Muscle for Hire

by Lexxie Couper

  From out of nowhere, Nigel appeared at Chris’s side, as did a pink-haired woman who began brushing the actor’s face with a large make-up brush, another woman who attacked his hair with goop-covered fingers, and a man who hovered about holding out a small black device Aslin recognised as a light metre.

  Aslin looked at everyone, unable to keep the bewilderment from his face. It was all so weird. So surreal. By the time Nigel had finished telling Chris what he wanted him to do, the actor looked like he’d been through hell and back, his hair a disheveled mess, his face smudged with what Aslin assumed was meant to be dirt and sweat.

  “Okay, Chris.” Nigel took a step back. “Are you ready?”

  Chris’s gaze found Aslin. A tension flickered in his eyes, and Aslin knew what had started with a punch to the jaw wasn’t finished yet. But, with one final adjustment to his hair by the woman with the goop-slicked fingers, the actor rolled his shoulders and neck and then gave the director a sharp nod. “Ready.”

  “Ready, Vin?” Nigel called over his shoulder, hurrying back to a stool as the film’s bad guy ambled into the stark white glare of the trolley lights.

  Aslin took his own step backward, dodging a rapidly moving camera operator as he sought a place out of the road. He stopped at the chair marked with Chris’s name, folding his arms across his chest just as Nigel raised a megaphone to his mouth and yelled, “Action.”

  It was the subtle kiss of her heat on his body that told him Rowan stood beside him. Her heat, the delicate scent of her perfume… He stiffened, wanting like hell to turn to her. To smooth his hands over her face, cup her jaw and kiss her. To say sorry for what had taken place. Instead, he stood still and watched her brother beat the shit out of Vin Diesel as a traitorous CIA agent, surrounded by hammocks the film’s props department had created to replicate the historical ones normally hanging in the convict dormitory.

  Nigel called cut often, each time asking Aslin to comment on the scene’s action, more than once getting him to check what was captured on playback. Every time he did, Aslin would step away from Rowan, leaving her sitting in Chris’s chair. Every time he turned back to her, his advice on the fight sequence given, he would find her smiling at him.

  It was a wholly wonderful experience, made all the more special by the fact he was enjoying every second. Telling Nigel how the fight would unfold, having Chris and Vin ask questions and listen to his answer, watching the actors take it all in and put it into play…it was rejuvenating. Exhilarating. Hell, he’d go so far as to say addictive.

  Three hours later, when Nigel called an end to the scene, Aslin was surprised to discover he was disappointed.

  Until Rowan stood from her brother’s chair and grinned at him.

  “Was that fun?”

  He chuckled. “How did I do?”

  “Very well.” She threw Nigel a sideward look. “I think you may be retained as Nigel’s permanent super-soldier go-to guy. Do you think Nick Blackthorne would be okay with that?”

  At the mention of his boss, Aslin laughed. “I suspect the rock star is getting sick of me stalking his shadow. Besides, there aren’t that many crazed fans in Murriundah, and those that are there are crazed fans for the Murriundah Under 12s Soccer team.”

  A stillness fell over Rowan for a moment—in her shoulders, her face—and then just as quickly, her lips curled with an easy smile. “So if there’s a sequel you’d be open to the consultancy job?”

  Aslin studied her. The thought of being with Rowan for the filming of another movie after this made his mouth dry. And his groin tight.

  Not just another movie, but longer than that. Maybe even…

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “What if it filmed in the US?”

  He swallowed. “Still a possibility.”

  Rowan’s lips parted.

  “What did you say to Chris in his trailer?”

  She let out a ragged breath at his question. “I told him I like you.”

  Aslin raised his eyebrows. He kept his expression calm. Inside, his gut was knotting. His palms prickled. His balls throbbed. “Like me?”

  Rowan rolled her eyes. “Yes, like you. You confuse the shit out of me, Rhodes. You scare me too, which I absolutely hate. Nothing scares me, but you do and that pisses me off. I wasn’t planning on you coming into my life, but here you are and now I don’t really know what to do with you.” She turned away, her teeth catching her bottom lip. “Apart from the obvious, and look what happened the last time we did that. Photographed by a fucktard paparazzo for the whole world to see.”

