Bollywood Bodyguard
Lavinia Lewis
Copyright Lavinia Lewis 2012
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to person’s living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
License notes
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of Lavinia Lewis.
Warning: This book contains material that some readers might find disturbing or objectionable and is intended for mature readers only.
Back Cover Information
How can Brent give in to his desire for the sexy Bollywood actor when a relationship between them could cost Raj his life?
When bodyguard Brent Hawthorne moves to India to start a new business, he thinks his biggest problems are going to be the language barrier and coping with the intense heat in Mumbai.
But when he starts working for one of Bollywood’s top actors, Rajkumar Khan, Brent has to rethink that estimation.
Raj is not only handsome and sexy but also secretly gay, and sparks fly the instant the pair meet.
But Raj is being blackmailed and the unknown sender of the letters is not only threatening his life but also to reveal his secret.
As Brent battles to find the identity of Raj’s blackmailer, he finds himself growing closer to the sexy Bollywood star.
He struggles at first to resist Raj’s advances, fearing any sort of relationship between them could cost the star his life, but Raj is a hard man to resist.
Can Brent keep his hands and heart to himself long enough to find the culprit, or will he give in to his Bollywood desires?
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Google: Google, Inc.
British Bodyguard Association: British Bodyguard Association
IIFAs: International Indian Film Academy
Oscars: Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences
The Times of India: Bennett, Coleman and Company, Ltd
Ferrari: Ferrari S.p.A.
Chapter One
“All-Star Security, how can I be of service?”
Eyes closed, Brent rested an elbow on the desk and used his thumb and forefinger to massage his temple. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand Hindi…or Punjabi. Do you speak En—?”
He stared at the handset open-mouthed before slamming it down in its cradle.
He cursed under his breath.
“Another hang-up?” Jessie leant back in her chair and applied bright red polish to the nails of her left hand.
“Yeah. Fifth time today and it’s only ten in the damn morning. Do you have any idea how much work we’re losing because Jack won’t get his head out of his ass and hire us a secretary who speaks Hindi?”
“We have a secretary who speaks Hindi.” Jessie held up her hand to the light and admired her newly painted nails.
“Yes, and Jameela is great, but she only works three days a week. What about the rest? She doesn’t want to work full time because of her family commitments and I can appreciate that, but where does it leave us?
“I’m a bodyguard, not a damn receptionist. I’m tired of this shit, and don’t you have any work to do?”
“Tea break,” Jessie explained.
Brent blinked back at her before gazing at the clock on the tiny office wall. Jessie had been at work precisely forty minutes, and he hadn’t seen her do a damn thing.
And when had he started using the word ‘damn’ so much?
He tugged on the collar of his white linen shirt and groaned out loud. The crappy air-conditioning unit in their small rented office only worked when it felt like it. Mumbai had two temperatures, it seemed.
Hot…and ridiculously hot.
Brent wasn’t a fan of either.
“Can you remind me again why we moved to this sorry excuse for a city in the first place?”
Okay that was harsh.
He had nothing against Mumbai per se, but the heat was killing him.
Jessie put down the nail polish and stared at Brent, eyebrows raised. “I’d be delighted to remind you,” she deadpanned.
“My idiot husband got you drunk one night and convinced you the pampered princes and princesses of Bollywood would pay top dollar for experienced British security personnel. You, like the jackass you are, agreed with him. And here we are. So thanks for that. I owe you one.”
Brent let out a throaty chuckle. It was a good thing he’d known Jessie for most of his life. If they’d just met he could have been easily offended by her sarcasm. But despite her dry wit, she was absolutely right.
He had no one to blame but himself.
Brent had been working as a bodyguard in London when his best friend Jack had come up with the idea to move to India. Jack had been convinced that Bollywood, India’s version of Hollywood, could do with a few more bodyguards and before Brent had time to properly evaluate the idea they were already on the plane.
That would teach him not to be so impulsive.
“Watch your mouth,” he joked. “And if you value your life I wouldn’t let Jack hear you call him an idiot either.”
Jessie snorted. “It’s nothing he hasn’t heard from me before. Besides, he happens to like my mouth.” She grinned salaciously. “Especially when I use it to—”
“Please, God, don’t give me any details,” Brent interrupted. “I only ate breakfast an hour ago and I’d like to keep it down.”
Jessie chuckled. “Come on, Brent, you love hearing about my sexploits. Admit it.”
Brent was about to argue the fact when the phone on Jessie’s desk started ringing.
She smirked and quickly picked up the handset.
Witch.
“All-Star Security, how can we help?”
Brent’s eyebrows all but disappeared into his hairline when Jessie began nodding and speaking to the caller in English.
How the…?
