Guarded Desires

by Couper, Lexxie

  “Chris, Chris,” the reporter from the country’s leading current affairs program cried into a microphone. “How are you feeling about this invasion of your privacy? Are you officially declaring your homosexuality?”

  Chris smiled, continuing to walk for the park’s front door. “The photographer captured my good side. Can’t complain about that.”

  Another reporter, this one from the second-highest rating breakfast program, shoved a mic at Chris. “Are you gay, Mr. Huntley?”

  Liev swiped the microphone away from Chris’s face, keeping his expression neutral. He’d done a piss-weak job of being professional up until now. It was time he did what he was being paid to do.

  “How long have you and Mr. Huntley been lovers, Mr. Reynolds?” The reporter thrust the mic toward Liev, almost stumbling over his feet as Liev and Chris kept walking.

  “You heard of love at first sight?” Chris gave the tripping man a quick grin.

  The surrounding crowd of fans cheered and laughed. The protestors hurled fresh insults. Above it all, the approaching police sirens wailed, closer by the second.

  “So it’s love?” Another reporter poked an iPhone forward, swinging it back and forth between Chris and Liev. “Care to comment, Mr. Reynolds?”

  “You once worked as a bodyguard for the prime minister,” the first reporter on the scene shot at Liev. “Stopped a shoe from hitting her.”

  Chris cocked an eyebrow at Liev. “Who throws a shoe?” he asked in his best Austin Powers impersonation. “Really?”

  The unexpected urge to chuckle rolled through Liev. Bloody bastard. Quoting movie lines at him during a situation most politicians and sane people would run screaming from.

  “Are you returning to America with him?” someone from the crowd shouted.

  “Mr. Huntley, you’ve never been linked to gay rumours before.” A new reporter shoved her way in front of Chris and Liev, hurrying before them in awkward sideways strides. “Was it just research for a movie role?”

  “Was what?” Chris asked her with a smirk.

  The woman’s cheeks flooded brilliant vermillion. Her lips parted but nothing came out. Around them, signs declaring Chris would burn in hell bounced and waved.

  Chris laughed, drawing to a halt. “Listen…” he smiled at the people held back by Liev’s extended arm before lifting his attention to those behind them, “…I’m not embarrassed by those photos. For two reasons. One, I’ve got a goddamn amazing butt, wouldn’t you say? The world deserves to see more of it, especially from that angle.” He had to wait for the legion of his fans and admirers to quiet down at the bold statement. “And two…” he slid Liev a glance, the corners of his lips curling into a smile Liev felt in the centre of his soul, “…an explanation isn’t necessary when I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Faggot!” someone screamed from the back of the crowd.

  “Random citizen!” Chris shouted back before grinning at the closest reporter. “Hmm, was I too rough on him? Too insulting?”

  The deafening cry of a cop car prevented the reporter responding. Which, as far as Liev was concerned, was a good thing.

  The next person to shout an insult at Chris was about to see what a six foot three bi-sexual firefighting bodyguard looked like when angry.

  He’d reached the end of his control.

  Bi-sexual? Huh. You’re kidding, right? You know bloody well you’re never going to look at another living soul again after Chris, man or woman.

  The thought punched into Liev. Hard. The truth of it stole his breath.

  His pulse thrummed in his ears and his heart smashed in his chest.

  Shit, what the fuck did he do now?

  Chapter Fifteen

  His sister rang him three times during the three hours he was at the wildlife park. The first time Bethany took the call, her murmurs impossible to hear over the crowd as he entered the main building from the street.

  The cops had arrived just in time to clear the anti-gay protestors. Whoever had organized the turnout hadn’t wanted to stay around when the authorities appeared. By the time the first police car pulled to a halt next to the crowd, those with placards declaring Chris the spawn of the devil and other slurs of the ilk had blended into the mass of Chris’s fans ecstatic to see their idol, the signs discarded on the ground.

  Liev had stood guard, watching the sea of chanting, squealing people, his black sunglasses hiding whatever he was thinking from Chris and the questioning journalists.

