Wicked Dirty (Stark World 2)

He was right about the view. The main area of the condo is basically a box, with a kitchen, two seating areas, and a hall that presumably leads to bedrooms.

Two sides of that box are entirely made of glass.

And now, at night, the city lights sparkle beyond one virtually invisible wall, while the hills twinkle beyond the other. It's like floating above a fairy world, and I turn to him, grinning. "It really is stunning."

He gestures for the kitchen, and I sit on one of the bar stools while he opens a bottle of wine.

"What happened with Noah?" I prompt, since I'd been distracted earlier by the view. "I struck a nerve asking him about dating. My hand's still aching from that faux pas," I add wryly.

He pours two glasses, then takes them with him to the couch, gesturing for me to follow. "He was married before. He had a wife, a baby girl." Lyle draws a breath. "They were kidnapped. Taken in broad daylight."

"Oh, God." My stomach feels queasy, and I put my wine down. "What happened?"

I watch Lyle's face. The way his skin pales. The motion of his throat as he swallows. "They found the baby," he says, his voice hollow. "She'd been suffocated. They never found his wife."

"That's horrible." The word is so inadequate that I feel foolish even having said it. "How long has it been?"

"When The Price of Ransom premiered, that was right at seven years. She was declared legally dead that week."

"I can't even imagine," I say, my own problems seeming so small now by comparison.

I stand, needing to move and get those terrible images out of my head. There's a bookcase on the far side of the room, and I head there, then start perusing the titles. "I'm pretty sure you have every book ever written about Hollywood."

"I didn't come here with the bug, but I got infected soon enough." He joins me at the shelves, pointing out a stack of scripts that he says he read to study roles when he was first starting. I notice that they're all classics and well-known recent dramas.

As for the books, they cover all aspects of Hollywood. "Hey," I say, pulling one off the shelf. "A biography of Anika Segel. Isn't she--"

"Wyatt's grandmother. You remembered."

I frown. "Why weren't Wyatt and Kelsey at the party? Aren't they in your circle?"

"I talked to him this morning. He said they had Noah over for dinner last week, and they sent their regrets to Nikki and Damien. But they needed some alone time. Apparently putting that show together was exhausting."

That makes sense, and I smile at Lyle, then brush my fingertips over the back of his hand. "Alone time can be a very good thing."

"I'm very glad you think so. I was hoping you could stay the night."

"I think I can swing that. I'll have to placate Skittles in the morning with tuna, but he'll only love you the more for being the reason he's getting a treat."

I'm still looking at the shelves, and I run my finger over the stage plays. Chekov. Stoppard. Shakespeare. Coward. And so many more.

"Were these Jenny's?"

He shakes his head. "No, Jenny was all about the blockbuster. Go big or go home," he says, with a melancholy smile.

"Then they're yours?"

He nods. "I was one of those guys who was discovered for his looks. A true Hollywood story. But what they don't mention is that looks don't mean shit if you can't act. So I started taking lessons, and realized I loved it.

"Jenny had the drive and the ambition--talent, too, of course," he continues. "But mostly she was the epitome of a star. Bright and vibrant and living large."

"You wanted to live smaller?"

"I wanted to act. To do something transformative. To get lost in a role. To really analyze it and find that deep character. I did a lot of theater when I was younger."

"I'd love to see you on stage."

"I don't do much of that anymore."