Future plans? Christ, boyo. What future plans? Maybe she didn’t think to mention it because as far as she’s concerned, whatever this thing is between you, it’s over when she leaves Sydney?
A gripping pressure wrapped Aslin’s chest and he bit back a curse. He had no grounds for being angry, but he was. Angry he’d let himself reach this state. It had to be because he felt adrift. Uncertain about where his life was heading. That was the only explanation he could think of.
The subject of Rowan’s future tournament didn’t come up for the rest of the trip around Sydney Harbour. Nor did filming. But the relaxed calm Aslin had experienced since making love to Rowan in his trailer had deserted him.
Back on set, he stood in the wings, watching Chris and Vin Diesel beat it out for the cameras, interjecting when necessary. Chris’s fighting technique had improved considerably, a fact the stunt coordinator commented on more than once with begrudging respect. But not even that could elevate Aslin’s dark state of mind. He’d gone and fallen for a woman who didn’t need him. For that, he had no solution.
When his cell phone started sounding out the “Funeral March”, he pulled it from his pocket and walked off set. “What’s up, Nick?”
His boss laughed. “Not having a good time, Uncle As?”
“Do you have a crazed stalker after you, Blackthorne? Or can I just hang up now?”
Nick laughed again. “Settle down, Aslin. I just wanted to let you know Lauren, Josh and I are flying out of the country tomorrow. I thought I’d show them the beauty of autumn in New York before Josh has to go back to school.”
The tight pressure that gripped Aslin’s chest back on the boat wrapped around it again. “Okay, boss. Give me five hours and I’ll be home.”
“Aslin.” Nick’s voice was steady. “You’re staying put.”
Aslin fixed his stare on a group of people—most likely extras, by the military combat uniforms they wore—walking toward the set. His throat grew thick. “Is this it then? Time for me to find another job?”
“No, As. Just time for you to enjoy being Aslin Rhodes, not Nick Blackthorne’s nameless bodyguard.” Nick paused. “Understand what I’m getting at?”
Aslin swallowed, tracking the approaching extras without really seeing them.
“Besides,” Nick went on, “I keep seeing you in the background of the images of Huntley popping up all over the media. Standing there next to your friend from the hospital car park.”
“Rowan,” Aslin murmured, his chest heavy.
“I know who she is, As. And I don’t want to take you away from her.”
Aslin let out a short grunt. “Don’t think that’s a situation to worry about. She’s flying out for Berlin on Sunday. Or maybe New Delhi.”
“And you’re not going with her?”
Go with her? If she asked him to go with her, would he?
Aslin’s pulse smashed hard in his neck. Bloody hell, he would.
“She hasn’t asked, boss.”
“And you’re going to wait for her to do so?”
Aslin ground his teeth at Nick’s pointed question.
“Do you remember when I decided Lauren was the only woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, Aslin?”
“I do.”
“Can you remember how fucked up I was before I found her again?”
“Are you saying I’m fucked up, Nick?”
Nick laughed. “I’m saying don’t let the chance of happiness slip away, Rhodes. Grab it, hold it. Hell, strangle it if you have to. But don’t let it slip away. Trust me on this, okay?”
Aslin closed his eyes, drew a long, slow breath and released it.
“Now get back to work,” Nick ordered, the grin in his voice unmistakable. “I’ve got to pack for New York. Oh, and we’ll be gone for a while, so there’s no need to hurry back from Sydney. Take Rowan somewhere perfect and private on that bike of yours. Got it?”
Nick disconnected the call before Aslin could respond.
Studying the group of extras, Aslin let out a breath. Nick was correct. Aslin had watched the singer come close to self-destructing, and it was only when he’d acknowledged Lauren Robbins was his heart and future that he’d found true peace. Aslin didn’t know if Rowan was his heart and his future, but he damn well wanted the chance to find out.
He shoved his phone into his pocket and turned to the film set behind him.
And then spun back around to face the extras.
One of them was wrong.
