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  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.

  “I know exactly what to do with her.” The edges of his lips curled a little, his gaze holding hers. “Exactly.”

  Rowan’s mouth went dry. Even as her sex constricted and the crotch of her panties grew damp.

  Oh boy. This was not what she expected.

  What the fuck did she do now?

  Chapter Three

  The sweat trickled down Aslin’s temples, but he ignored it. His muscles burned, flooded with energy. He studied Rowan, his heart pounding, his body on fire. Fuck, he’d never felt so charged. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say his veins flowed with concentrated adrenaline. And lust.

  Who would have thought it?

  He sucked in a swift breath. He’d never been a man for self-delusion. When he recognised in himself a want, desire or opinion, he acknowledged it and, if possible, acted on it. His time as Nick’s bodyguard had taught him about the dangers and vices of self-indulgence, and his years in Her Majesty’s service taught him self-discipline and control.

  That he was sexually attracted to Chris Huntley’s sister was a given.

  What he was going to do about it wasn’t.

  His blood on fire, he studied the American as she rocked back and forth. Her exquisitely fit body was beyond sublime, her long thighs firm and toned. Her hips rolled with confident purpose, the rhythm moving through her close to perfection as she rode the mechanical bull between her legs.

  Another cheer reverberated around the Buckshot Saloon, one of Sydney’s most popular American-themed nightclubs, as the mechanical bull lurched to the left with violent speed. The crowd cheered louder as Rowan clung on with all the skill of a professional rodeo rider.

  She let out a squeal of laughter, her smile wide and open. When he’d first brought her here—after a good hour’s worth of crawling through Sydney’s peak-hour traffic on his bike, her inner thighs pressed against his hips, the tips of her breasts brushing his back whenever he braked—she’d looked at him like he’d grown an extra head.

  “Seriously?” She’d cocked an eyebrow at him, her long blonde hair scraped back in a ponytail his fingers just itched to release. “This is what you think I want right now?”

  A thick spasm had claimed Aslin’s cock at her choice of words. He’d known what he wanted right there and then, but despite the desire he’d seen in Rowan’s eyes every time she’d turned her gaze on him back in Chris’s trailer, he didn’t think it was right to suggest it. For one thing, he’d also noticed anger in her eyes. And confusion.

  So instead he’d brought her here, to the Buckshot, a place guaranteed to give anyone who enjoyed testing their physical limits a good time. If nothing else, the mechanical bull allowed them both to work off their pent-up tension.

  Out in the middle of the riding area, Rowan whiplashed backward, one arm arcing behind her head as the machine between her legs took a savage nosedive. Every man with a pulse watched her, enrapt. Aslin couldn’t miss that. He’d scanned the crowd after his own go on the bull, biting back a growl at what he saw. The second Rowan had taken his place, had swung one long, black-leather-clad leg over the saddle, every male in the club had paused, drinks forgotten in their hands, stares locked on the woman astride the machine.

  Every single one of them, Aslin suspected, would have traded places with the bull in a heartbeat.

  Sitting at their table on the perimeter of the riding mat, Aslin didn’t doubt many of those men were preparing to make their move when Rowan finished her turn.

  The way she rode the mechanical bull, the way her body moved, the way her breasts strained against the snug black T-shirt she wore, the way her laughter escaped her in breathless gasps…hell, even the sexy American accent that filled the club every time she called out, “Yeah! Oh boy, that’s it, that’s it!” was turning the audience of red-blooded males into a frenzied pack with only one thing on its collective mind. Rutting.

  Or is that just you?

  Aslin drew a slow breath and let his gaze move from the vision of Rowan riding the bull to the crowd watching the show. No. It wasn’t just him. More than one man stared at her, more than one disgruntled girlfriend or wife glared at their partner’s mesmerized face.

  This very moment in the Buckshot Saloon, Rowan Hemsworth was as lusted after as her brother was every day.

  A sharp buzzer sounded over the cheers and hollers, signaling Rowan’s time had ended.

  The bull’s erratic gyrations slowed, coming to a standstill a few seconds later.

  “Now that was very impressive,” the Buckshot’s MC congratulated into a microphone as he approached Rowan, who was now sliding off the bull to the mat. “Am I allowed to say it’s your American blood?”

  Rowan laughed and Aslin couldn’t help but notice his cock grew thicker at the relaxed sound. She had a horny laugh—throaty and sensual. “Not if you want to keep standing.”

  The MC chuckled, threaded his fingers through hers and lifted her arm above her head. “Give the little lady a hand, everyone. Six and a half minutes.”

