Should have.
She drove her nails into her palms and glared at McQueen. “Where is he? Take me to him now.”
“This way.” The director turned and began to walk away.
Rowan nodded at Aslin. “Thanks for bringing me here. I’ll catch a taxi back to Chris’s trailer lat—”
“Chris wants to see Aslin too.” Nigel’s voice cut her dismissal short. “He said the two of you would be together.”
Hot tension squirmed through Rowan’s belly, but from Nigel’s words or the look Aslin gave her that echoed exactly what he’d told her in the elevator—that it wasn’t over—she didn’t know.
Of course you know. It’s both.
It was both. She was pissed Chris had made a connection with the bodyguard. And she was unnerved that she had as well.
Without a word, she walked through the door. A white flash popped behind her, telling her at least one paparazzo had risked being given a colonoscopy to get a photo of Nick Blackthorne’s bodyguard. On a detached level, she wondered if images of Aslin without the rock star sold, and then she saw her brother sitting propped against a pile of pillows on a hospital bed, a white butterfly bandage stuck to his eyebrow and all thoughts of the paparazzi vanished.
“Hey, sis.” A wide grin split Chris’s world-famous face. He cocked his head to the side a little, no doubt in an attempt to show her his wound. “Looks like I’m going to need to make a claim on my insurance. What do you think, Aslin? Will it make me more believable as a seasoned commando?”
“Definitely,” Aslin’s deep rumble behind her made Rowan’s belly knot. “All us commandos have scars.”
Before she could stop herself, she turned and cast a steady inspection over Aslin’s hawkishly handsome face. There was a ghost of a scar along his strong right jaw line, a thin straight line that—to her practiced eye—looked like the result of a blade or knife of some kind, and a smaller, thicker scar just above his left eyebrow near his temple. Neither detracted from the understated sensuality radiating from him. In fact, they only emphasized it. In a menacing, primitive way.
Oh boy. She was pathetic.
“Like what you see?”
A fiery blush flooded Rowan’s cheeks at Aslin’s murmured question. She started, jerking her attention back to her brother. Only to find Chris grinning at her.
Great. Just great.
“Rowan and Aslin sitting in a tree,” her brother sang off-key, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Kay. Eye. Ess. Ess. Eye. En—”
She thumped him in the shoulder with a fist. “Shut the fuck up.”
He laughed.
Behind her, Aslin chuckled. Chuckled.
“Probably not a good idea to hit the patient.” An older man dressed in a white coat appeared at the foot Chris’s bed, a disapproving frown on his seamed face. He reached for the chart, the wrinkles in his forehead deepening. “Hmm. Your vitals are still a little erratic, Mr. Huntley. I’m thinking I’d like to keep you in overnight for observation.”
Rowan stiffened. “What’s going on, doctor?”
The elder gentleman lifted an eyebrow at her. “Apart from being punched in the shoulder, you mean?”
Chris snorted. “Gotcha there, sis.”
“Sister?” The doctor made a tsk tsk sound.
Rowan bit back a retort. No matter how much she wanted to tell the old coot to shut up, now wasn’t the time. “Is Chris okay?”
“He’s fine, Rowan,” Nigel answered. Apparently because the doctor decided he needed to check Chris’s eyesight. “A mild concussion. But the studio bosses will feel happier if Chris stays overnight.”
Rowan looked at the doctor currently studying her brother’s right eye. “Just a concussion?”
The doctor didn’t break off his inspection of Chris’s eyeball. “I believe so. But I want to be sure.”
“Awesome.” Rowan pulled a face at her brother. “First night in Australia and I’m sleeping in a hospital room. Way to go, squirt.”
The doctor straightened. “I don’t know how you do things in America, but unless the patient is possibly going to die, overnight visitors are not allowed in the hospital rooms.”
Rowan frowned. “But he’s my brother.”
Chris smirked at her. “And he’s alive. Yay. Now take off. I thought I was getting out tonight but it looks like I’m staying put.”
“So I came all this way for what?”
Her brother looked at her. “To go buy me a toothbrush?”
She crossed her arms. “Seriously?”