He narrowed his eyes, staring hard at the group. Picking out the extra that had caught his attention. Tufts of blazing red hair poked out from under a helmet that looked like it came from a costume shop, not a military supply store.
Thick, over-zealous make-up coated the extra’s face.
The extra that was the crazed fan hell bent on meeting Chris.
Aslin ground his teeth. “Fuck it.”
He ran at the group, letting out a disgusted groan when the woman squealed and took off. She stumbled through the extras, shoving aside those in her way in her bid to escape him.
Aslin increased his speed, keeping his stare locked on her back. Exasperation knotted through his anger. When he was finished dealing with her he was going to have a word with security. How the hell she kept getting on site was inexcusable.
With a yelp, the fleeing fan darted right, her feet skidding on the concrete and an incredulous part of Aslin’s mind noticed she was wearing hot-pink running shoes.
How the bloody hell had she fooled Security in those damn—
The woman yanked off her toy-shop helmet and hurled it at Aslin. “Fuck off, Pom!” she yelled, scrambling left.
Around them, film crew stopped and stared.
“Go back to England!”
Aslin ground his teeth and pushed more speed into his legs. He was done being a nice guy.
Crash-tackling her to the ground, he grabbed her wrists before she could scratch him with her nails. “Enough,” he snapped, hauling her to her feet.
The crowd cheered, more than one laughing at the woman’s wild efforts to break free of Aslin’s grip. In amongst her kicking legs and attempts to spit on him, Aslin spied a swarm of burly men dressed in black running toward them.
About sodding—
Sharp teeth sank into his shoulder.
With a snarl, he jerked away from the woman’s bite. “That’s enough.”
“Found yourself a girlfriend, Rhodes?”
The broad Australian accent told Aslin that Liev Reynolds was behind him. The chuckle in the part-time bodyguard’s voice told him Reynolds thought the situation funny.
“She’s a charmer, this one,” the Australian pointed out. “Want me to give you a—”
“Chris!” the woman shrieked. “Chris, it’s me! Belinda! Chris!”
At the sound of her name, the men dressed in black let out a collection of curses.
Leiv laughed. “Think they know her?”
Yanking the writhing woman harder against his chest, Aslin shot Chris, who was standing behind Nigel and a collection of crew a few yards away, a quick look. “Do you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at the closest security guard.
The man nodded, unclipping a set of handcuffs from his belt. “Yeah. She’s been a nuisance since filming started. Keeps sending requests for autographs. Begging to meet Mr. Huntley. Don’t know how she does it, but she keeps getting on site.”
He stepped forward, snared the fan’s upper arm and tugged her toward him.
“Chris!” She screamed. “It’s Belinda! Chris!”
Aslin turned to the actor, the stunned expression telling him exactly what he’d suspected—Chris had no idea who the woman was. It was an expression Aslin was more than familiar with. Nick had worn it often when confronted by unhinged, obsessed fanatics.
Returning his attention to the guard, he watched the man click the cuffs around the struggling woman’s wrists. “Time to call the cops, honey,” the guard snarled.
“I love you, C
hris!” she cried, stare fixed on the actor as the security team dragged her away. “Will you sign my—”
Whatever she wanted signed was muffled, no doubt by the hand of the guard holding her.
Silence fell over the surrounding film crew. For about ten seconds. And then, almost as one, normality resumed. People continued walking to their previous destinations, calls on cell phones were made, conversation continued. The military-dressed extras mingled about, casting uncertain looks between each other until the second unit director hurried over and rounded them up.
“So does this mean I’m not needed anymore, Rhodes?”
Aslin turned his attention to Liev Reynolds, finding the Australian smirking beside him.
“No.” He shook his head. “Not yet. Huntley’s too easy a target and my gut…” He stopped. His gut was telling him something was wrong. Something that had nothing to do with Belinda.
Rowan. You still believe someone is trying to hurt Rowan.
He did. But for some reason he hadn’t pushed the subject with her.
Some reason? Perhaps because you were distracted losing yourself in her body? Making love to her until you could barely move?
Fucking her senseless?
“Rhodes?”
