Muscle for Hire (3 page)

She didn’t miss the fact that, once again, she was sidestepping the situation. The hired grunt
wasn’t
just brainless muscle with a sexy accent. Which made him all the more dangerous to her.

Rowan turned to look at Rhodes, her sex constricting with impatient want again. She narrowed her eyes. “What kind of SAS Commando gets his ass handed to him by a woman?”

With that same fluid power she’d noted earlier in his moves, Rhodes placed the icepack on the table and gave her a slow smile.

She really wished he hadn’t. It turned his handsome, intimidating face into something so close to mischievous sex-god she knew she’d be picturing him that night when she masturbated in the shower. And in bed. And—

“The kind who won’t let it happen again.”

Rhode’s deep voice played over Rowan’s senses in a caress of sound and unspoken promise. A ripple of something delicious shot through her and her nipples pinched into tight tips.

Oh God, he was…

She jutted her chin, desperate to haul back her poise. She’d kicked his butt only a few moments ago. So why did she feel like she was the loser now? “You think you can take me?”

Rhode ran his gaze over her, from eyes, to toes and back to her eyes again. “I think I can take you.”

A heavy silence pressed down on Rowan and the trailer was suddenly hot. Tiny. And then, to her left, Chris burst out laughing. “Oh man, and to think I was pissed you were coming to Australia, sis.”

Aslin gave her brother a curious look. “Why would you be angry?”

“’Cause Rowan here is the fun police, Aslin.” Chris grinned at her, the patented Chris Huntley smirk that had earned him the Sexiest-Man-Alive mantle twice since his sitcom hit the air. “She’s the one who made me get rid of my entourage. She’s the one who keeps me on a strict macro-biotic diet. She’s the one who makes sure I run a freaking marathon a day to keep in shape. And she’s the one who kicks my butt—like she kicked yours, apparently—if I go out partying too hard.”

Rowan straightened her spine and fixed her brother with a pointed glare. “
She
is also the one who made you audition for this role, who keeps your damn feet on the ground when the studio suits kiss your ass so much you float, and the one who tries to do what’s best for you. In other words, your big sister.”

Chris’s answering laugh bounced around the trailer. “I know, I know. And you know I love you, Rowie.”

As always, the proclamation knocked the fire out of Rowan’s ire. Their parents had died when Chris was only sixteen, both killed when a break and enter of their family home went wrong. Horribly wrong.

That one night had changed everything for the siblings, Rowan doing everything in her power since to never
ever
be defenseless again, Chris using humour to suffocate his grief.

They only truly had each other. That was until Chris’s acting dream became a reality and fame and fortune brought a slew of
invaluable
people into his life. So many of them that for a while Rowan had wondered if she was relevant any more. However, the one thing she
could
do was look out for him, protect him from those who would take advantage of his easygoing nature. She did that very well. Still, she always got stupidly choked up when Chris uttered the word Rowie, his childhood nickname for her, no matter how hard she tried to stay calm and stoic and stern.

She let out a ragged breath. God help her if anyone knew she was marshmallow inside. It wouldn’t do her reputation as Chris’s menacing, prickly sister any good.

Which was all the more reason to keep Aslin Rhodes at a distance. The fact she was turned on just by looking at him was the final nail in the coffin.

“Okay.” Chris slapped his hands together, smiling at Rhodes before turning to Rowan. “Now we’ve got that outta the way, tell me how the World Cup went, sis. Did you win?”

Rowan felt Aslin’s steady gaze on her. For some stupid reason it made her pulse quicken. She nodded at her brother, determined to ignore her ridiculous reaction to the Brit. “I did.”

Chris nodded back. “Of course you did.” He turned to Rhodes who, Rowan could tell, was still looking at her. “Rowie is five-times Taekwondo World Champion. As well as a ninth degree Master in Jiu-jitsu. Oh, and she really knows how to swing a…what do you call it, sis? That long stick?”

“A bò.”

Rowan’s heart beat faster at Rhodes’ deep voice.

Chris snapped his fingers. “That’s it. A bò.”

