed, and in that moment I want to kiss the man. That’s the hardest thing for Griffin—getting out and socializing, especially in Hollywood where everyone puts such a premium on physical beauty. So anytime someone overlooks his scars, I pretty much want to nominate them for sainthood.

“Wyatt is Lorelei’s son,” Bird says. “And Griffin here is Arnold’s adult voice.”

“Oh, right,” Wyatt says. He’d turned his attention to me, as if expecting another introduction, but he shifts back to Griffin. “My mom met you at the audition. She said you knocked it out of the park.”

“Good to hear. It’s a great role. I’m thrilled to be part of it.”

“With any luck, our little film is going to make a huge splash,” Bird says. From what Griff has told me, he’s a respected director, but he tends to do art films. This is a more mainstream project, but the budget is small. They’re all hoping, of course, that it explodes once it’s released.

But then again, I assume that’s what everyone in Hollywood is always hoping. Personally, I’m just glad my brother has work.

Thinking about work, I glance back at Wyatt, only to find that his attention is already on me. “Hi,” I say, because the silence is hanging awkwardly around the four of us, and I can’t exactly pretend he doesn’t exist.

“Sorry about that,” Griffin says. “Wyatt, this is my sister. Kelsey.”

“We’ve met,” Wyatt says, before I can conjure words. “A long time ago, actually. In Santa Barbara.” He extends his hand, and I take it without thinking. Then draw in a sharp breath when I see his gaze land on the infinity bracelet.

Griff looks between the two of us. “Well, that’s a coincidence.” Griff looks at me, the corner of his mouth hitched up just a little. “Why don’t Bird and I go talk shop, and we’ll let you two catch up?”

I want to kick him, but he just grins that annoying Griffin grin and slides away. He’s never met Wyatt, but he knows the name, and when this party is over, I’m probably going to have to kill my brother.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” Wyatt says, as I tug my hand free. “I like your bracelet.”

My heart twists. “Wyatt—”

“Walk with me,” he says, and I do, falling in step beside him as easily as I used to all those years ago.

He leads us to the window, and we stand side by side, looking out over the hills, now tinted pink from the setting sun. The ground beneath us seemingly drops away, adding to the illusion that we’re floating, which I suppose is appropriate since that’s how I always feel around Wyatt.

“Listen,” I say when I can no longer take the lingering silence. “I’m really sorry about last night. I know that I begged you to hire me, and then I totally bailed, and I really don’t blame you for being upset, because—”

“You think I’m mad at you?”

I frown, turning slightly so that I can face him. “Aren’t you?”

“I was—well, more irritated than angry. Mostly I’ve been mad at myself. That crap about punishing you. I had no right, Kelsey. I was just—”

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. The bottom line is that I was a prick, and I’m sorry, and I get why you’d be mad.”

“I’m not,” I say truthfully. Because the only one I’m mad at is me.

“Then why are you dodging my calls?”

“What are you talking about?” I swing my purse around so that I can get my phone out and show him there’ve been no missed calls. But my phone isn’t there. “Ah,” I say. “I think I see the problem.”

I hold out my open purse for his inspection. “No phone. And it barely had any charge when I got to your studio. It probably fell out at Griffin’s last night.”

He laughs. “You’re a strange woman, Kelsey.”

I bristle a little. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever met a woman who wasn’t surgically attached to her phone, and you’ve gone almost twenty-four hours without it.”

“I’m a wonder among women,” I deadpan.

“Yeah,” he says, looking at me intently. “You are.”

I swallow, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. “Why were you calling?”

“To apologize,” he says. “And to ask you to come back.”