"Like fate?" he asks. "I don't believe in it. And if there is a Fate, she's a cruel bitch."

I stare at him because there's something in his face now, something vulnerable, just for a second. Something hurt. But then he covers it up and once again, he's a closed book. I can't help but be intrigued by these glimpses. There's so much more to Dominic Kinkaide than anyone knows. I can feel it.

"Well, we're stuck in here together. We might as well get to know each other," I tell him, in large part because of that look in his eye. "Because god only knows how long we'll be here, and the silence is killing me."

Dominic is already shaking his head. "No, thanks. I don't care to see the details of my life splashed across the tabloids tomorrow. But thanks anyway."

He crosses his arms over his chest and settles down, closing his eyes.

I shake my head, feeling a little sad at his outlook on life. "It must suck to be you," I tell him. "To always think the worst of people. You should know, not everyone is out to use you. Or exploit you. Just FYI."

He opens his eyes, raising an eyebrow. "Really? It's been my experience that generally, someone wants something from me. I'm a big one to learn from past experiences."

"I bet you are," I answer wryly. "Too bad it seems like not many of them were good."

Dominic scowls as he tries to get more comfortable on the floor next to me, his long legs crossing at the ankles.

"You don't know anything about me. You only know what my publicist manufactures for the public. Everything you know about me is engineered, perfectly placed, perfectly timed. It's all a game, Princess. The masses just don't know that."

The masses. As if the rest of the world is completely separate from him. Apparently, I'm part of the masses, along with everyone else, while Dominic is alone. In his mind, it's Dominic against the world.

Suddenly, I really do feel sorry for him. He might be rich, and he might be gorgeous, but he wears the utter weariness of his life on his face. It's clearly way too much for someone his age. It's like he's a hundred years old and he's just tired of it all.

"You know, if you don't like your life, you can change it," I tell him, my lip shivering with the cold. "You've got the world on a string. You can do anything you want. You realize that, right?"

Dominic stares at me, his green eyes gleaming in a dangerous way. "We work together for a couple days and you think you know me now?"

I ignore his sharp tone. "No. Of course not. But I know of you. And I can see a lot on your face. More than you'd probably like for me to."

He stares at me, his gaze unreadable. "Such as?"

I stare at him, appraising him. "You're jaded. And dark. And something has hurt you badly, something in your past. You think you're all alone and you're tired of everything."

Dominic breathes sharply, not taking his eyes off of mine. "You think you can see all that?"

I nod slowly, not breaking our gaze. "I know that I can. Want to talk about it?"

Dominic chuckles now, a humorless laugh. "Hell, no. Like I said, I don't need to see shit about myself in the tabloids. They publish enough lies about me. I don't need to give them truths to work with. Nice try, though."

I can feel heat from his body emanating from him and I scoot a bit closer.

"Sorry," I tell him when he glances at me. "I'm freaking cold. And you're warm."

"Fine," he answers, lifting his arm to wrap it around my shoulders. "But no pictures. I don't want this on any form of social media. Trust me, you don't either. They'll hound you for weeks."

I roll my eyes. "I know that might be what you're used to, but taking a picture with you is the last thing on my mind at this point. All I can care about is not losing my fingers and toes to hypothermia."

"Has anyone told ever you that you're a bit melodramatic?" Dominic asks dryly, although his arm does tighten a bit around my shoulders.

I chuckle, but don't reply. I enjoy sitting with him for several minutes before the silence starts to gnaw at me.

"Okay. This quiet is killing me. You might not want to talk," I tell him. "But I'm going to distract myself. Let's play Twenty Questions."

Dominic rolls his eyes, then closes them. "Go for it."

"Did you have a good childhood?"

He doesn't open his eyes. "No comment."

I chew on my lip. "Okay. Have you ever had a crush on a costar?"

I look at him, but he still doesn't open his eyes. "No comment," he answers again.

I hesitate, dying to ask him something, but terrified to do it. But in typical Jacey Vincent fashion, I barge ahead and do it anyway. "That girl you were with at the party... was that Emma?"

He completely tenses up, I can see every muscle freeze as he opens his eyes and stares at me. "How do you know about Emma?"

The look on his face is almost frightening in its intensity. "Your sister mentioned her the night we met," I answer slowly. "You were smacked in the head, so you probably don't remember."

I watch a myriad of things cross his face-confusion, sadness, pain, and something else dark that I can't identify-before he finally shakes his head. "No. And I have no other fucking comment."

The mood around us has turned as dark as Dominic's expression, and I'm not sure what to do about it. His reaction is fascinating, but I'm sure not going to press him for more, not if the mere mention of the girl turns his mood so black. So instead I change the subject.

"What's it like being Sin Kinkaide's brother?"

He stares at me drolly now, the ugliness gone from his eyes. "You should ask him what it's like to be my brother."

I shake my head, amused by his arrogance. "I would, but I'm trapped in here with you, not him. And you're not cooperating in this game."

Dominic smiles slowly. "You're very astute, Princess. That's because I don't want to play. Unless I get to ask you the questions. That would be more fun."

I shrug. "Fine. Shoot. You ask me, I'll answer."

He stares at me. "Are you high maintenance?"

I smile. "That's an easy one. No."

"Do you dream in color?"

I roll my eyes. "You're not even trying now. I think everyone dreams in color. I've never heard of anyone dreaming in black and white. In fact, I had the weirdest dream the other night, and it was in full color. I dreamed that it was raining, but that the raindrops turned into pink rose petals. And then when I looked at the ground, it was covered in a foot of petals, just like snow."

