Muscle for Hire Page 2

  He didn’t let her finish. Twisting to his left, he slammed his forearm into the side of her calf, rolling to his feet and driving her back—butt first—against the trailer.

  A second later, she dropped into a crouch, escaped his pinning arm and smashed a fist into his balls.

  He staggered back a step. But only one. The pain was excruciating, agonizing, but he’d learnt to shut pain out a long time ago. Fixing his stare on the woman’s face, he whipped out his right hand, feigning an attempt to grab her arm even as he swooped his left foot against her right ankle.

  And ended up on his arse, again, the wind knocked from him, when she spun off the ground in a tight circle and drove her heel into his chest.

  What the hell?

  The thought had barely formed in his head when two firm thighs slammed into his ribcage, right under his armpits, squeezing him with phenomenal crushing strength as one fist balled in the front of his shirt and the other bunched behind her head. “Nice try, buddy.” A soft American accent turned the words to a mocking snarl. “But not good enough.” Brilliant blue eyes glared down at him, thick dark lashes framing their obvious anger. “Now tell me who the fuck you are and what the hell you think you’re—”

  “Holy shit, Rowan!” A male voice called out, and a distant part of Aslin’s mind recognised it as Chris Huntley’s. “What have you done to Nick Blackthorne’s bodyguard?”

  The woman straddling Aslin didn’t move a muscle. Aslin could tell. Every muscle in his body was tuned into hers.

  “What’s Nick Blackthorne’s bodyguard doing here?” the woman—Rowan—asked without lifting her pinning stare from Aslin’s face. “And why did he try to grab me?”

  From the corner of Aslin’s eye, he saw feet come to a stop on the concrete beside his head, but he didn’t tear his focus from the woman atop him. His nerve-endings sparked and fired. He’d been put on his back by a woman? How the hell had he been put on his back by a woman? Who the hell was she?

  “I don’t know why he tried to grab you.” Chris laughed. “Did you piss him off?”

  Blue eyes flickered, holding Aslin motionless. And then the woman was standing, in a move so fluid and quick he couldn’t stop the slither of appreciation threading through his disbelief.

  “Funny, Huntley,” she said, stepping over him like he no longer mattered. “Now shut up and say hello to me. It’s been too long since we saw each other.”

  From his place on the ground, Aslin watched her reach out and wrap her smooth, firmly toned arms around the actor, giving him a hug that was relaxed and warm. She kissed Chris’s cheek, a grin playing with the corners of her lips. Lips, Aslin couldn’t help but notice, that were full and naturally pink.

  “Ugh,” Chris laughed, stepping out of the woman’s hug. “Girl germs.”

  The woman swiped at his jaw in a friendly punch, a shallow dimple creasing the smooth flesh of her cheek. “Shut up, you idiot.”

  Chris laughed again, dropped a kiss on that very dimple, and then turned to Aslin. Aslin who was still lying shocked on the ground.

  Aslin who’d just had his arse handed to him by a woman no taller than his chin.

  “Aslin Rhodes,” Chris said, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “Allow me to introduce my sister, Rowan Hemsworth.”

  Chapter Two

  The situation, in Rowan’s opinion, wasn’t acceptable. For starters, the last thing she wanted was her brother forming a relationship with the bodyguard of the famous wild boy of rock. She’d worked too hard to keep Chris grounded for him to suddenly be exposed to the lifestyle and stories Aslin Rhodes would no doubt regale him with. The life of a successful actor was already fraught with temptation for Chris. Rowan didn’t want the potential decadence of celebrity leeching into his ear via the stories told by a walking, talking mountain of muscle.

  She watched Chris hand the silent bodyguard an icepack. Her brother was already enamored with the Brit. It was obvious in the easy smile on his face. This was not how she’d hoped the shoot in Australia would go. Getting Chris away from all the yes-men and fawning hanger-oners in L.A. was meant to help him grasp a more real perspective on life, not skew it to hell.

  And the other thing unsettling her? The one she was trying to ignore?

  Rowan slid a quick sideward glance at Aslin Rhodes. Her stomach clenched. The Brit was unsettling. His towering height, his impressive strength, his speed, the way his body moved when fighting her, like oiled smoke and liquid steel. It had only been a short kerfuffle between them, but it was enough to tell Rowan she may not be the victor if it happened again. The element of surprise had been her greatest advantage this time, but that element was gone. If she had to face off against Aslin again, she didn’t know if she’d win. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was very unsettling. Because the very real possibility of being bested by the Brit not only made her angry, it made her…

  Horny.

  Damn it, on a level she didn’t want to acknowledge let alone analyse, the man currently holding an icepack to his groin turned her on.

  Rowan bit back a curse. She hadn’t flown halfway around the world to be turned on by an Englishman, no matter how killer his biceps and moves. She’d flown to Sydney to look after her kid brother. Aslin Rhodes could just fuck—

  Me?

  “And then Ricco stormed off…sis? Are you listening to me?”

  Rowan jerked her stare back to Chris, dismayed by the fact both he and the Brit had caught her unfocussed.

  She pulled an exasperated face at her brother. “Of course I’m listening. What I’m wondering is, now Mr. Rhodes has apparently pissed off the stunt director to the point where Ricco has gone AWOL, who is going to co-ordinate and choreograph all the fight and stunt scenes?” She folded her arms across her breasts—breasts that for some stupid reason felt much fuller and rounder when Aslin’s gaze moved to her. “After all, I’m not allowed to do it, am I?”

  Chris laughed, a boyish chuckle the world was in love with and she’d heard her whole life. “You know why you can’t be the stunt coordinator.” He tossed a grin at the still-silent Englishman. “But I’m certain I could pull some strings and Aslin could do it. The bodyguard union and the stunt-workers union would have to be connected somehow, right?”

  Rhodes cocked an eyebrow. Just one. “I’m here to show you how to be a soldier, Chris. That’s it.”

  The calm statement sank into the pit of Rowan’s belly. Maybe it was the British accent, or the undeniable power lurking beneath his steady words. Whatever it was, it made her pussy contract with a greedy urgency she hadn’t experienced since…well, since ever.

  Great. She was attracted to a grunt. Awesome.

  She leveled a glare at the man, ignoring how goddamn handsome and intimidating he was, even holding an icepack to his groin. “What do you know about being a soldier? Aren’t you just a bodyguard?”

  The question was petulant, but Rowan couldn’t help it. She didn’t like her base reaction to the man. It made her feel out of control. Weak.

  One thing Rowan Hemsworth wasn’t was weak. She had the black belts—plural—to prove it.

  “Aslin was once an elite soldier. An SAS Commando in the United Kingdom Special Forces.” Chris grinned at her and, for the first time since entering his trailer, Rowan recognised his wicked sense of humour brimming below his boyish front. Her kid brother was enjoying himself. A lot. Which meant he could detect how…affected she was by Rhodes.

  Rowan ground her teeth and gave Chris a look, the one that said she was going to give him a damn good nipple-cripple when they were alone.

  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—

  “So
meone 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?”