  “You have to admit—” Aslin risked leaning a little closer to her, her tantalizing scent threading into his breath, “—he really captured your good side.”

  Rowan’s laughter turned the throb in his balls to a heavy pulse. His cock stiffened. Christ, he could spend the rest of his life listening to that laugh.

  “What?” She snorted. “My foot?”

  Aslin barely resisted the urge to smooth his palms around her hips and pull her to his body. “It’s a bloody brilliant foot. I know, I’ve felt it, remember?”

  She cocked an eyebrow at him, the grin back on her lips. “I never forget a man whose ass I’ve kicked. Ever.”

  The sound of a throat clearing to their immediate left made Aslin stiffen. He turned, finding Chris—hair slicked back, face free of smudge and sweat, clothes free of rips and tatters—standing beside them. “Nigel’s called lunch. Wanna get some?”

  No.

  The word came close to passing Aslin’s lips. He bit it back. Just. As much as he wanted to throw Rowan over his shoulder and carry her off somewhere, he had nowhere to carry her off to. The trailer he’d been assigned still hadn’t arrived, his hotel was too far away and he’d promised Chris he wouldn’t touch his sister in public. Which was damn inconvenient, given how much he wanted to touch her.

  Touch her. Kiss her. Hold her.

  “Jeff is waiting for us in the car,” Chris went on, looking back and forth between Aslin and Rowan. “Thought we might try that restaurant near the Opera House the writer keeps raving on about.” An ambiguous tension twisted his mouth. Aslin couldn’t decide if it was a smile, or a grimace. He guessed the answer would come later when Chris made up his mind about the whole situation.

  “Sounds good.” Rowan nodded. Aslin’s chest tightened at the note of impatient annoyance in her voice.

  Chris heard it as well, if the way he rolled his eyes at his sister was anything to judge by. “If you were anyone but my sister, I’d tell you to get a room.” He frowned, shooting Aslin a sideward glance. “But my knuckles still hurt from punching Rhodes in the jaw, so just pretend for an hour you don’t want to fuck each other’s brains out, okay?”

  Rowan threw her own frown back at him. “Shut the fuck up, Chris.”

  “Mr. Huntley?”

  Tilly appeared at Chris’s elbow, her young face wide with an expectant smile. Behind her stood her boyfriend, his expression unreadable. Aslin narrowed his eyes. The man gave off a sullen air.

  Chris grinned. “Warren, dude.” He bumped fists with Tilly’s boyfriend. “How goes the key-grip job?”

  Draping his arm around Tilly’s shoulder, Warren smiled. “Not bad, bro. Not bad. Not as good as hanging out with you all the time.” Aslin didn’t miss the quick glance he gave Rowan. “But not bad. Meant I got to meet this lovely lady here.” He squeezed Tilly’s shoulder and dropped a kiss on the side of her mouth before looking back at Chris. “So we doing lunch? I’m freaking starving.”

  A soft noise drew Aslin’s attention to Rowan. She was frowning, her arms crossed over her breasts, her lips twisted into a thin line.

  That’s not a happy woman.

  The memory of her distaste for the key grip came back to him.

  “Sorry, dude,” Chris’s rejection, spoken with a soft chuckle, made Aslin look back at Tilly’s boyfriend. “Not this time. I haven’t really had the chance to catch up with Rowie yet.”

  Warren laughed. “Sure,
sure. Understand.” He hugged Tilly tighter with his arm. “I’ll take this little lady out to the catering truck and buy her something nice. Catch you later.”

  Chris nodded. “Hell, yeah.”

  “Later.” After another fist bump with Chris, and a quick glance at Rowan, the key grip turned and walked away, almost dragging Tilly with him.

  “Wow,” Rowan’s laugh sent a lick of tight heat into the pit of Aslin’s stomach. “I’m impressed.”

  “Shut up, sis.” Chris swiped his hand at her chin. “I only said no ’cause I don’t want to hear you carrying on about my entourage. You know those guys weren’t all that bad. We had a lot of fun.”