  He’d refused to make any further comments or answer any more questions. The last words Chris had heard him utter before the manager of the park arrived and the impromptu press conference came to an end was, “I’m just the bodyguard.”

  Those four words played with Chris’s sanity for the next three hours. Enough that he found it damn impossible to focus on the baby pygmy possum an animal keeper handed to him the second he walked into the reserve.

  The second call from his sister had come while he was talking to the manager of the park, the park’s resident veterinarian and a politician who seemed to know Liev well given how often she called him by his first name while talking to Chris. Chris had rejected the call, not because he didn’t want to talk to Rowan, but because he wasn’t ready to have a discussion with her about what she no doubt had finally discovered back in L.A. He wasn’t ashamed. He just wasn’t prepared to talk about Liev while standing in a wildlife park holding a baby marsupial in his hands, especially when Liev was nowhere to be seen.

  Whatever plan of attack the Australian had for dealing with the media frenzy and protestors outside, it involved being as far from Chris as possible once inside the park. That absence also played with Chris’s sanity.

  The third time Rowan called—two hours and forty-five minutes into his appearance at the park—he’d been signing autographs for the staff, surreptitiously searching for a man who wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Bethany had cocked an eyebrow at him, her face a silent question. He’d shaken his head and returned to the pieces of paper offered to him. Better to keep up the façade of the flippant, friendly celebrity and pretend his goddamn heart wasn’t a pummeled lump of aching uncertainty.

  He’d signed autographs, cracked jokes, posed for photos and petted lots of marsupials and other critters before doing what he’d come to do—pledge a massive amount of money to the park.

  The whole time he’d wondered about Liev’s response to the media furor and what it meant for the man’s future.

  His own future, he was surprised to realize, he didn’t give a flying fuck about. All he wanted to do was find Liev, thread his fingers through the stubborn man’s fingers and tell him it was going to be okay.

  When Bethany told the manager the visit was finished, Chris’s heart had jumped into rapid flight. Finally, he’d be able to talk to Reynolds.

  Liev, however, had other plans.

  There were no signs of fans or protestors by the time Chris and Bethany exited the park. Jeff waited by the Audi a few yards from the main entrance, chatting with four police officers. Two squad cars were parked beside the SUV.

  “Where’s Mr. Reynolds?” Bethany asked as she and Chris walked toward Jeff.

  An uncharacteristic grimace pulled at Jeff’s face. “He’s arranged for you to have a police escort for the rest of the day. Apparently someone on the force owes him a favour.”

  “He’s gone?” Bethany’s shock cut through the numb disbelief creeping over him.

  Jeff nodded. “Said it was better for Chris.”

  The world grew cold. Heavy. Chris swallowed. The prickling stares of the cops made him want to squirm. Or maybe it was the emptiness in his soul.

  “Mr. Huntley?”

  He blinked at Bethany’s soft voice.

  “No sweat.” He chuckled, the laugh sounding brittle and forced. “I couldn’t be in better hands than these fine officers’, correct?” He crossed to the cops and shook their hands with a grin.

  All four nodded and professed their enjoyment of his work.r />
  He thanked them with a smile, slapped them on the back with friendly ease and then climbed into the back of the Audi. He needed to get home.

  Home? Which one? Here in Sydney? Back in L.A.? Or wherever the hell Liev is now?

  An hour later, with the cops driving away from the harbour-side mansion, Chris stood in the living room and stared at the television.

  The image of him and Liev beside the pool had gone viral.

  It was everywhere. News channels were running stories on it, gossip shows were drooling over it, comedians were riffing on it. Speculation was rife whether Chris was gay or bi. There was an opinion by some commentators the whole thing was just a hoax to garner media attention for Dead Even’s international release. Those people wouldn’t believe the Chris Huntley, the sexiest man alive twice running and renown Casanova was really homosexual.

