Wicked Dirty (Stark World 2)

He sighed, remembering those few hours when he and Jenny had been free. When it had been good. Those few precious hours before he drove straight into hell.

"It was my fault," he said, so low that he wasn't sure Laine could even hear him. "I drifted off. Just for a second, but that was enough. An eighteen-wheeler had crossed into our lane, and it was too late. I swerved, he hit the side of the car, and we went off the road and into a ravine."

He could still hear the twisting metal. Smell the rubber burning on the asphalt.

"Jenny?"

"She died instantly." The words tasted bitter. "I didn't even get a scratch."

"Lyle, I'm so--"

But he just held up a hand. He had to get it out. Had to push past this one horrible memory.

"The police came. I gave them my real name--it's John, by the way. My mother had an odd sense of humor. John Rivers. And the police decided it wasn't my fault. No charges, but they shoved me into foster care. I stayed for about a month--I was too numb to do much else--and then I ran away to LA, used my papers, and became Lyle Tarpin."

"You wanted to come here for Jenny," she said, and he nodded, pleased she understood. "You wanted to make it in Hollywood for her."

"Not at first. At first, it didn't even occur to me that acting was an option. But then it all started to fall into place. Almost like it was destiny."

The corners of her mouth curved down. "And I was right--about the escorts, I mean. You are railing against something. That's where you go when the memories get too bad. Like the night we met. That was the anniversary of Jenny's death, wasn't it? You pretty much told me so at Wyatt's opening."

"Yeah," he said. "It was."

She nodded thoughtfully. "At Disneyland, when I asked you about why you went to the women, you never really answered me."

"That was because I'd already told you--it's just sex. Because a relationship's hard when you live in a spotlight."

"Right. You did tell me that."

There was an emotion he couldn't place in her voice, but before he could ask, she continued.

"Is that why you pay so well? Tip so well? Because of how you grew up? Because the women around you struggled so much?"

He nodded. "It's not the same, I know

. And I don't sleep with streetwalkers, although I do donate to a half-dozen organizations that help with rehabilitation. But, yeah, I like to feel like maybe I'm helping them, even if just a little."

He drew in a deep breath, surprised that he felt remarkable good, like he'd just gone a few rounds in the ring, but had quit before all his energy left him.

"So that's who I am. That's the man you invited into your bed. A guy who ran away from home in search of some perfect pretty fantasy of a life, and in the process managed to get his best friend killed."

"No, you didn't," she said gently. "But I can understand why it feels that way."

She paused, her head tilted as she thought. "Did Jenny like Invictus? Because I was wondering why you had it with you that night. Why you gave it to me."

"It was one of the books we kept in the basement. She used to read it aloud. She said it was our theme. That we were unconquerable."

He ran his hand over his hair, as if combing away the memories. "I had it with me because I reread it every year on that day. And I gave it to you because it fit. I already told you that. You needed the money. You did something scary. You didn't let life defeat you."

"So you didn't just pass out those thin little poetry books to every woman you hired."

For the first time since they'd begun the conversation, he laughed. "No, not hardly. I have some of those thousand dollar bills that I use as tips, but not the book. Never that. In fact, until I actually put it in your hand, I wouldn't have believed that I had it in me to give it away. That little book's been with me a long time."

"And yet you did."

He eased toward her on the bed, then reached out to stroke her silky hair. "Yes," he said, hoping she understood what that meant. That he'd seen something special in her--in them--from the first moment he'd met her.

"Thank you for telling me this. It means a lot that you trust me with the truth."