Wicked Dirty (Stark World 2)

"You can let it go," he agrees. "It'll be hard, but you'll get past it."

"Yeah," I say, then sigh as I sit up, something in his words pushing me upright. "The same is true for you," I whisper. "You can let Jenny go, too."

His eyes narrow as he looks at me, his face an odd mixture of confusion and, I think, trepidation.

"We've talked about this," he says. "You were right--I told you so. And I'm putting the past in the past."

I lick my lips, hesitating. The last few days have been bliss, and I don't want to toss a firecracker into the middle of this sweet serenity. But time is running out, even if I'm the only one who realizes it.

"You're not," I finally say. "If you walk away from Arizona Spring to do those three movies, you're--"

"No." The word is harsh. Sharp. And as it lashes out, he pulls me to him, the force of contact at least as harsh as the word. "Dammit, Laine, this is my career. Not Jenny's. You need to trust me that I'm doing what I want. What's right for me."

I nod, surrendering. Because the truth is, I know he believes it.

But I'm equally certain that he's holding on to Jenny and his past too damn tight. They're like an elastic band tying him back. And though he can move forward with me, inch by inch, mile by mile, he's still always got that cord behind him.

And unless he cuts himself free, one day when we least expect it, the elastic will pull too tight, and he'll be snapped back away from me, so hard and so fast, that I won't have the strength to keep him by my side.

* * *

The SCF brunch is nothing like what I expected. It's held outdoors on a beautiful flagstone patio and lawn that opens up behind the massive corporate building that houses the foundation's business office. The grounds are huge and there are cabins for kids to live in while they attend SCF-sponsored camps.

There's a camp this weekend, actually, and the entire area is overrun with kids, running and playing and laughing. Kids who, Lyle tells me, ha

ve very little else in their lives to smile about.

According to Lyle, this isn't the only facility like this operated by Stark. "Damien founded an education-based organization, too, that's been around much longer. And there's a similar camp area for kids in that program."

"That's impressive," I say, and he agrees enthusiastically, telling me about both organizations, but mostly about the SCF, which is specifically for abused and neglected children, and other kids who need outside help.

"How did you get involved?"

"I asked Damien," he says as we stroll the grounds, stopping occasionally to talk with the kids or throw a ball or watch one of their magic tricks, learned during this week's camping session.

"I thought about what a shit time Jenny and I had, and I wanted to be part of something that helped kids like that." He flashes an ironic smile. "The celebrity sponsor job came later. All I really wanted to do was work one-on-one with the kids, and support the foundation financially. But the sponsorship helps, too," he says philosophically. "It's just working away from the kids in front of the media instead of with them."

"Ly! Ly!"

I turn to see Lara running toward us, her short legs making good time. "Play airplane with me?"

"Okay, but why don't we go see if any other kids want to play, too?"

As I fall in step with Nikki, who's carrying her infant daughter Anne, Lyle heads toward the toddler playscape, where he proceeds to fly a dozen or so kids like an airplane.

"This is a really amazing organization," I tell Nikki.

"It is. Damien didn't have the greatest childhood. He wanted to make it better for as many kids as he could."

I think about Damien--the famous tennis player and billionaire--and I remember all the dark secrets that came out in the press a few years ago. I look at Lyle, thinking that's something he and Damien have in common. Dark secrets and broken childhoods.

"Lyle's a great asset," Nikki says, following my gaze.

"He really believes in what the SCF is doing," I say as a voice over a loudspeaker asks Mr. Tarpin and the media representatives to report to the main lobby. "Although I think he'd much rather keep doing that," I add, pointing to Lyle and the kids, "than front the press conference."

"Who wouldn't?" she asks as Lyle and Lara head back toward us and we all go into the lobby together.

Nikki and I stand off to the side in front of the podium as Damien and Lyle take the stage. Since this is a media event, the audience is entirely made of reporters, and I recognize a few from the night they descended on my house, including the one who'd dropped the engagement bomb--the one with the goatee who Lyle later told me was named Gordy.