  With every flick of the remote control, with every change of channel, Chris witnessed his very life dissected and analysed more than ever before. He’d thought it grueling when his parents’ murder became fodder for the media. He’d thought it harrowing when the media learned of the attempts on Rowan’s life by his ex-personal assistant. That was nothing compared to this.

  Nothing.

  The phones never stopped ringing.

  His cell phone, Bethany’s, Jeff’s, the mansion’s landline. If it was a means of communication, it made a noise. He half-expected a flock of carrier pigeons to land on the main balcony, all with tiny cameras strapped to their heads and a list of questions to be answered wrapped around one leg.

  Have you always been gay?

  Do you still have sex with women?

  Will your character come out on Twice Too Many?

  Are you going to host the Tony Awards?

  Do you like Barbara Streisand?

  “I’m going to have to start answering some of them, Mr. Huntley.”

  Tearing his stare from the television, on which a still image of Liev protecting Australia’s prime minister from a thrown shoe now filled half the screen, he let out a ragged breath. “Tell them to call my manager. Or my agent. No doubt the two of them will have already concocted a game plan by now.”

  Bethany nodded and raised the ringing cell in her hand—his, he noticed—to her ear. “Bethany Sloan speaking,” she said, watching him.

  He had to admit, she looked shell-shocked.

  Chris felt sorry for her. For the six months she’d been his assistant, the most controversial thing she’d had to contend with was the time he’d decided he wanted a Big Mac for lunch and was photographed ordering at the drive-through, resulting in PETA calling for a boycott of Twice Too Many and Dead Even. After that, Bethany had been stalked by PETA spies desperate to prove Chris was not only a carnivore but possibly tortured small animals for fun in his spare time.

  That kind of attention had not prepared her for this.

  Hell, he wasn’t prepared for this, and he’d spent the last five years of his life in the public eye.

  So why wasn’t he freaking out now? And how did he convince Liev not to either?

  “Mr. Huntley?”

  He turned away from the television. “What is it, Bethany?”

  His personal assistant held his cell phone out to him. “It’s your agent.”

  Chris pulled a face.

  Bethany didn’t move.

  Letting out a muttered curse, Chris took his cell from her hand and pressed it to his ear. “Leonard.”

  “This is why I told you it was fucking stupid to go to Australia without your manager,” the most gravelly voice in Hollywood barked through the connection.

  “I’m a big boy, Leonard. I can travel on planes and go to the bathroom all by myself now.”

  “It’s not the planes or the bathrooms I’m worried about, funny guy,” his agent grumbled back. “Bartowski would’ve at least made you keep your dick in your pants.”

  Chris dropped into the nearest armchair and killed the television with a stab of his thumb on the remote. “Oh, you’re worried about my dick, Leonard? You shouldn’t be.”

  “I am,” Leonard shot back. Chris could almost see the man chewing on the stub of a cigarette like it was a raw leg bone. Leonard Braff was a ruthless, heartless predator. It was one of the reasons the man was so good at his job. “Now, want me to tell you why you should be worried about your dick as well?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve just had a call from the studio suits. They’re wanting to renegotiate your contract for the sequel to Dead Even.”

  Chris’s gut clenched. He gripped his phone tighter. “Why?”

  “Because their action star is fucking another man.” Leonard’s concrete-on-glass voice grew hoarse. “And the suits don’t like that.”

  “So what you’re telling me is my sexual choices are dictated to me now by the studio execs?”

  “They are if you’re going to keep making those choices out in public where any prick with a zoom lens can photograph it. Fuck, Chris, you know what the paparazzi are like in Australia. They’re almost as bad as the lot here in the States.”

  A dull buzz thrummed in Chris’s head. His eyes throbbed. His throat felt thick. He scraped a hand through his hair, all too aware Bethany still stood beside him. Bethany, not Liev. “And what do the suits want?” he asked, already knowing he didn’t want to hear the answer.

  “They want you to make a public statement that your…dalliances with the bodyguard was research for an upcoming film. They want you to declare your heterosexuality as loud as possible and to be seen in public every day with a woman until Dead Even finishes its cinema run. They’ve sent me a list of preferable candidates. They’ve suggested a sex tape with one of the candidates leaked onto the net would be a good idea as well.”