  Rowan pulled a face. “I remember. Most especially the times I had to come pull your stupid ass from one party or another when you were all too drunk to even know your names.”

  Chris pulled a face in return. “Yeah, okay. I’ll give you that.” He grinned at Aslin. “I was a little shit when I was younger.”

  Rowan barked out a dry laugh. “A little?”

  “Shut up, shut up.” Chris reached out and gave her a quick hug, releasing her just as quickly. “Let’s go. Before I change my mind and call Warren back.”

  Chapter Eight

  Lunch turned out to be an interesting affair. Aslin spent most of it watching Rowan and Chris trade insults back and forth, their smiles wide and their eyes shining with joy. It was obvious the siblings had a deep love for each other, a love that extended to Rowan being very prickly and on edge when more than one diner at the restaurant approached their table and asked Chris for his autograph. Aslin sat back observing it all. It was unusual for him to be in a social environment with a celebrity without being employed to guard them, and he was perplexed by the situation. The second they entered the restaurant, he’d scoped out all exit points, noted who was sitting at the surrounding tables and how many staff were visible. He couldn’t stop himself positioning Chris with his back to the main entry, which meant anyone outside would be unable to see the actor’s face and gave Aslin a clear view of anyone who came in from the street.

  The other thing he couldn’t help but notice was how often Rowan studied him. When she wasn’t giving her brother grief about his ordered meal, or teasing him about how woeful his kicks and punches were on set, she was watching Aslin with an expression he could only call speculative.

  Surprisingly, he liked her inspection. Never one to enjoy or endure any protracted scrutiny, he found Rowan’s gaze on him more than pleasing. It meant she was thinking about all of him. He could see it in the way she chewed on her bottom lip. They’d been king-hit by their overwhelming sexual attraction to each other, but in this moment, sitting eating in a restaurant with one of the world’s most famous actors, they were just two people enjoying each other’s company. And getting to know each other in the process.

  “Did you know that, Aslin?”

  Aslin blinked, caught completely off-guard by Chris’s question.

  “Sorry?” He turned to the actor, unable to miss the way the lad was grinning at him.

  “Caught you.”

  Aslin frowned. “Caught me what?”

  Chris laughed. “Caught you staring at my sister.”

  “Oh for God’s sake, squirt.” Rowan snorted. “Grow up.”

  Chris chuckled before looking at Aslin again. “Did you know Rowan was in the very first episode of Twice Too Many?”

  Aslin’s eyebrows shot up. He turned to Rowan, loving the way a faint pink tinge painted her cheeks. “Really?”

  “Yep.” Chris nodded. “She was ‘Woman with dog’, the woman my character had an argument with about the dog shit I’d just slipped on.”

  Aslin gave Rowan a curious look.

  Rowan rolled her eyes. “I said four words. ‘It wasn’t my dog’. The director pulled me aside and told me I had no acting talent to speak of.”

  Chris’s laughter reverberated around the restaurant. More than one diner lifted their attention from their meal. “He was right. Sorry, Rowie, but you can’t act to save yourself.”

  “Gee, thanks, brother mine.”

  Chris grinned. “You’re welcome. Me on the other hand—”

  “Can’t fight your way out of a wet paper bag,” Rowan cut him off with a smirk.

  “In Chris’s defense,” Aslin said, giving them both a serious gaze, “wet paper is actually harder to puncture and tear through than dry paper.”

  Chris frowned at him. “Really?”

  Aslin shook his head. “No. Sorry.”

  Chris let out a snort. “Geez, where’s my entourage when I need it?”

  “Not draining your bank account,” Rowan shot back. “Now eat your salad.”

  Aslin laughed. He couldn’t help himself. He’d never felt so relaxed. So…so…content. It was a genuinely unexpected feeling. One he could get used to.

  And how is that going to happen? Are you telling Nick you’re quitting? Or will you become Chris’s guard purely so you can be with Rowan? What exactly do you think is going to happen, boyo?

