Muscle for Hire (13 page)

“…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.”

She swallowed. Aslin could see her throat work. And then she turned and looked up at him with eyes that shone with a bone-deep grief he knew he could never truly fathom. A grief he wanted to take away from her. “So he hides behind the laughter. It protects him.”

“And what protects you?”

She caught her bottom lip with her teeth at Aslin’s low question. “I don’t need protecting.”

He wanted to tell her she was wrong. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her until every moment of pain and agony and fear in her soul was gone.

Instead, he tucked his finger under her chin and lifted her gaze to his face.

“Please don’t,” she whispered. A second later, she rose onto tip toe and placed her lips on his.

The kiss was simple and gentle and over before Aslin could slide his arms around her body. But it was enough. Enough for him to know he was never letting this woman go. Whether she liked it or not, he was protecting her for the rest of her life.

“I love this place.” Chris suddenly appeared at their side, his grin wide. “Where else in the world can you order the country’s national emblem for lunch?”

Rowan pulled away from Aslin, her cheeks pink, her gaze shifting from Aslin’s. “I still can’t believe you ate kangaroo. Have you no heart.”

“I did eat kangaroo.” Chris rubbed at his stomach as they walked from the restaurant out on the esplanade. “And it was delicious. Grilled to perfection.” He nudged his sister with his shoulder. “You know what makes the whole thing ironic though, sis?”

Rowan cast him a dubious look.

“I’m getting my photo taken tomorrow at the zoo
with
a kangaroo. A live one.”

Rowan let out a groan. “Oh God, you’re going to burn in Hell. You know that, r—”

“Chris Huntley!”
A high-pitched squeal cut her short. “Look, it’s Chris Huntley!”

Chris burst out laughing. Rowan groaned again, and Aslin prepared himself for the group of teenage girls—all dressed in school uniform—frozen to the spot a few feet away, their enrapt stares locked on the actor.

Fifteen minutes later, during which Chris signed everything thrust at him by the girls, along with posing for so many photos Aslin lost track, Rowan gave Aslin a quick glance.

“This is all your fault,” she muttered, her arms folded over her breasts.

He cocked an eyebrow at her.

“He feels safe with you around. It’s the only reason I can come up with for his behaviour. Normally he tries to avoid this kind of thing. He’d never admit it, but it makes him nervous.”

Aslin looked back at the young man surrounded by giggling teenage girls and tried to imagine what it would be like to exist as a sitcom star in a world filled with such personal horror. He couldn’t do it.

“Thank you for that,” Rowan murmured. She frowned up at him. “I think.”

The sound of a car horn behind them made them both jump. Aslin bit back a growl. He’d never been so disconnected to his surroundings as he’d been today. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say he was thoroughly distracted.

Huh. That’s an understatement, boyo.

“Nigel wants Chris back on set, Rowan,” Jeff called from the open driver’s side window of the SUV they’d arrived in. “Said there’s been a problem with the dormitory scene and he needs to reshoot something.”

It took Aslin roughly five minutes to extract Chris from the school girls, who all giggled and blushed their way through goodbyes and thank yous to the actor.

“That was fun.” Chris grinned in the backseat, fifteen minutes later. “Let’s do it again tomorrow.”

Aslin couldn’t help but smile. It
had been
fun. And he was enjoying himself so much more than he expected. Even when he received a call from Nick—the singer wondering what the hell he’d been thinking letting Holston catch him “with a handful”—Aslin couldn’t stop the warm happiness making itself at home in his chest.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Nigel demanded the moment they walked onto the film set.

“Eating,” Chris shot back. “Got a problem with that, take it up with Aslin.”

The director threw up his hands. “I think I liked it better when you were in awe of him. Or trying to break your hand on his jaw. Can we start now?”

Grinning, Chris tossed his wallet and phone at Rowan. “Take care of that for me, sis?”

