Ira Redman wasn’t the altruistic type. But Aster was so far gone, all she could do was wait and see and hope against hope he’d wind up proving her wrong.
She watched as Ira was whisked away by his driver, then shook her head and trained her focus on Ryan’s stupidly beautiful face.
He had stupid long-lashed eyes.
Stupid sculpted cheekbones.
An absurdly stupid square heroic jawline.
And the most stupid part of all was that ridiculously stupid smile he now wore that seemed so disarmingly genuine that Aster defensively crossed her arms against her chest.
She frowned. Waited for him to make the first move. He’d said some unkind things about her to the press just after Madison had gone missing, and yet Aster had still taken a leap and decided to trust him after he’d pleaded for a chance to do better.
The way he stood before her now, hesitating to speak, reminded her of an actor waiting for someone offstage to feed him his lines so he’d know what to say.
She let out a weary sigh. She really hoped he didn’t turn out to be yet another mistake on what was becoming a very long list.
“You okay?” Ryan took an uncertain step forward, followed by another.
Aster lifted her shoulders in reply. She had no idea how to put her conflicting thoughts into actual words, so she didn’t bother to try.
Despite her growing doubts, she felt supremely lucky just to be standing right in that spot. Occupying that square of red carpet in the lobby of her luxury building felt like some sort of small miracle had been worked on her behalf.
Although the State of California had done its best to keep her locked up throughout her upcoming trial, through a bit of magic (or more likely, knowing Ira, through the weight of his considerable influence, with a pinch of dark sorcery), Ira had managed to spare her that fate. And so far, all he’d asked in return was that she stay in touch and not flee the state.
Ryan reached forward and traced a finger along the curve of her jaw. The move was so comforting, so tender, before Aster could stop herself she was falling into his arms.
She pressed her body hard against his, as he clinched her tightly at the waist and whispered into her ear. “I’m so glad you’re okay. . . . I was so worried about you.” He pulled away, sweeping her hair from her temple to better study her face. His gaze was brimming with such warmth and concern that Aster could barely bring herself to meet it. For a girl who’d been richly rewarded for her stunning good looks, she wasn’t sure what to make of Ryan’s admiring gaze.
She hadn’t had a proper shower in days. Couldn’t even remember the last time she’d brushed her teeth, popped a breath mint, or even glanced in a mirror that wasn’t spiderwebbed with cracks. Her long dark hair was greasy and unkempt. Her normally flawless complexion was mottled with zits. Her brows were an unruly mess. And she refused to take a closer look at whatever remained of the intricate nail art manicure she’d once rocked. She was at her absolute most unglamorous, and yet, Ryan looked at her as though he saw something far beyond all that.
It made her feel weird, and she wished he would stop.
She didn’t have time for this nonsense. Maybe later, after the trial, if somehow the verdict managed to work in her favor, but certainly not now, not . . .
She struggled against him, did her best to pull away, but Ryan only tightened his hold.
“Don’t.” His gaze deepened, demanding she meet it. “Please don’t. You have no idea how good it is to see you.”
Her laugh was derisive, but again, he stopped her cold.
“I mean it. You have no idea how much I . . .”
Don’tsayitdon’tsayitdon’tsayitdon’tsayit—Don’t you dare say it!
To stop him from speaking the words she was neither ready nor willing to hear, she kissed him.
The move was reckless. Yet another promise she’d made to herself now broken.
And yet she pressed hard against him, no longer caring that she was standing out in the open, kissing Ryan Hawthorne as though she had no intention of ever doing anything else.
For those few glorious moments when his lips were sealed against hers, his arms clasped snugly around her, Aster felt safe, secure, protected, and wholly insulated from a hostile world.
Then the elevator doors swooshed open and a group of gawkers stood staring at her.
Instantly, Aster broke the embrace, ducked her chin low, and marched past the group and into the second elevator waiting beside them.
Seconds before the doors closed, Ryan slipped in and joined her.
“Aster—” Ryan started, but Aster nodded toward the camera pointing down from the corner and discreetly shook her head.
While it was definitely a relief to be out of jail, she was under no illusion as to how the rest of the world viewed her. As the most hated girl in America, she knew there was no shortage of people who were willing to sell her out to the nearest tabloid. Kissing Ryan in an elevator was out of the question. Talking was too.
She turned her back to the camera, waited for the car to arrive at her floor, then strode purposefully down the hall, keeping a safe distance from Ryan, who slowly followed along.
Tears stung her eyes as she let herself inside. How much longer would she have to live like this—overly cautious and paranoid?
One look at her apartment told her there was no end in sight.
The cops had gone there right before she’d been arrested in Joshua Tree. They’d found her little brother Javen and hauled him in for questioning; then they took the opportunity to ransack the place. Though Ira had assured her the maids had since cleaned up the mess, the thought of that creepy detective Larsen picking