  He didn’t know. But he wasn’t going to think about it now. He was going to enjoy his lunch, enjoy Chris’s easy company, and enjoy every second spent with Rowan. After, when the day was finished and he had Rowan all to himself, then he’d explore the new emotion boiling through him. Then, when he was buried balls deep in her tight wetness, he would think about where exactly he wanted this unexpected direction of his life to take him. Then he would—

  “…the film so far?”

  He blinked, once again caught out by Chris.

  The actor laughed. “Oh, dude, please don’t tell me you were thinking about my sister again. My hand hasn’t recovered yet.”

  “Seriously, Chris.” Rowan’s tone took on a warning note. “Shut up.”

  “No, really.” Chris lifted his right hand and flexed his fingers, studying them with a melodramatic pout. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold a pen for days.”

  “When the freaking hell do you ever need to hold a pen?”

  “When I sign contracts. Sign autographs. C’mon, you’ve seen how bad I was at signing the ones I did in here. Some sympathy would be nice.”

  “Chris,” Rowan dragged out his name. “Enough.”

  Chris laughed. “Okay. Okay. But honestly, give me a week or two before you pair go making out in public again, please? My hand won’t be able to survive if you keep doing it too often.”

  “Another word,” Rowan snapped, poking her fork—tines first—at him, “and I’ll stab you with this. Does your face insurance cover eating-utensil injury?”

  The rest of the meal was spent in casual conversation, the film the main topic of discussion. Chris was very happy with the way it was going. He talked often about the opportunity to show the world he was more than a fast joke and a tight butt. Rowan pointed out she’d been telling him that for years, and then commented his butt wasn’t as good as he thought it was. By the time their empty plates were taken away and the head chef came out to accept Chris’s compliments, Aslin knew so much more about the two people beside him than they realised.

  Chris hid his insecurities behind his jokes and humour, Rowan hid hers behind a shield of maternal strength and mother-bear protectiveness.

  But what was there to be insecure about? Aslin pondered the question as he watched Chris rise from the table to meet the owner of the restaurant. He knew little about the actor’s background and had never watched an episode of his sitcom. And as for Rowan…

  “He’s not as silly as he pretends to be.”

  Aslin turned to Rowan, finding her studying her brother as he chatted with the owner.

  “I gathered that.”

  She turned her gaze to Aslin. “He’s just…lost. I don’t think he’s really let himself be who he is yet. After what happened to Mom and Dad…” She shrugged. “Well, that kind of thing messes you up, of course.”

  “What happened to your mum and dad?”

  Rowan stiffened. “You don’t know?”

>   He shook his head.

  Returning her attention to her brother, who was now laughing with the chef, their waiter and the restaurant owner, Rowan let out a long sigh. She folded her arms across her body, tucking her hands under her armpits. It was the most guarded position Aslin had seen her take, the action of someone vulnerable and worried. “I thought everyone in the industry knew. Hell, since the day Chris first appeared on TV everyone in the world knew. Or maybe it just felt that way to me?”

  “What happened?”

  She let out another sigh, this one shaky. “When we were younger our parents were killed in a burglary in progress. Chris and I watched it happen. He was only sixteen.” She stopped. Her jaw bunched and she looked away.

  Aslin waited. He knew there was more in her heart. Whether she wanted to share it now was a different matter.

  “We came home while it was happening,” she continued, her voice soft. “We’d all been to the movies. There were three of them in the house. They knocked Mom out with Dad’s baseball bat as she walked through the door and beat the shit out of Dad before Chris or I could do a thing. Then they tied us to a chair and…attacked Mom while she was still unconscious, beat her with the bat when she came to, laughing the whole time. When they got tired of that, when she was unconscious again, they untied me…”

  Aslin’s gut rolled. Cold fury turned the blood in his veins to ice. He didn’t say a word.

  “Someone must have called the cops though, one of our neighbours maybe, because before they could do…what they were going to do to me…the sirens came and they took off.”

  She looked back at her brother, now standing at the counter, signing for the bill. Or maybe an autograph. From where Aslin stood at the door with Rowan, he couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter. Not when the horror in Rowan’s emotionless voice kept him rooted to the spot. Not with the dead rage thrumming through his body.

  “Mom died in my arms. Chris sat tied to the chair watching it all. They never caught the bastards that did it.”