Rowan wanted to fidget. She didn’t know why, but the unwavering attention of Aslin Rhodes was disturbing her.

Disturbing her. Arousing her. Making her want to throw Chris from his own trailer and beg the British super soldier to have wild, monkey sex with her.

A thick throb pulsed in Rowan’s core and she pressed her thighs together, willing it to go away.

But it wouldn’t. Not when she couldn’t escape Aslin’s focus. Not when she saw his nostrils flare as he watched her.

Not when her stare locked with his.

Damn it, this was unexpected
.

“So.” Chris jolted to his feet, the action so abrupt Rowan flinched. “Does my sister want to join me and Aslin and Nigel for dinner? Apparently, we’re going out on the harbour on Russell Crowe’s yacht. Sounds like fun, right?”

Rowan watched Aslin’s nostrils flare again, a minute tension coiling in his sizeable shoulders. She narrowed her eyes. Did he not want her there?

Tearing her stare from his, she smiled at her brother. “Sure. Just let me have a shower and change my clothes. I’ve been wearing these jeans since Quebec.”

“I thought I could smell something.” Chris grinned. “The shower is on the left. Where’s your luggage?”

“Outside next to the step.” Unable to help herself, Rowan slid Aslin a sideward glance. “Where I put them before being attacked.”

Chris laughed, slapping Rhodes on the back. “I think she’s dissing you, Aslin.”

The British ex-commando’s lips curled. “I think you’re right.”

He didn’t move. Not for a strained second, and then—with that same oiled perfection she’d noted in him earlier—he turned and opened Chris’s trailer door.

Her brother dropped a wink at Rowan and, as Aslin turned his attention back into the trailer, ducked passed the Brit’s intimidating frame out the door.

Only to tumble, face first, onto the ground.

Rowan leapt to her feet. “What the fuck?”

She moved, but Rhodes moved faster, out the door to crouch beside Chris before she could even make it to the threshold.

“Geez.” Chris was pushing himself up onto all fours, Aslin’s long-fingered hands helping him even as the Brit scanned the immediate area with an unblinking stare. “Where’d the freaking steps go?”

A frown pulled at Rowan’s forehead as she studied the bottom of the doorway. Just as Chris had muttered, the steel steps leading up to the trailer’s only entry were gone.

She jumped to the ground and joined Aslin by her brother’s side. Chris was now sitting on his backside, his fingers taking hesitant swipes at his face. Blood trickled from a split beside his eyebrow and a ragged graze on his cheek. Around them, Rowan could hear people running. The film’s star had been injured. That was enough for any film crew to go into panic mode.

Squatting beside her brother, she turned her focus to the spot below the open door.

The steps were still there, but skewed off to the side, the top level nowhere near where a foot would land. They looked like they’d been kicked aside, maybe bumped by a passing cart, but to her memory, there’d been no resonating bump through the trailer.

Of course, it may have happened while she was fixating on Rhodes’s effect on her state of mind? Damn it.

She frowned. She didn’t believe that. But if the steps weren’t moved by accident, than who—

“Chris, are you okay?”

Rowan swung her attention up to Nigel McQueen, who now stood beside Chris and Aslin, worry etching his Hollywood-handsome face.

“Yeah, yeah.” Chris waved a dismissive hand, a grin playing on his lips. “The ground broke my fall.” He ran his fingers across the cut still oozing blood above his eye and winced. “Did a damn good job of it too.”

Nigel threw a hard glare at the misplaced steps before turning to Aslin. “Do you know what happened?”

Rowan’s pulse thumped hard in her throat, her belly knotting. Why ask Aslin? Didn’t she—

“Someone moved the steps.”

The Brit’s deep voice sounded like calm thunder rumbling through Rowan’s irrational insecurity.

“On purpose?” Shock cut through Nigel’s question.

“If it was an accident I would have heard or felt it in the trailer.”

Rowan’s heart punched at her breastbone. Rhodes had just echoed her own thoughts, almost word for word.

So why did that fill her with cold trepidation? And squirmy arousal?