  The throbbing in Chris’s eyes moved to the rest of his head. He scrunched up his face, each word his agent said cutting him deep. “And if I don’t?” he asked.

  There was a long pause on the other end of the connection before Leonard finally said, “Do you really want to commit career suicide so young, Chris?”

  There was no hidden meaning in the threat. Chris’s action-film career was over if he didn’t declare himself straight.

  He swallowed, the lump in his throat thick and hot and bitter.

  Beside him, Bethany’s phone began to ring in her hand. He flicked her a look, an invisible blanket of suffocating wool wrapped around him.

  “It’s your sister,” Bethany mouthed, reading her iPhone’s screen.

  Chris’s head buzzed some more. The hair on his nape pricked. “I’ve got to go, Leonard,” he said into his cell.

  He ended the call before his agent could finish shouting a protest.

  Taking Bethany’s offered cell, he raised it to his ear and watched his assistant walk from the room. “Rowie?”

  “Heya, squirt.” His sister’s warm voice tickled his sanity. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  “You’ve seen the images, I take it?”

  She laughed at his stupid question. A faint gurgle through the connection told him his sister was holding his new baby niece. “Hard to miss. I don’t know what it’s like in Australia, but it’s impossible to escape it over here. Glad to see they got your good side.”

  “See?” Chris gave a weak chuckle. “That’s what I said.”

  “So tell me, how long have you been showing your good side to guys?”

  The question was calm. He wished he could see her face. He truly had no idea what Rowan was thinking. Was she disgusted? He didn’t think she would be, but he didn’t really know. She’d never expressed any distaste for homosexuality, but then it wasn’t something they’d discussed often. “Not long,” he answered, studying the ceiling. “Twelve hours or so.”

  “Okay, wasn’t the answer I was expecting.”

  He snorted. “It wasn’t?”

  “No, I’d psyched myself to give you a lecture on not trusting me enough to tell me your sexual preferences. You’ve taken my thunde
r away.”

  Chris frowned. “So you’re not upset?”

  “Upset?” He could hear the shock in her question. “Why would I be upset? Aslin is pissed at Liev for being unprofessional, but me? Chris, I don’t care if you’re gay or straight. You’re still my brother.”

  A tingling pressure rolled up Chris’s spine and over his scalp. He dragged a hand through his hair. Jesus, he wished Rowan was here with him. He’d never needed his sister as much as he did now. “I don’t know if I’m gay. Maybe I’m bi?”

  “Bi?”

  He shrugged, which given Rowan was on the other side of the world was a stupid thing to do. “I’ve slept with my fair share of women, sis.”

  “True. Do you want to sleep with more?”

  The tingling weight creeping over his head turned into a hot vise around his temples. He closed his eyes. The answer to the question twisted a knot around his heart. “No. Not anymore. I honestly can’t see myself with anyone else but Liev.”

  Silence followed his flat statement. He wondered what Rowan was doing? Chewing on her bottom lip most likely. It was her favourite expression when thinking about something important, and the bombshell dropped upon her definitely fell into the important category.

  “So this is you now?” she finally asked, her voice soft.

  “I think this has been me forever, Rowie,” he answered, his chest tight. “I just didn’t know it until I met Reynolds. I’ve never felt connected to any of the women I’ve dated, no matter how perfect for me they seemed to be, even back in high school before the fame and the money. Remember how often you gave me a hard time for not taking any of them seriously? For being a prick about casting them off just when it was obvious they’d become serious about me?”

  “I do.”

  “I used to think that was just the way I was. I used to laugh at the idea of explosive passion and soul-deep fulfillment. Thought it was just some bullshit created by poets and propagated by song writers, chick-flick writers and Mills and Boon.”

  “Oh, Chris,” Rowan murmured.

  He opened his eyes and studied the ceiling again. “And then when I saw that you’d found it with Aslin…” He petered out, not sure how to tell his sister how jealous he’d been.