“Slow down, sir, and start again. How exactly can we help you? Your client has been receiving death threats? I see, and has he reported the matter to the police? Yes, okay, yes. Oh, well, that does sound like something we can help you with.
“Yes, sir. I can get one of our top security experts to come out and have a chat to you about some of the services we provide.” Jessie looked at Brent and rolled her eyes. “No, sir—the consultation would be free of charge.”
Brent watched in complete amazement as Jessie took the booking and finished the call. When she hung up she grinned, rather too smugly for his liking.
“What were you saying about needing another secretary?”
Brent frowned. “Just give me the damn details.”
Chapter Two
“Bhenchod! Are you out of your fucking mind? No way am I having some amateur, star-struck, mall security guards following me around all day like puppies. I haven’t got time for this, Rahul.
“The IIFAs are in a couple of months, and until the award ceremony is over I need to be more accessible to my fans, not less. If we leave it another few weeks, all of the media hype will ha
ve died down and I’ll be able to continue using my current agency.”
Raj knew he sounded like a petulant child but he felt entitled, damn it. How the hell was he supposed to get used to a new set of bodyguards with everything else he had going on in his life?
And what if they couldn’t be trusted?
He needed men around who would be able to keep their mouths shut about his personal life. The last thing he needed was people to go blabbing to the press at the first opportunity.
“With all due respect, Rajkumar, you have no choice in the matter. A guard from your agency shot a man in cold blood. That isn’t going to go away.
“The press will never forget it, and the threats you’ve been receiving cannot be ignored. In any case, the agency I plan on employing is British, not Indian. A few of their bodyguards are members of the British Bodyguard Association.
“I did some checking and they are the best in their field, so you don’t have to worry about your guards being star-struck as you put it, they probably won’t even know who you are.”
Raj raised his eyebrows at his agent’s response.
British bodyguards?
His cock started to harden in his pants.
He’d always been attracted to British men. And if his guards happened to be stereotypically tall, dark and handsome with strong, muscular bodies…well, even better. It couldn’t hurt to at least interview them, could it? Raj usually hated his agent’s ideas but this was about the best Rahul had come up with.
“Fine, I’ll meet with them,” he conceded, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. “Can you get someone to come here today?”
Rahul grinned mischievously. “Already done. Mr. Brent Hawthorne will be here in ten minutes.”
“Bhenchod!”
“And I’d watch your language in front of the Brit. Some of them can be pissy about it.”
Chapter Three
“Fuck!”
Brent stood on the pavement and stared blankly at a set of large, pale orange gates. The auto rickshaw driver had told him he was in the right place but there was no visible address on the street—the guy could have brought him anywhere.
He’d only been standing there for two minutes and already he’d had to fight off a slew of street kids who’d been pestering him for money. He made a point of not carrying much with him now, because the more he had on his person, the more he gave away. He couldn’t help himself. He’d always been a sucker for a hard luck story.
Brent fished a handkerchief out of the pocket of his pants and used it to mop his brow. The heat was so intense and the air so sticky it didn’t seem to matter how many times he showered, he never felt clean. Despite the heat and humidity, the pollution was so heavy in Mumbai that Brent rarely saw the sun. And he didn’t want to think about the God-awful smell he’d encountered on more than one occasion. Grime and garbage littered the streets, providing the perfect nesting place for the city’s exorbitant rat population.
Moving to India had to be the worse fucking idea Jack had ever come up with, and there had been some real gems over the last three years. But Brent figured he was the biggest idiot for falling for them.
When the hell was he going to learn his lesson?
The gate he stood in front of was in the Malabar Hill district. It was arguably the best and certainly the most exclusive area of the city. The streets were cleaner and the houses grander. After a few moments of shaking his head, cursing and blaming the whole world for his present predicament, Brent noticed an intercom button to the side of the gate. He rolled his eyes, pressed it and waited for an answer.
“Namaste?”
Great, more Hindi.
“Hello? I have an appointment with Mr. Khan.”
“Come in, please,” the male voice replied.
The orange gates swung open and Brent entered a large driveway with a winding path that led to the house. It was enormous. White ornamental columns held up the front of the building but the rest of the house was a sea of glass. The mixing of styles should have looked out of place but, oddly, they worked well together. Brent could imagine himself living in a house just like it.
He walked up the steps to the porch and the front door opened just as he was raising his hand to knock.
“Mr. Hawthorne.” A young Indian man wearing white pajamas stood to the side and motioned for Brent to enter. “If you’ll follow me.”
Brent nodded and crossed the threshold into a large and very grand entrance hall. Inside, the house was British colonial in design. The wooden floor was a deep mahogany, the walls a gleaming white, and each piece of furniture Brent passed looked more expensive than the last. Every item looked antique. Each piece probably cost more than he made in a year.
