Free Exposing Alix by Inara Scott

“You’re a gorgeous woman, at the top of your game.
You’ve got everything, but you can’t trust anyone. Poor little rich girl. I
made a mistake back then, okay? I kissed a girl, and it wasn’t you. But that’s
all it was. A kiss. A mistake that had nothing to do with you and everything to
do with me being a stupid, immature idiot. But you’re so damn insecure you’ll
never see that, will you? Fine. Forget I tried.”
    He stalked out the door without another look.
    Lena slammed the door behind him. “Fine,” she shouted to
the empty room. “Just fine! I didn’t need him then, and I don’t need him now.”
    She paced up and down the trailer, recounting all the
reasons she hated him, all the ways he’d hurt her, reminded herself of the
anguish she went through with every tabloid picture that surfaced of him
kissing That Woman, lips planted on hers at exactly the same angle he used on
Lena. The hurt had never gone away, really, and when she conjured it up, like
this, it spilled out in dark, black waves until she was filled with it, filled
with the righteous anger that told her he was a jerk, a cad, an ass of the
first order, and she was better off without him.
    But she couldn’t stop the tears. They started in a steady
trickle, then a deep, indrawn breath, and finally she collapsed on the sofa,
holding a pillow over her mouth to muffle the sound. She couldn’t trust him.
She could never trust him.
    Not again. Not ever.

Chapter Seven
     
    Alix followed Ryker’s
vintage-looking Mercedes as it pulled away from Tiger Lily’s. She wished he
drove a flashy sports car so she could hate it and hate him for having it, but
he didn’t. He was far too interesting to fit into any of her stereotypes, no
matter how much she wanted to place him in one. Throughout the meal, just when
she thought she’d figured him out, he’d surprise her. Like what he’d said about Casablanca —how could a man with a heart of ice appreciate one of
the most romantic movies of all time? And the way he made sure she had bread,
and frowned and apologized when his cell phone rang during dinner.
    Little things.
    The way he’d stopped pouring wine for them after one glass
because he didn’t want to drive under the influence.
    The way he’d smiled graciously and signed autographs for a
table full of gawking tourists, deflecting attention away from her subtly. He
had not made a point of excluding her but nonetheless shielded her from
scrutiny.
    He held the door for her.
    Stood up when she excused herself to go to the ladies
room.
    It was like having dinner with Prince Charming, not a
swollen-headed movie star. Which irritated her to no end.
    They were back on the Bolvana lot by nine. The sun was
falling behind the horizon, and the heat of the day had quickly dissipated, leaving
behind a cool stillness. Ryker pulled into a space in front of the dun-colored
bungalow that held Gunther’s offices. The building was apparently intended to
look like a single-family home, though the generic brown exterior and
bedraggled hedge did little to further that image.
    Alix parked and walked over to his car, feeling ridiculous
in her miniskirt and heels. She’d bought the dress a year ago for the sole
purpose of placating Gunther. Every time she visited him, he nagged her
incessantly to dress up and go out to a few parties. Finally, she’d agreed.
She’d told herself the dress was just another way of blending in, another
costume she needed to learn to wear. As Ryker had pointed out, she attracted
more attention when she dressed in her usual jeans and T-shirts than when she
dressed to the nines, and she had to admit, it was nice to feel feminine once
in a while. But unlike her dark glasses and baggy shirts, it was a costume that
never quite seemed to fit. She always felt on the verge of tipping over in her
high heels and had to fight the desire to hunch over and shield her breasts
from view.
    Ryker held up a ring of keys. “Gunther lets me use his
viewing