Dominic raises an eyebrow. "So, you romanticize precipitation. Interesting."

I smile. "I romanticize everything. That's just me."

Dominic shakes his head. "That'll probably get you into trouble."

I stare at him. "I think I already told you. It's my nature to like trouble. I'm trying not to, but it goes against my grain. Next question."

"Why did you get between me and Cris? You could've been seriously hurt... even more than you were."

Dominic is staring at me now with interest, genuine curiosity in his eyes. I shake my head.

"Because I'm a human being," I answer. "I think anyone would step in and try to keep two people from killing each other. It's the decent thing to do."

"Are you decent?" Dominic's lip twitches.

I smile. "Sometimes."

"Why did you and your last boyfriend break up? Was he trouble?"

Holy shit. His abrupt change of direction sends a knife through my gut, because the answer to that question is ugly.

Jared was definitely trouble and he killed someone I love.

But I don't say that. Instead, I murmur, "No comment."

Dominic rolls his eyes. "Then this game isn't so fun. Why don't you just tell me about your childhood or some shit?"

So I do. Anything to get what Jared did out of my head... To not think of those images. The crumpled truck, the blood spatters, the screams when Maddy came to the accident scene.

I talk myself blue in the face to get that shit out of my head.

I tell Dom about my childhood and what it was like growing up with Gabe and my suck-ass parents. I tell him about Brand and how he's always been like my brother. I tell him how I used to work in the summers for my best friend, Maddy, but then she married my brother and moved to Connecticut. When I pause to take a breath, Dom has his eyes open again, staring at me.

"That big blond guy is like your brother?" he asks doubtfully. "That's a strange sibling relationship."

His tone is weird and I narrow my eyes. "What are you implying?"

He shrugs. "Nothing. I just sense some incest there, is all."

I literally shudder. "That's fucking gross. Brand taught me to ride a bike."

Dom just looks at me. "All I know is that the way that guy looks at you is far from brotherly. I know what I know."

A weird feeling passes through me, because I have been ignoring that new look in Brand's eye. I keep hoping that I'll never see it again, but deep down, I know that I will. And deep down, I know that Dom is right.

"Well, it's nice of you to notice," I tell him snippily. "But you don't know what you don't know. And you're wrong."

"I'm rarely wrong," he answers arrogantly. I can see that he really believes that.

"Does everyone around you always tell you what you want to hear?" I demand. "Do they tell you that you're a genius, that you're perfect, and that you're never wrong?"

"They don't have to tell me," he smirks.

Because he already knows. I gag a little and roll my eyes.

"Have they ever told you that you're arrogant?"

He nods, the corner of his mouth twitching a bit. "That might have been mentioned," he admits. I can tell that he doesn't care.

I settle more fully into the crook of his arm, enjoying the way his woodsy scent envelops me, even in the cold air.

"What's it like to film a movie?" I ask conversationally, changing the subject.

I have to talk about something or I'll go out of my mind. I could swear the cooler has gotten smaller since we've been trapped in here. Dominic closes his eyes again and his fingers rest against my side. I don't think he even notices, but I certainly do.

"It's fine," he tells me. "I'm not much of a people person, but even though millions of people see me onscreen, it doesn't seem like that when we're filming."

"So you're an introvert?" I ask with interest.

He nods without opening his eyes. "Most definitely. My brothers got the extrovert genes."

"Ah, yes. The badass rockers. They definitely seem to love the limelight. Is that it... two brothers and one sister?"

"Yeah," he nods. "That's it."

"You're lucky," I tell him. "All I have is Gabe."

"And he's the only one who counts because your parents are worthless?" Dominic asks with interest, repeating my words from earlier. It's the first time he actually seems interested.

"So you were listening!" I nudge him. And he smiles. A real smile, the first time I've seen it on him. I decide that it's well worth the wait. His smile almost warms the room up all by itself, like the heavens opened up and the light shone down on us through the clouds.

"I couldn't help but listen," he tells me, his eyes almost warm. "You weren't going to shut up and I can't go anywhere."

I giggle and he smiles, and for a second we seem like friends.

"Why exactly are your parents worthless?" he asks after a minute. I'm surprised that he would go out of his way to ask, so even though it makes me uncomfortable, I answer.

"My mom never really wanted to be a mom and she's not good at it. When she and my dad got divorced, she took it as an opportunity to do whatever she wants to do. She has a new boyfriend every week. I rarely hear from my dad. He always thought it was enough to just send my mom a child-support check."

A stab of pain slices through me as I admit it out loud. It's like announcing to the world, Hey, there's something so wrong with me that my parents don't care if I'm alive. But Dominic doesn't seem to see it that way.

"Their loss," he shrugs. "That's what I tell myself whenever I hear a bad review or someone totally disses me. It's their loss. Not yours."

"If you really believe that, then I admire you," I tell him. "I guess I've got thinner skin than that."

"Well, there's your first mistake," he answers. "You've got to grow some thick skin. Or some balls."

"I've got balls," I announce. "They're made of steel."

Dominic laughs. "Really? This I've got to see."

In a flurry of sudden movement, his arm snakes around my waist, finding its way to my crotch. With one hand on my back holding me in place, he strokes me with the other, just for a second. The heat from his palm melds with the heat between my legs, and a million needles shoot down into my legs, weakening my knees.

I gasp and my eyes meet his, and I'm frozen as my heart pounds and my fingers shake.

"It appears that you don't, in fact, have balls," he tells me quietly, without removing his hand from my crotch.