The clatter of the hospital chart dropping back into its holder prevented Chris from saying whatever he was going to say. It was probably for the best. By the gleam in his eye, it would have made Rowan want to punch his shoulder again.
“That’s enough for the evening, I think,” the doctor spoke up. He fixed her with a steady glower, obviously not impressed with any of them. “You can come collect Mr. Huntley tomorrow, but now he needs rest.”
Rowan studied her brother’s grinning face, her belly tight. She couldn’t help but notice the deep purple bruise smudging his cheek. He’d been very lucky, it seemed. The fall from the trailer could have really hurt him, and as much as the idea pained her, his good looks were part of his career. If his face had been damaged, his nose broken, it would have impacted the filming of Dead Even and may have had an adverse effect on his future roles.
Damn it. It was times like these she wished he were a normal brother, with a normal job. Like a dog walker or something. She wouldn’t need to be constantly worrying about stuff like this, superficial stuff, surreal stuff, if he was a dog walker.
“Don’t worry, miss,” the doctor continued, his glower replaced with calm sympathy. “We are well aware of who your brother is. The media and any unauthorized personnel will not be allowed access to him or the ward he stays in. There will be no need for his bodyguard to stay.”
The word bodyguard sent a hot lick of something delicious through Rowan’s agitation. She threw the silent Aslin a quick look over her shoulder, her pulse pounding faster at the sight of his towering strength and undeniable presence.
For a worrying moment, she longed to feel his warm, strong hand on the small of her back again. To lean against his hard body and surrender to the attraction she felt for him.
That same hot lick teased her again at the thought. Why couldn’t she lean on him? Would it truly be so bad?
“Thanks, doc.” Nigel’s voice jerked her from the ridiculous question, and she focused her attention on the film director. “Aslin, can I trouble you to take Rowan…” He stopped, giving Rowan a frown. “Where are you staying, Rowan?”
She blinked. She hadn’t booked into a hotel room yet. She hadn’t planned on her brother ending up in the ER. Just like she hadn’t planned to spend the evening being seduced by a British super-soldier.
Or making out with said soldier in an alley behind a bar.
“She can crash in my suite tonight,” Chris piped up. “But after that you’re on your own, sis. You cramp my style too much.”
Nigel laughed. Even the doctor chuckled.
Rowan glared at them all. “Your style? Falling flat on your face, you mean?”
Chris smirked. “That’s the one.”
“Fun’s over,” the doctor said. “Time for everyone to go. Mr. McQueen, as the person who brought Mr. Huntley in, can I get you to sign some paper work at the nurses desk, please?”
“Sure thing, doc.” Nigel extended his arm across Chris, and Rowan almost yelped when Aslin brushed against her to complete the handshake. “Thanks for taking care of Rowan for us, Aslin. Back to normal on set tomorrow, okay? Shall we say ten a.m.?”
“We shall,” Aslin answered.
Or at least she thought he did. All she could hear was the roaring of her blood in her ears. With just one small touch of his body—his chest on her shoulder, of all things—she was almost panting with need. God, how was she going to survive the motorcycle ride to Chris’s hotel?
; “Give me a kiss, sis.” Chris chuckled. “And stop freaking out.”
Heart far too fast for its own good, Rowan leant forward and dropped a kiss on her brother’s cheek, right beside the blooming purple bruise. “I’m not freaking out,” she muttered.
Chris laughed. “Yes, you are,” he shot back, his voice low. “And I know exactly why and it has nothing to do with me.” He slid a quick look over her shoulder, a shoulder still tingling from Aslin’s contact.
A thick lump formed in Rowan’s throat. She forgot sometimes how astute and observant her brother was. The world knew him as a sexy, handsome funny-man, a guy with a quick wit and a killer smile, and sometimes she herself was guilty of pigeon-holing him the same way. But he was more than that. He was smart and perceptive and tuned into her moods as only a brother who’d survived a nightmare with his sister could be.
“Love you, Rowie,” he murmured into her ear. “Now fuck off and have some fun for a change, will you?”
