Muscle for Hire (9 page)

Aslin’s nerve-endings fired. He narrowed his eyes. “Did she have red hair? Obviously dyed?”

The guard nodded. “Yep, that’s the one. Real charmer she was. Never heard so many swear words come out of the mouth of a woman before, and I’ve worked security at a Nick Blackthorne concert.” He made a snorting sound. “Now there’s some seriously zealous fans. I had to save the guy’s girlfriend years ago when a group of squealing women turned on her during the show.” He shook his head again. “Insane. Just insane.”

“Wow,” Rowan spoke beside Aslin. “Didn’t Blackthorne’s bodyguard protect her?”

“Not during the show, he didn’t.” The guard pulled a face. “But I’ve never been convinced about these celebrity bodyguards. They all carry on like they’re invincible. Reckon one hard punch and they’d be out like a light.”

“I think you’re right,” Rowan agreed. Aslin didn’t need to look at her to know she was trying not to laugh. “I suspect they are a bunch of pussies.” She paused, a prickling heat on his profile telling him she wasn’t looking at the guard anymore. He slid his gaze to her, the laughter in her eyes making his stomach clench. “Pussies in designer leather jackets, of course.”

“Hell, yeah.” The guard snorted. “Wonder what they’d be like in a real fight? Too worried about getting their clothes damaged, I reckon.” He shook his head, as if disgusted by the notion.

For a dangerous moment, the urge to lean forward, gaze into the man’s eyes and introduce himself came over Aslin. If for no other reason than to see him squirm. Instead, he ground his teeth and pocketed his I.D. pass. Beside him, Rowan chuckled.

“Anyways.” The guard gave them both a wide smile. “I better keep doing my rounds. Don’t forget about the gate guard. Sorry ’bout the light in your eyes and all.”

“No worries,” Aslin said. “You’re just doing your job.”

Beside him, Rowan burst out laughing.

Five minutes later, they were on his bike heading for Chris’s harbour-side hotel.

Rowan’s thighs hugged his hips, her body heat a constant promise of what might happen when they arrived at Chris’s penthouse suite in the Park Hyatt.

Aslin’s head swam at the thought. Would they finally surrender to the overwhelming sexual chemistry between them? His dick throbbed, stiff with anticipation. That the thrumming of his bike’s powerful engine radiated through his balls only sweetened the pleasure in his groin.

When he pulled in front of the hotel, every muscle in his body was on fire.

He planted his foot on the road, killed the engine and held his bike steady as Rowan climbed off. The absence of her body pressed to his sent a chill through his heat. An emptiness he wasn’t prepared for stole through his soul.

Are you falling for her already, boyo?

Throat thick, he slid the visor of his borrowed helmet up and turned to see her remove his helmet from her head.

She stood motionless beside his bike, her ponytail falling over her shoulder in a tumble of messy waves, her gaze unreadable as it found his face.

He drew a steadying breath. “Wait for me in the lobby.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, her teeth caught her bottom lip.

“Evening, sir, ma’am. Are you checking in?”

The cheerful voice to Rowan’s left jerked Aslin’s stare from her face. The hotel’s parking valet stood beside her, bestowing them both with a wide smile.

Before Aslin could answer, Rowan shook her head. “No. He’s just dropping me off.”

Aslin’s gut clenched. He controlled his frown. “Am I?”

Rowan nodded, her teeth no longer worrying her bottom lip. “This is too much, Aslin. Too much too quickly. I want you, but I realized on the ride here I need to take a breath. To think.”

Beside her, the valet cleared his throat. “Shall I—”

Aslin didn’t move his focus from her face. “It’s just sex, Rowan.”

She shook her head, her eyebrows pulling into a brief frown. “No. It isn’t. And that’s the issue.”

The parking valet mumbled something and then, head down, cheeks red, hurried away.

Aslin ground his teeth. She was correct. It wasn’t. He knew it, and so did she.

