Page 45 of Her Dark Angel

“But unfortunately, the tree was cut down by the new owners when we left Hart and moved to Los Angeles when I got my first big break in a film.”

Nash regards me from across the table for far too long after I finish speaking, his intense eyes boring into mine. I want to ask what he’s thinking, but the words get caught in my throat. I have never told anyone that memory aside from Sadie and Matt. I never felt the need to because there wasn’t a person worthy enough of knowing. But with Nash, I just couldn’t help myself when he brought it up. It’s like my body has a mind of its own and can’t help but overshare with him.

“Hart… that’s in Michigan. So you’re originally from Michigan, then?”

I nod. “Born and raised.”

Nash holds my gaze, his eyes unblinking as his eyes roam over my face.

I clear my throat and take a sip of my wine. “What’s your favorite plant then?”

“Wisteria,” he answers without hesitation.

My eyes widen. “Really? Why?”

Nash shrugs, his eyes meeting mine. “Because you said you like it and the story behind why makes me want to like it too.”

I have to keep my jaw from falling open at his response. How can he just sit there with his lip quirked up at the side, his eyes intense as they regard me, and not know my heart is pounding uncontrollably in my chest?

Before I get a chance to respond, our waitress brings out our dishes and we settle back into silence. I barely notice when she gives Nash fuck me eyes and a wink as she places the plate in front of him. All I can think about as I eat the delicious chicken meal is Nash and what the hell this man is doing to my goddamn heart.

He can’t just say something like that and pretend it’s not a big deal because, to me, it is.

Wisteria holds a special place in my heart because it reminds me of my innocence and all I have lost to the industry and this fucked up world. But he doesn’t know that, and still, he wants Wisteria to be his favorite plant because the story of my childhood resonated with him.

Goddamn, what is he doing to me?

When we’re done with our meals, Matt approaches the table with a smile on his face. I force one onto mine, but it doesn’t feel quite right.

“How was the meal?” Matt asks, looking only at me. I’m sure he could sense Nash’s hostility toward him when we entered the restaurant, so I understand not wanting to engage in conversation with him.

“It was fantastic as usual,” I respond for both of us. “Thank you again for getting us in on short notice.”

Matt waves me off with a flick of his hand. “Anything for you, Kin, you know that. And please come around again soon. I would love to hear about whatever new project you’re working on and… other stuff.”

I know what he wanted to say. I want to hear the details about you dating Nash Beck. But I let it slide because he’s my friend and he has a right to know these things about me, especially when I trust him with my life.

“Of course,” I say with a genuine smile now, the shock of the previous conversation wearing off. I turn my attention to Nash who is twisting one of the many chunky silver rings around his middle finger, essentially flipping Matt off if you look close enough. “Are you ready to go?”

Nash stands from the chair and reaches into his pocket. He produces a black leather flip wallet overflowing with one hundred bills. More than you would see in any strip club. He tosses two bills onto the table and walks around to stand by my side. I try to hold back the gasp threatening to burst from my lips when his arm slips around my waist, his woodsy cologne engulfing me.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he answers gruffly. His fingers brush against my hip and a shiver races down my spine as heat pools in my core. Calm the fuck down, Kin. “Thanks for the meal.”

“Anytime. I’m sure I’ll see you around, Nash.” Matt eyes Nash’s arm around my waist before meeting my gaze. I can see the lingering question of what the hell is going on? pooling in his irises, but all I can do is smile and act as casual as I can.

“Have a good night, Matt, and thanks again for dinner. We’ll catch up soon, I promise.”

I wave goodbye to Matt as Nash and I exit the restaurant. The valet already has Nash’s Porsche waiting on the curb when we rush out of the building, my eyes burning from what feels like a hundred flashing lights trained on me.

Do these men just have nothing better to do with their nights besides stalking celebrities and bombarding them with photo after photo?

“God I hate them,” I grumble under my breath as I slide into the front seat. Thankfully, the windows are slightly tinted, so they won’t be able to get a good shot of me from this angle.

Nash slides into the front seat and slams the door closed behind him. A puff of air leaves his lips and I know he’s as frustrated with the paps as I am. He doesn’t say a word as he puts the car into drive and tears away from the curb so fast I fear I might have gotten whiplash.

“Woah, cowboy, calm down,” I mutter, shifting in my seat after having been thrown around slightly by the fast motion. “Are you really that eager to get away from me?”

“Not quite,” he answers, his knuckles turning white as his grip on the steering wheel tightens. I wonder if that’s painful given how many rings line his fingers. “I just fucking hate being ambushed by those dickheads.”

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