As he was led further into the house, Brent’s training kicked in. He made a mental note of the number of rooms, the windows and doors in each and the type of security system installed. The house wasn’t a fortress exactly, but Brent was impressed. Motion detectors flickered ominously from the corners of every room.
“Ah, Mr Hawthorne. Thank you for coming here so quickly.” A portly man in his late forties got up from a chaise on the balcony and crossed the room. His gaze astutely assessed Brent before he offered his hand in greeting. “My name is Rahul Kapoor. I’m Rajkumar Khan’s agent.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Brent shook the man’s hand and released it quickly. “I understand your client is in need of a new bodyguard team?”
“Yes, but before we get down to business, can I offer you a drink? Tea, coffee, something stronger perhaps?”
“Water will be fine.” Brent had strict rules about drinking on duty. He might not be guarding anyone just yet but that was irrelevant. He and Jack needed this job and so it was essential he made a good impression. If one big name in the industry hired them, the rest would follow.
They always did.
Rahul nodded, turned to the servant waiting near the door and addressed him in Hindi. The servant bowed then swiftly left the room to carry out his orders.
“Aakash will get that for you. Please, let us go to the terrace. It’s a beautiful day.”
Brent followed Rahul through a large set of patio doors that led to the yard at the back of the house. His eyes flickered around, taking in the unusual plants and flowers that bordered the neatly manicured lawn. An eight-foot hedge surrounded the space. To the left of the house was a decked area that housed a large pool. There didn’t appear to be an exit out on to the street from anywhere in the garden.
Rahul made himself comfortable in a large wicker chaise covered in a white, cotton cushion pad. Like everything else in the house, it looked expensive…overly so. He motioned for Brent to take a seat in the matching chair opposite. Brent nodded, sat and waited for the man to speak.
“My client is a very famous man in our country, Mr. Hawthorne. He is one of the top actors in Bollywood and it is paramount that his private life remains private. I take it everything we discuss today is confidential?”
Surely that was a given in his profession. Brent was tempted to roll his eyes but he fought the impulse. Instead, he gave a sharp nod of his head to appease the man.
“Of course.”
“Very good. Mr. Hawthorne, my client is gay.”
Brent frowned.
He wasn’t shocked by Rahul’s statement—he’d known there would be as many gay men here in India as there would be anywhere else in the world—even if there wasn’t the same level of acceptance, but the disdainful way Rahul divulged the information put Brent firmly on the defensive.
This man was supposed to be Rajkumar’s agent. Talk about ‘with friends like these’…
Crossing his arms over his chest, Brent threw the man a level stare. Christ, he’d just met the guy and already he disliked him. Of course, it could have had something to do with the way Rahul had curled his upper lip when he’d made the announcement—disgust evident on his chubby, pockmarked face.
“And that’s an issue how, exactly?”
> “Mr. Hawthorne, this is Mumbai, not LA or London. Homosexuality might be the norm in other parts of the world but we have a very low tolerance of it here. Rajkumar’s career would be in tatters should his preference become common knowledge.”
“Is there any danger of that?”
Brent wanted to know if Rajkumar’s sexuality had anything to do with the threats he’d been receiving.
Rahul sighed. “It is not only my client’s safety that has been threatened. His…habits are also in danger of exposure.”
Brent tensed his jaw.
Rahul seemed to be insinuating that being gay was a habit—which in and of itself implied a learned behavior, not an inherent trait. He fought to keep his mouth shut. It wouldn’t do to piss off potential clients because he didn’t like what they had to say. If that was the way he ran his business, he’d never have any work.
All-Star Security was in its infancy and, if Brent wanted the business to grow, he needed a good reputation among the bigwigs in the industry. And Rahul and his client Rajkumar were about as big as they came. Brent had Googled the actor before he’d left the office and it seemed he was a very big star in Bollywood.
He was sexy as all hell, too.
“How exactly has your client been receiving these threats?”
“Letters,” a low, husky voice sounded at the door.
Brent turned to the intruder and his breath caught in his chest.
Holy fuck.
The man was hot.
The pictures that Brent had pulled up on the Internet in no way did Rajkumar Khan justice. He was far more attractive in real life—about as tall as Brent with a lean body, jet black hair and the face of a god.
Raj had light skin, the color of cappuccino, and his complexion was flawless. Brent could do nothing but stare and try not to be embarrassed by how much his dick approved of Mr. Khan’s appearance, too. The deity was leaning casually against the doorframe. His hands were pushed into the pockets of his loose pants and his eyes sparkled with mischief. Brent pulled ineffectually at his collar.
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