Rowan let out a sigh. “I wasn’t ready for this. It’s a problem I’m not prepared for, and I don’t know what to do next.”

“Fuck me,” Aslin growled. “And let me fuck you. Simple.”

She chuckled. “Not simple at all. And I can see through your bluster, soldier boy. You’re as freaked out by this whole thing as I am.”

His gut knotted. That she could read him so well already should have angered him. It didn’t. It only highlighted exactly what she was saying—what was between them had the potential to be so much more than sex. And he could tell it scared her.

And it doesn’t you?

“Rowan,” he began, but she shook her head and took a step backward, hugging his helmet to her breasts. “Goodnight, Rhodes. I’ll see you tomorrow on set.”

And before he could utter another word, she turned and strode through the hotel’s glass doors and into the foyer.

Leaving Aslin to watch her go.

Chapter Six

Fifty laps of the hotel’s swimming pool hadn’t helped her. Working out in the hotel’s twenty-four-hour gym hadn’t either. Masturbating in the shower had achieved fuck all and consuming ice-cream sundaes smothered in hot chocolate fudge sauce from room service while watching in-house movies back to back did little but make her feel guilty for charging so much to Chris’s hotel bill.

It didn’t matter what Rowan tried through the agonizingly long hours after Aslin left to when the sun broke the eastern horizon—six hours that felt like forever—she couldn’t stop wishing she hadn’t told him to go.

Now here she was after maybe two hours of restless sleep, sitting on the spacious balcony of Chris’s suite feeling drained. Coffee in hand, she watched the morning’s golden light flow over Sydney Harbour and the Opera House, turning a simple thing like morning into a stunning spectacle. The sight pissed her off to no end. All she could do every time she looked at it was wish the Brit was here with her so she could smile at him and share the moment.

And then ask him to take her inside and fuck her brains out.

She lifted what was left of her croissant—her third of the morning, this one slathered with strawberry jelly and cream—and popped it into her mouth. If she hadn’t, she would have let out a very disgusted snort.

Oh yeah, she was definitely well on her way to solving the Aslin Rhodes problem, wasn’t she? Ice cream, movies, exercise and masturbation. The perfect tools needed to decide what to do about him.

She sighed.

Somewhere around four a.m., she’d decided she was going to sleep with him. After she got that out of her system, she was going to see if she could spend more than fifteen minutes in his company without thinking about sex.

Now however, in the light of day, she wasn’t sure if that was a wise move.

For starters, what if he was a hopeless lover?

Rowan
did
snort this time. And then coughed around the remains of her croissant she’d yet to swallow.

Huh. It wasn’t possible. With the way he kissed? With the arrogance of his touch? The mastery of her pleasure?

A shiver rippled through her. A tight, hot, delicious ripple. She had no doubt whatsoever that Aslin Rhodes would be an amazing lover. What she did doubt was her ability to walk away when it was over. Because a British bodyguard, or whatever he was now, wasn’t exactly part of her plans for her future. Looking after her brother was her plan for the future. Making sure people didn’t take advantage of his far-too-easygoing nature.

Aslin Rhodes did not fit into that plan at all.

Which is why you haven’t stop thinking about him, right?

With another snort, she pushed herself to her feet and turned from the breathtaking vista of the harbour and its architecturally weird opera house. She needed to call the hospital, find out when Chris was going to be discharged and order a taxi so she could get there before hand. Then she’d have another shower, dress and ring Nigel McQueen and let him know she was collecting her brother.

She didn’t have the time to sit and ponder her inconvenient pre-occupation with Aslin Rhodes. Maybe if she was lucky when she next saw the British soldier-cum-bodyguard-cum-whatever he was now, she’d be over him. After all, it wasn’t like she’d never had a man make her moan with pleasure before.

Just not on the back of a Ducati. In plain view of anyone who might come along.

Her pussy contracted in an almost painful throb.