He gave Liev a steady look. “Stay on him, but keep it low. Just in case.”
The bodyguard nodded. “Righto. Will let you know if anything feels off.”
Without any seeming interest in Chris, who was currently making his way toward them both, the Australian shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and ambled away.
“I tell you,” the actor said, a grin splitting his face, “this trip to Oz truly has been wild.”
Aslin raised an eyebrow. “I can’t imagine life is ever boring for you.”
Chris chuckled. “Rowie keeps things pretty normal. Well, as normal as it can get for someone in my line of work.”
“Does it annoy you? Her meddling in your affairs? Telling you what you can and can’t do?”
Chris burst out laughing. “Not at all. She’s right to. I’m a lost cause without her. Before she stepped up to the plate and took charge, I was pissing away all my money on booze, parties and who the fuck knows what else. Poor Tilly had to deal with a lot of shit and vomit back then, I gotta say.”
“You know anyone who would be irritated by it?”
An unreadable tension pulled at Chris’s face. He studied Aslin, eyes narrow, shoulders straightening. “No. Should I?”
The band of pressure that had made itself at home around Aslin’s chest grew tight once again. For a second, he considered telling Chris his thoughts. For a second. “No.” He shook his head with a smile. “Just wondering if I’m the only one she frustrates to no end.”
Better to keep Chris in the dark. A worried brother would make it impossible to catch whoever it was.
And that’s your plan now? To catch them?
It was.
A relaxed guffaw bubbled past Chris’s lips. “Ah, I figured she was getting under your skin. If it helps, it means she likes you. A lot.”
If the band squeezing Aslin’s chest grew any tighter, he’d be asphyxiating.
Likes you. A lot.
What about loves?
The unspoken question punched into Aslin. He forced his hands into fists as he watched Rowan walk up to Nigel and Tilly a few feet away. His heart quickened.
“So what are your thoughts on coming to Berlin?”
Chris’s question slid Aslin’s focus back to the actor. “I haven’t any yet.”
Chris pulled a contemplative face. “What if I ask you about your thoughts on going to New Delhi?”
Aslin ground his teeth.
“Yeah.” Chris chuckled. “Figured as much. Want me to ask her to the prom for you?”
Aslin’s withering glare didn’t stop Chris from laughing again. Nor did Rowan’s arrival at Chris’s side with Tilly in tow.
Rowan gave her brother a curious frown. “What’s so funny?”
“The British super soldier here.” Chris threw a nod in Aslin’s direction. “He wants to ask you to the prom.”
Rowan’s frown vanished. “The prom? What the—”
“Do they have the prom in England?” Tilly asked.
Aslin didn’t miss the way Rowan’s lips twitched. Nor the way Chris drew a slow breath before turning to his personal assistant. “Tilly, can you get me a bottle of coconut water, please? Luke warm. Unopened. Oh, and an apple. I’d prefer a red delicious.”
“Sure, Mr. Huntley.” The young woman hurried away, the ever-present spring in her step. She was joined by her boyfriend a few steps away, Warren McCreedy flipping Chris a wave before wrapping his arm around her shoulders.
“Now,” Chris said, grinning at Aslin. “About the prom—”
Aslin met his smirk with an unwavering stare. “Do you want me to hurt you, Chris?”
The actor held up his hands. “Okay, dude. I get the point. How ’bout I go talk to my director over there about something important while you talk to my sister about—”
Something in Aslin’s face sent Chris running.
“What’s going on, soldier boy?”
Aslin’s heart thumped hard. He leveled his gaze to her face, noting the uncharacteristic uncertainty in her eyes. “Are you going to New Delhi?”
Rowan stiffened. “If I am?”
“I’d like to come with you.”
She was quiet for a long moment. “What about the film shoot? Berlin?”
“I’m not interested in Berlin.”
Her lips parted at his not-so-subtle answer. She gazed up at him, her eyes battling his, her eyebrows pulling together. “Is this…” She paused. “Can we, you and I…can it work?”
Aslin drew a long, slow breath, refusing to let her stare go. “I fucking well plan on it.”