Aslin watched her snatch the items from the air, even as she pulled a face at her brother. “
I
liked you better when you were a snot-nosed kid.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Chris smirked. “Now shut up and let me do my thing.”

“God, you’re pathetic.” Rowan turned and crossed to Chris’s chair and dropped into it with a chuckle. “Remind me to beat the crap out of you later.”

As before, people came running from everywhere, flooding the set with sound and movement. It was such a different soundtrack to what Aslin was used to. He stood back, watching it all. Taking it all in. Listening to it all.

Which was the only reason he heard the splintering wood behind him. The only reason he spun in time to see the large beam erected across the back of the dormitory set crack.

The only reason he was able to slam into Rowan before the beam split in two and smashed to the ground, crushing Chris’s chair.

Chapter Nine

“Why the fuck won’t anyone listen to me?” Rowan ground her teeth. She squeezed the ice pack in her hand, damn near close to throwing it across the dormitory. “I’m fine.” She looked up from where she sat in Nigel’s chair, now up-righted after being knocked over by the falling beam.

Everyone looking at her wore worried frowns. Chris hovered over her like a nervous mother hen. “Sis,” he began.

“Really—” she raised her hand and offered him the ice pack, “—I’m fine.”

His frown deepened before he turned to Aslin. “I don’t believe her.”

The Brit stood silent directly in front of Rowan, his eyes flinty. What he was angry about, Rowan couldn’t fathom.

Behind her, film crew swarmed like frantic bees over the wreckage. She could hear their hushed voices and hissed expletives as they inspected the mess. She heard Warren bark an order at one of the grips, something about, “doing it right the first time, dickwad.”

“Put the ice pack on your head, Rowie,” Chris told her, refusing to take it. “Jesus, I can see the crack in the ground where your head hit it.”

Beside Chris, equally as worried judging by the furrows in his brow, Nigel let out a strangled chuckle.

Rowan glared at them both. “I already told you. My head didn’t hit the ground. It hit Aslin’s shoulder or biceps or something.”

At the mention of Aslin’s name, Chris grabbed the still-silent man’s left hand and shook it. Fast. “You saved my sister, dude. Jesus, you saved my sister.”

Aslin didn’t say a word. He studied Chris for a second before moving his unwavering inspection to the crew and wreckage behind Rowan.

Rowan’s stomach rolled. She’d never seen such an intense expression. Like he was dissecting everything with his gaze.

“I still want to know how it happened.” Nigel frowned some more. “McCreedy!” His shout rose over the commotion. “Get over here.”

The gathering crew shuffled aside, making room for the key grip. Except for Aslin, Rowan noticed. Aslin didn’t move an inch.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Nigel demanded. The pinning glare that had cemented his reputation as a formidable director locked on Warren. “Your guys checked the support structure this morning, right?”

Warren nodded. “All I can figure out is there was a hairline split in the wood, Mr. McQueen. I checked everything myself during lunch, and it was all sound.” He scratched at his cheek and Rowan scrunched up her face at the rank B.O. that assaulted her nose. “The lighting crew was working around the same area yesterday.” He shrugged. “Maybe—”

“There was that freaky woman with the red hair in here too,” Tilly piped up. “The one Mr. Rhodes caught trying to get into Mr. Huntley’s trailer.”

Chris’s eyebrow shot up. “What woman?”

Nigel dragged his hands through his hair. “Damn it. What the fuck is security doing?”

“Are you gonna call the cops?” Warren asked.

Rowan let out an exasperated breath. “Don’t you think the question should be who’s trying to hurt Chris?”

“Me?” Chris snorted. “Who the fuck wants to hurt me?”

Nigel’s face drained of blood. “Christ, do you think…”

Rowan’s pulse pounded fast in her throat. “Yes, I do think. First the steps on his trailer were deliberately tampered with, and now the beam above his chair falls down?” She gave the director a pointed look. “It doesn’t take a genius to—”

“Chris is right,” Warren cut her off. “Who would wanna hurt him?”