Rowan swallowed, unable to find any words. Instead, she gave her brother a quick nod, straightened and stepped back from his bed.
“Okay, Mr. Huntley,” the doctor said, just as a tall male nurse arrived and released the locking mechanism on the bed’s casters. “Time to exit left. Or is the appropriate term ‘That’s a wrap’?” The elder gentleman chuckled, slid his pen into his top pocket and gave Rowan a smile. “Do not stress, miss. Your brother will be fine.” And with that, and a quick inclination of his head to Aslin, he left.
As did Chris, the male nurse pulling the bed from its place without warning and maneuvering him away.
“I was about to say welcome to the weird world of film making, Mr. Rhodes—” Nigel chuckled, “—but I suspect the music world is equally weird, right?”
“Somewhat.” A shiver rippled up Rowan’s spine at Aslin’s voice. Damn it, when was she going to stop reacting to his accent?
Never?
Nigel laughed and then turned to her. “Rowan, Tilly has Chris’s hotel key. She’s waiting on set until she hears from me. Give her a call to let her know you’re on your way to collect them.”
Rowan nodded. “Thanks, Nigel.”
The director cast them both a contemplative look, as if seeing something he hadn’t expected, and then strode through the private room toward another door on the other side.
Which left Rowan alone with Aslin.
Again.
For some stupid reason her mouth went dry.
When Aslin placed his hand on the small of her back—the very place she’d been aching for it to be since he removed it—she jumped.
She lifted her stare up to his face, her lips prickling with a sudden rush of blood. “I…” she began.
A crooked smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. “Let’s go. There’s things that need to be done.”
Rowan’s heart smashed against her breastbone. She swallowed, her stomach muscles clenching. “Aslin, what we did—”
His dark gaze grew intense. “Isn’t finished.” And with that, he directed her from the room out into the ER waiting area beyond.
There were no camera flashes to been seen as they crossed the floor. She didn’t hear any more mutters of Nick Blackthorne’s name from the surrounding seats, nor the word bodyguard whispered, but the tension in Aslin’s body as they walked to the elevator told Rowan he suspected the paparazzi were still lurking there.
Or maybe he was tense because of her? Maybe, despite how calm and cool he seemed, he was just as disturbed by the sexual chemistry between them both?
She didn’t let herself ponder the possibility. When they stepped into the elevator, she pulled her cell phone from her hip pocket and dialed Chris’s personal assistant’s number, refusing to look at Aslin as she waited for Tilly to answer.
She heard him chuckle, a low rumble that made her sex throb, and then Tilly, in her subtle Californian accent, was saying, “Oh my God, Ms. Hemsworth, is Mr. Huntley okay?” in her ear.
The duration of the trip down to the parking level was spent arranging with Tilly to meet at Chris’s trailer within the hour. Rowan kept her stare on the closed elevator doors the whole time. It was gutless coward’s way to deal with a situation, but all Rowan could manage. The whole thing was too overwhelming. Too confronting and confusing. Better to spend longer than normal talking to Chris’s perky personal assistant than deal with the…the…thing hanging between her and the Brit. Not until she got her head around it. And decided on the next course of action.
She was still talking to Tilly—enquiring about Chris’s food intake while she’d been in Canada, of all things—when she and Aslin crossed the parking level to his Ducati. Their footfalls bounced around the quiet space, a soft tempo that rivaled the rapid beating of her heart. By the time Tilly said goodbye, Rowan was so tense, so on-edge, she could barely draw breath.
Getting back onto the Ducati was insane.
Pressing her chest and belly to Aslin’s broad back, nudging his butt cheeks with her spread pussy, hugging his hips with her inner thighs…all insane. God, at this rate she would come the second he started the bike.
Long, firm fingers circled her upper arms a heartbeat before a tall, hard body appeared directly before her. She stiffened, her stare clashing with Aslin’s. “You can’t ignore me forever, Rowan,” he spoke, that sexy British accent doing wicked things to her senses. “Especially when I do this.”
He lowered his head and captured her lips with his, his tongue delving into her mouth with velvet ease.