His crude respond made her chuckle. A faint pink tinge painted her cheeks. She looked up at him through lowered lashes. “What if I’m still not one hundred percent certain?”
Aslin lowered his head slightly. His heart was pounding fast. “I can be very convincing.”
Rowan tilted her chin. Just enough to bring her lips in line with his. “Then convince me.”
He caught his growl of eager approval before it could vibrate through his body. Turning on his heel, he strode toward his trailer. Behind him, Rowan chuckled again, the sound low and decidedly suggestive. In two steps, she was by his side. Two steps after that, her fingers were threaded through his. It was a surreal moment, one Aslin didn’t think he’d ever forget. He hadn’t held a girl’s hand like this since he was a kid—a silly lad of twelve hoping to snog Janine Wellings after walking her home from school.
This was completely different. For starters, he was forty-one. But more importantly, it wasn’t just a kiss he was hoping to score when they reached their destination, but a future.
Ah, boyo, it truly does seem that you’re in love.
A few minutes later, minutes passed in silence both delicious and tense, Aslin’s trailer was in front of them.
His pulse quickened, especially when Rowan slipped her fingers from his and slid her arm around his back.
He turned his head to look at her, unable to stop his smile as it stretched his lips.
“Mr. Rhodes?” Someone called behind him and his smile vanished, replaced with an impatient scowl. “Can I have a word?”
Rowan pulled away from him, her eyes sparkling. “I’ll wait for you inside.”
He nodded, fighting the powerful urge to ignore the man calling him—the head of the film’s security—and kiss her witless.
Planting his feet hard to the ground, he watched her walk toward his trailer. She reached for the door, flicking him a quick grin over her shoulder as she twisted the knob.
“Ms. Hemsworth?” he said, his voice loud enough for her to hear his teasing tone. “Come here.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him and tugged on the door. “I think you need to learn some—”
Aslin’s traile
r exploded in an abrupt detonation of fire, splintering metal and black smoke. Destroying the mobile abode in the space it took Aslin to scream Rowan’s name.
In the time it took her body to fling backward from the blast and land on the ground in a boneless, jarring crunch.
Chapter Eleven
Nothing was in focus. Sound was muffled. Blackness swirled across her vision. A high-pitched ringing drilled into her ears. Her breath balled in her throat, choking her. She couldn’t move. Everything was pain. Like she’d been slammed into by a wrecking ball of molten metal.
Pain tore through her lungs. Blistered up her spine.
Engulfed her. Owned her. Tried to tear from her throat in a cry.
“Rowan?”
Aslin’s voice. Faint. Almost lost in the ringing.
She tried to open her eyes. To see him. Tried to focus on him through the pain. Tried to claw her way up out of the excruciating agony.
“Rowan, open your eyes and look at me.”
The pitch in his voice changed. Grew deeper.
“Look at me, Hemsworth.”
She ground her teeth. Fuck, she hurt. All over. She hurt. Why the fuck did she—
“Open your sodding eyes, Hemsworth.” She felt something warm and steely hard slip around her fingers. “Now.”
She swallowed. Writhed. The ringing grew louder. The pain in her body snarled. Grabbed at her.
Or was it hands? Fast hands? Hands pushing at her neck? Fingers drilling into her—
“Please, Rowan,” Aslin’s voice slipped into her ear, soft and gentle despite the constant high-pitch sound she heard. “I need you to open your eyes, love.”
She tried to open her eyes, but the pain tore at her.
“Look at me, Rowan.” The warm steel around her fingers squeezed with gentle force. The pressure on her neck faded. “Look at me.”
She forced her eyes open, squinted up at him, swiped her tongue over her lips. The copper taste told her they were bleeding. “Y-you’re a…” She winced, the whispered words were like sandpaper in her throat. “You’re a bossy son…of a bitch, aren’t you, soldier boy?”
The tormented worry etching his face vanished. The gentle grip on her fingers eased…a little. He chuckled, a low sound barely audible over the sirens squealing in the background. “You could call me that.”
Muscle for Hire Page 12
