Page 48 of A Star is Scorned
“Rhonda seems to think I am.”
“And what? You want to prove her right? The only thing Rhonda Powers proves is that sometimes you’re an idiot. For once in your life, think with your head and not your dick. You wouldn’t be in this mess if you did, and now people are going to get hurt. You don’t need to reform, but you could exercise some better judgment once in a while!”
Flynn had never heard his friend sound so disappointed. It reminded Flynn of the way his father used to speak to him, the way he always seemed to imply that he’d fallen short. The tone of voice that had made him decide that since he would never be good enough, he would rather be wicked instead.
“Don’t speak to me like that,” Flynn snapped. “I don’t understand why you suddenly want me to be something I’m not. I’m never going to be Prince Charming, Dash. I’m a rogue through and through, and that’s how I like it. Livvy knows that. She’s just helping me try to convince the public otherwise until this Rhonda mess dies down. Why is that a problem?”
Dash looked at him then, a profound sadness in his eyes. It stopped Flynn in his tracks. “It’s not. Not if that’s really who you are. But what I’m asking you to do is stop and think about whether you are still the same Flynn Banks you were on the night we met at Musso and Frank’s Grill six years ago. When I beat you in that drinking contest.”
“Excuse me,Ibeatyou.”
That made Dash chuckle, and the weight of the stone that had dropped into Flynn’s stomach lessened ever so slightly. But he seriously considered what Dash had said: Was he still the same Flynn Banks? He thought so. He drank as much, swore as much, seduced women whenever he felt like it. Sure, he’d curtailed all that these last few weeks. But it was an act. When all this was over, he’d go right back to who he was before.
“The Flynn Bankses of this world don’t change,” Flynn retorted, trying to find some of that caddish spark that had never seemed far out of reach. But his heart wasn’t in it—and Dash could tell.
“I don’t think that’s true. But even if it is, you need to figure out your intentions before you break that girl’s heart.”
Dash might as well have plunged Livvy’s dagger into Flynn’s gut and twisted. “I am not going to break her heart. She’s faking it. Just like me.”
“It might have started out that way, but I think you should ask her if that’s still true. But first, you should ask yourself.”
Flynn stared out at the sea, the stars and the full moon twinkling off the vast inky water that was his backyard. He thought about the ways his life had recently changed. The way he’d swum through that water until he was exhausted, trying to banish the memory of a girl he’d only just met. The guilt he’d felt when his little black book fell into Livvy’s lap and her hurt had been scrawled across her face. Livvy had turned him upside down, shaken him, and left him completely jumbled.
Had he righted himself since the first night they met? Or had he only grown more confused, more desperate to convince Livvy that he was worthy of her smiles, her attention, and her tinkling little laugh? That laugh. Every time he said or did something that made it come out of her mouth, he felt like he’d won a prize at the fair. He thought aboutTreasure Island,the dog-eared pages of his copy that he’d read a hundred times. How it was Livvy who helped him remember how much he’d once loved to read. He’d been enjoying revisiting it these last few weeks, reading a little each night before bed.
Was Dash right? Was Livvy different? Washedifferent with her?
Dash startled Flynn from his thoughts with a clap on the back. “I saw the way that girl looked at you tonight. What’s more, I saw the way you looked at her. Like she could hang the moon. All I want, hell, all any of us want—Joan, Arlene, Don—is for you to be happy. But first you have to be honest.”
Dash let the words hover there, and Flynn mulled them over. He thought about Livvy, the ecstatic joy on her face when they’d won the regatta and how she’d jumped into his arms without thinking. The look of sinful bliss she’d worn when the first bite of enchiladas had touched her lips.
When they first met, he’d tried seducing her. While reminding her that he never played for keeps. Then, they’d agreed to be friends. But the woman who had answered his challenge tonight with her eyes blazing, who had driven him into a corner with her sword and pinned him to the wall, had scorched his soul with her inner fire. And Flynn? He had liked it. He’d liked it ever since their duel at the soundstage, and he’d invited her to do it again tonight. In front of his closest friends and enemies, so that they could all see what he saw. That she was marvelous; a goddamned pirate queen.
She made him, and every single thing in a room, glitter in the reflection of her brilliance. She was a jewel, one that he was realizing would be unbearable to lose. Somewhere along the way she’d stolen past his defenses. Defenses he usually never even had to worry about maintaining. Besides, Livvy was not the type of girl to fall for a committed scoundrel like him. So, there was no way that she could possibly have real feelings. Yet Dash seemed to think otherwise. Was his oldest friend imagining things? Or could there truly be something there?
“I need to talk to her,” Flynn muttered, sprinting over to the steps.
“Attaboy,” called Dash.
Flynn took the stairs two at a time, running toward the kitchen, praying Livvy was still safely ensconced there with Joan and Arlene. But when he entered, Joan was merely humming a song, while Arlene and Don danced in the corner.
“Livvy. Where is she?”
Joan shrugged. “I don’t know. She hightailed it out of here when Johnny Albright came in looking for a partner to bob for apples with. Said she needed to find you. Smart girl.”
Flynn was shocked to find a white-hot flame of jealousy flare in his chest. Before he could hear more, he was through the kitchen door, into the tiled hall, and back to the living room. His guests were a swaying mass, crushed against each other while Benny Goodman played “Begin the Beguine.” His eyes darted around the room, looking for Livvy’s green felt hat or her telltale pitch-black curls. She wasn’t anywhere to be found.
His heart sank. She must’ve left. Why had he let Dash pull him away for so long? Livvy didn’t know many people in Hollywood yet, and he’d left her there to mingle. He knew she could more than hold her own, but that didn’t mean that she wanted to or should always be expected to.
Suddenly, he wasn’t very interested in this party either. He wanted these people out of his house. He craved the quiet—just himself, a glass of whiskey, and the crash of the waves against the sand. He needed to think. But he couldn’t exactly kick them out.
He stole a glance at the clock on the wall. Christ, it was barely ten o’clock. If he asked everyone to leave, they’d probably think he needed his head examined. Flynn Banks ending a party at 10 p.m.? It was unheard of.
But he needed to think. To figure out whether anything Dashhad said was true. Was Livvy not merely pretending? He dodged a couple so drunk he had to wonder how they were keeping each other upright, and headed for the long hallway to the only place in this house he was guaranteed to find solitude—the library.
Chapter 17
The second she entered the library, the constricted feeling in Livvy’s chest released.