Letting out a huff, Rowan crossed to one of the suite’s many phones and had hotel reception connect her to Sydney Royal North Shore Private Hospital. Ten minutes later, having been told by the nurse that she could not divulge any information about Chris Huntley over the phone no matter how many times Rowan insisted she was Chris’s sister, she walked into the opulent bathroom, stripped off her PJs and stepped into the shower.

Only to have the suite’s many phones burst into ringing life the second the warm water started streaming over her naked body.

“Damn it.” She killed the water, wrapped the fluffiest towel in the world around her torso and hurried to the closest phone. “Hello?”

“I’m waiting in the lobby.” Aslin’s deep voice caressed her senses through the connection, his British accent making her sex throb again. And her nipples pinch tight.

Her heart leapt into her throat. Her lips parted in a silent gasp. She gripped the hand piece, her knuckles popping.

There was a soft chuckle, most likely at Rowan’s complete failure to respond to Aslin’s statement. “Don’t forget my helmet.”

He disconnected before she could say anything. Which really pissed her off.

Damn him. Who the fuck did he think he was?

The guy who made you whimper and beg to be fucked on the back of a Ducati last night after only knowing you for twelve hours, that’s who.

Still, she wasn’t going to play his game. Damn him.

Returning to the shower, she washed her hair. Twice. And then conditioned it. And then snared Chris’s razor—conveniently perched on the soap rack—and shaved her legs and under her arms. Then she stood under the warm water, palms to the marble wall, head down, eyes closed, lips parted and counted to one hundred. Twice.

You’re playing with fire, woman.

The thought made her heartbeat quicken. Her pussy contracted. She imagined Aslin kicking the door to the suite open, his nostrils flaring, his expression promising pain and pleasure.

She pictured him storming across the lush carpet to the bathroom. Saw him closing the distance between the door and the shower with long, steady strides. Felt his hand circle her wrist as he pulled her from the water and yanked her against his chest. Felt his erection grind against her belly.

Her head swum at the delirious fantasy. Her breath grew shallow. Ragged.

She opened her eyes and raised her head.

Just as the shower cubicle’s steam-fogged glass door opened.

She gasped, staring at the man standing on the other side, her pulse detonating in her throat.

“You do know Sydney is experiencing a drought at the moment?” Aslin’s dark brown eyes revealed nothing. “A thirty-five-minute shower is a might excessive, even if you are trying to avoid me.”

Rowan gazed at him. Her breasts ached. She knew she should smack the shit out of him. She knew she should at least tell him to fuck off. Instead, she stared at him, her nipples way too hard, her pussy prickling with eager want.

“How did you…” She stopped.

The smallest of smiles pulled at one side of Aslin’s mouth. “Nick stayed here whenever he was in Australia. He and his wife spent their wedding night here.”

Rowan drew a deep breath, pushing herself from the wall. The water continued to stream over her body. Down between her swollen breasts, over her belly, between her thighs, over the seam of her sex… “So what? You know the manager?”

Aslin inclined his head. Not once did his stare waver from her face.

“And he just let you come on up?”

“Yes.”

“Wasn’t that nice of him.”

Another single nod of his head.

She swallowed. Straightened her spine. Tilted her chin. “And now you’re here, what do you plan to do?”

His nostrils flared. His jaw bunched.

Grab my wrist. Grab my wrist and yank me to your body. Kiss me. Fuck me. Please. Please do that. Oh God, please…

“Tell you to bloody well hurry up.” His voice was a rumble, like distant thunder.

She caught her bottom lip with her teeth. And bit back a groan of protest when he turned and walked from the bathroom.

Her heart hammered. Her sex pulsed and throbbed and squeezed a cock that wasn’t there.

She stared hard at the closed bathroom door, willing him to walk through it. Willing him to take away any choice she had.

But he didn’t.

Throat thick, disgust licking through her, she snapped off the water and stepped out of the shower stall.

She dried herself with savage force, the world’s fluffiest towel an instrument of punishment in her hands as she rubbed it against her skin like a frenzied house painter sanding the walls.