Starlet: A Dark Retelling - Cora Kenborn Page 0,35

I’ll incinerate yet still craving the burn.

I don’t want to open up. I don’t want to feel. I don’t want this pathetic flutter in my stomach, and I sure as hell don’t want this infuriating ache between my legs. But the more I’m near Dominic, the less I can deny either.

And that terrifies me.

For a man whose entire life is based on exposing secrets, Dominic has kept his own cards close to his chest. And while the last thing I want to do is open up a portal and dive into the abyss, I don’t know if I’ll get an opportunity like this again. So, against my better judgment, I sit back down.

“There’s not much to tell. I grew up poor, just like you said. Left a shitty group home when I was sixteen.”

He stares at me, not a flicker of emotion on his face. “What about your parents?”

“Don’t have any.” I stare down at my hands. “I mean, obviously they exist, but not in my memory. I can’t even picture their faces. From what I was told, they weren’t worth knowing. Not that it matters. They didn’t want me, so I don’t want them. Case closed.”

“Were the people who ran the group home abusive?”

I shrug. “They were indifferent, and I was just…there.”

“Invisible.”

I glance up to where Dominic stares at me in strained silence. All of a sudden, I feel bare. Raw. Like he’s reached within and turned me inside out.

“Do you ever feel like you’re trapped in a place you don’t belong?” I ask, quietly. “Like no matter how loud you scream no one can hear you. Like if you could just spread your wings and fly, maybe you’d be okay. But you can’t—”

“Because your wings are clipped.”

My eyes snap to where Dominic stares off into the distance. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

A shadow falls across his face that looks a lot like regret. But that can’t be right. Dominic McCallum doesn’t have regrets. He’s incapable of sorrow or guilt or basic human compassion.

Isn’t he?

“Lucky guess.” He tips the bottle back again.

I contemplate ending this game of show and tell right now. Sure, I want the tit for tat Dominic promised, but I’d rather not spill more truth all over the blood I’ve already shed.

But I should’ve known when Dominic McCallum smells blood, he doesn’t back down.

Tipping his head back, he runs his tongue along the back of his teeth. “I’m guessing life on the streets wasn’t all wine and roses.”

“Shockingly, there’s not a lot of opportunity out there for a sixteen-year-old runaway.”

Well, none that are legal, anyway.

I cringe thinking of the dirty alleys I slept in and the garbage I ate just to survive. Always on guard and always on the move, solitude was my only friend until I met Violet. Until the seductive siren call of Hollywood drew us in and then spit us out.

I shake my head. “Eventually, all of us end up at the same place.” I quickly avert my eyes. “I think that’s when I became a true actress. Just to escape from reality, I’d check out and someone else would take over. That’s when Jade Saxton was born.”

“So Last First Kiss—”

I glare up at him. “Was a small supporting role that I earned standing on my own two feet, not lying on my back. My life hasn’t been easy, but dreams come with a price.”

I’m not an idealist. I don’t expect comfort from the man responsible for tearing those dreams to shreds and then tossing them in the air like confetti. But I sure as hell don’t expect a condescending smack in the face, either.

Dominic swings his legs off the chair and leans forward, a smirk playing on his lips as he hooks a finger under my chin. “And thanks to me, you’re still paying it, right?”

As I suspected, this was nothing but a ploy to chip away at my armor while his remains a thick wall of fortified granite. And like an idiot, I fell for it.

I should be furious. I should punch his face until it’s not so damn pretty. Until I can look at it without this stupid flutter and ache and want. Because the only thing I should desire is to unleash twelve months of pent-up anger.

Instead, what am I doing? Leaning into his touch. Remembering the feel of his lips on my skin. Wishing for more from a man I hate.

His grip tightens, and my breath quickens.

Kiss me.

“Angel,” he groans, his eyes dropping to where his thumb traces my