Nigel’s forehead creased with a frown. “You think someone’s trying to hurt Chris?”

Aslin studied the skewed steps for a few seconds, and Rowan noticed everyone—including herself, damn it—seemed to be holding their breath.

“Trying to cause harm to
someone
in his trailer,” he said, returning his focus to Nigel. “It may not be Chris.”

A sharp bark of a laugh burst passed Rowan’s lips. “You think someone’s trying to hurt you or me?”

Chris snorted. “I’d like to see them try.”

Rowan whacked her brother’s shoulder with the back of her hand. “Screw you, squirt.”

“Hey! Don’t hurt the talent.” He pulled a wounded expression, and if it wasn’t for the blood still trickling from the gash on his eyebrow, Rowan would have whacked him again.
 

Rowan rolled her eyes just as Aslin let out a low chuckle, and before she knew what she was doing, she was giving the Brit a wide grin.

“The talent already
is
hurt.” Thank God, Nigel’s gruff statement shattered the ridiculous moment.

Rowan lurched to her feet, her belly not just knotting, but twisting and churning as well. She didn’t
want
to connect with Aslin Rhodes. He would bring nothing to her brother’s already unnatural reality. He was an unwanted distraction.

“The paramedics have arrived, Mr. McQueen.”

Rowan blinked at Nigel’s personal assistant, the young man appearing from nowhere at his side.

“I don’t need the paramedics,” Chris protested.

“Of course you don’t.” Nigel shook his head. “But the studio will bust my ass if I don’t get you looked at by a medical professional. The film’s insurance policy and all. How much
is
that face of yours insured for exactly?”

Rowan snapped her stare to her brother, not even attempting to hide her shock. “You insured your face? Oh, Chris, I thought we talked about that kind of pretentious crap?”

Chris chuckled. “Shut up, sis.” He placed his palms on the ground beside his butt and pushed himself to his feet.

And stumbled sideward.

Straight into Aslin’s chest. “Whoa…”

Aslin closed his large hands around Chris’s shoulders, stabilizing him. “Steady there, lad.” The Brit shot Rowan a look over Chris head. The concern in his eyes made her throat tight and her heart beat faster.

Oh God, she couldn’t fall for him. She could
not
fall for—

“I feel…” Chris frowned at Rowan, “…odd.”

“And that’s my cue to get you to the hospital.” Nigel stepped forward and slipped his arm around Chris’s back.

Chris shook his head, and then moaned. “Might be a good idea. Aslin, can you take care of my sister for me?”

Rowan mouth fell open just as her pulse surged into a maniacal sprint in her throat. “Take care…? What, you don’t think I’m coming to the hospital with—”

Her blustered argument was cut short by the screeching halt of an ambulance beside them.

Chris grinned at her. “Nope. I don’t. I’m fine.” He paused as a female paramedic climbed out of the driver’s side and hurried toward him. A very cute paramedic, Rowan couldn’t help but notice. Chris’s grin turned flirty, bordering on kilowatt intensity as he focused it on the young woman inspecting his wound. “Exceptionally fine.”

He flicked Rowan a look and she wanted to groan at the devilish mischief in his eyes. “Now go. I’m sure Aslin knows exactly how to show you a good time.”

Rowan scowled at him. “Chris.”

“Is that okay, Aslin?” He ignored her, giving the Brit a wide smile. “Can you look after Rowie while I go to the hospital? If I let her come, she’ll just intimidate all the doctors and nurses into giving me a CAT scan or something equally horrible.”

“Chris,” she tried again.

“I can take care of your sister,” Aslin said.

To Rowan’s horror, her cheeks flooded with heat, but whether it was the far-too sexy sound of his accent or the utterly confident calm of his tone, she didn’t know. Both made her think instantly of being
taken
by him—his head buried between her thighs, his tongue rasping over her clit as his hands roamed her body…

The throb in her pussy grew thicker, hotter, and she looked at him, noting the ambiguous expression on his face, the quiet strength in his body. She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him—and her brother—to piss off, but he spoke before she could.