She didn’t fight him. There was no point. She wanted this kiss, this touch as much as he did. Maybe more. She’d denied her sexual needs for a long time, putting Chris’s wellbeing above everything else except her driving need to never be weak and vulnerable again. The number of dates she’d been on since Twice Too Many hit the air could be counted on two hands. If she wasn’t looking out for her brother, protecting him in the only way she knew how, she was working out in the dojo, training, sweating out the fears and the nightmares of her parents’ murders until she was nothing but a well-honed machine capable of breaking a fully-grown man in two with a simple jiu-jitsu move. And yet here she was now, rendered vulnerable to an emotion far more all-consuming than fear and terror.
Here she was, surrendering to a fully grown man’s mastery over her body with no more fight than a whimpered groan.
Surrendering willingly. Despite the fact they were in a parking lot. Despite the fact her brother was somewhere in the hospital above her, injured due to a suspicious situation.
Surrendering and aching for more. Aching for Aslin’s total and utter possession of her body.
Weak.
Vulnerable.
Defeated.
Oh God, she’d never felt so damn on fire. So damn alive.
She pressed her hips to his, rolled them, wanting to feel the solid steel of his erection trapped by his jeans grind against the curve of her sex.
He growled into her mouth. That was the only word for it, a growl, animalistic and dominating. Her pussy turned to liquid need at the purely male sound. She raked her nails over his shoulder, knotted her fingers in the hair at his nape. He lashed his tongue against hers, his rigid cock pressing into her belly.
Her head swam. Her sex throbbed. She gave herself over to his control, the kiss igniting a need within her she could no longer ignore.
He circled his hands around her waist and, without tearing his lips from hers, hauled her from the ground. She moaned into his mouth as he spun her around and deposited her onto the seat of his bike, wrapped her legs around his hips and slammed his trapped cock to the junction of her thighs.
Chapter Five
The last place Aslin wanted to make love to Rowan was on the back of his motorbike. First against a wall in an alleyway, now an uneven bike seat in a cold, concrete parking lot. The trouble was the second, the very second, she looked up at him with those mesmerizing blue eyes of hers, any sodding notion of controlling his lust vanished.
Kissing her wasn�
��t enough.
He needed to be inside her. Now.
He dug his fingers into the firm muscles of her arse cheeks and squeezed, pressing his cock to her heat as he did so. Pleasurable pain shot through his groin and he groaned into her mouth, hauling her harder to his erection. She raked at his shoulders with her nails, her thighs squeezing his hips, her own moans loud in the near-empty parking level.
Stop, boyo. Not here. Not like this…
But he couldn’t. His hands roamed her legs, up her ribcage, over her breasts. She gasped into his mouth when he pinched one nipple through her shirt, her nails scraping at the back of his neck in response. He liked it. A lot. He’d never been one for BDSM, but the pain Rowan wrought on his body was delicious.
Pinching her nipple again, he steeled himself against the agony of her nails on his flesh. The pain came, sending fresh hot blood surging through his straining dick and he groaned again. More pain followed, pleasurable pain, when she snared a fistful of his hair and tugged. Fast and hard.
He tore his mouth from her lips, sucking in a steady breath as he stared down into her eyes. “I can fuck you here and now, Rowan. On my bike. Where anyone can stumble upon us. I don’t care. I’m beyond caring. But it’s your call. I don’t want you to—”
A sudden white flash bleached Rowan’s face, followed by another, and another.
Aslin spun around, his glare falling on a familiar man standing but a few feet away, a large SLR camera held up to his face.
Aslin’s gut clenched, cold fury storming through him.
Holston.
“Now that’s what I call an action shot, Rhodes,” the notorious Australian paparazzo called out, removing the memory card from the camera with swift hands. “You been taking lessons from that boss of yours?” He shoved the card into his back pocket with a smirk. “How is Nick by the way? Fucking around on his wife yet? I was hoping you’d lead me to him, but instead I found—”
Rowan stiffened in Aslin’s arms. For a second. Only one. And then she was off his bike and sprinting toward Holston, a feline grace claiming her body.
Muscle for Hire Page 5