  The crowd burst out with raucous cheers, clapping and more than one wolf-whistle. Rowan grinned, dropped into a little curtsey and began walking toward where Aslin sat at their table.

  As predicted, she was stopped twice before she made it. Both times her would-be suitors indicated in the direction of the bar with their
hands, their gaze devouring her with open interest. Both times she flashed her dimple at them and shook her head, her cheeks high with colour.

  Both times, the desire to stand up and cross to her while the men chatted her up shot through Aslin. He kept his arse in his seat however. For two reasons. One, he had no claim on her and if she wanted to have a drink with a man she met here tonight she could, as much as he didn’t like the idea at all. And two, she didn’t like to be treated like she needed to be looked after. He could tell already. Not just because she was one of only three people in the world who’d managed to put him on his arse, but by the way she held herself, the way she’d challenged him when they first met. And by her martial art skill.

  You didn’t take the world Taekwondo championship multiple times over if you needed protection.

  Which was interesting, because by nature he was drawn to people who needed to be protected, and yet Rowan turned him on more than any woman he’d ever met. What did that say?

  “I beat you.”

  He smiled at Rowan’s smug gloat as she sank into the seat opposite him. Her breasts were still heaving, her voice still a little breathless. It was a deliciously arousing sight and his cock responded. At this rate, he’d need to unzip his jeans soon for fear of breaking his dick. And then he’d be unable to stand up without poking himself in the eye.

  She grinned, dimple creasing her smooth cheek. “One whole minute longer. And I got two drink offers. How many did you get?”

  He chuckled, unable to help himself. Christ, her accent was sexy. “One. While you were on the bull.”

  An unreadable expression fell over Rowan’s face at his proclamation. “Really?”

  He nodded again, holding up his half-consumed soda water. “From the waitress. She asked if I wanted a refill.”

  Rowan rolled her eyes. “So, your humour is just as lame as your fighting technique, I see.”

  “It would seem so.”

  She picked up her own drink—a scotch, straight up—and raised it to her lips. “Do you come here often?”

  “Is that a pick-up line?”

  “Answer the question, soldier.”

  “Is that an order?”

  “It is. I’ve beaten you twice in a twenty-four-hour period. Victor’s privilege.”

  “I see.” He lifted his own glass to his mouth and took a drink, enjoying the icy liquid flowing over his tongue and down his throat. He was hot. Hot and aroused. “In that case, no. Never been here before.”

  She contemplated his answer, her gaze on his face just as confident as her body language. Her posture was beautiful, her spine straight, her shoulders the same, nothing in her position telling him she was unnerved by their banter. And yet, her breasts still rose and fell with alacrity. He knew she wasn’t breathless from her rodeo ride—her level of fitness was obvious to him from the second she put him on his back at the film site. Which meant she was affected by him. It would be very enjoyable to see her lose control completely.

  To be the one responsible for such release.

  “So, out of the blue, you brought an American to an American bar you’ve never been to before. What if it sucked?”

  “Then I would have taken you somewhere else.”

  The corners of her lips curled. “Where?”

  “The local paintball arena.”

  She burst out laughing. “You really know how to show a girl a good time, Aslin Rhodes.”

  He took another drink of his soda water, doing his damndest to ignore the urgent pressure in his cock. “Thank you.”

  “So tell me, how does a super soldier end up being a bodyguard for a rock star?” She leant forward, the nightclub’s muted light glinting in her eyes. “Did you get wounded?”

  Aslin shook his head. “No. I just needed a change of scenery.”

  “And now you’re working on a Hollywood movie.” She sipped her scotch, studying him over the brim of the glass. “Planning on becoming an actor next?”

  He shook his head, holding her inspection. “I don’t suit the lifestyle. Besides, I have a very limited range. Stoic and menacing.”

  “Don’t suit the lifestyle?” Her eyes narrowed. “After all those years as Nick Blackthorne’s bodyguard? I would have thought you’d be used to the lifestyle? I’ve read the stories about his indulgences. The wild parties, the women, the excesses. Surely you miss it? You were in among it for so long, right? I bet more than one fan or record-label executive offered whatever you wanted for a chance at Nick.”

  He took another drink. “The stories aren’t all true.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Really?”

  Aslin knew exactly what Rowan was doing. Weighing up the man who had suddenly become a part of her brother’s life, no matter how recently—or vaguely. He held her gaze with his, understanding her actions this afternoon a little more. She may not need protecting, but in her opinion her brother did. From the life fame delivered. He understood that. He’d done his best during his years as Nick’s bodyguard to protect him from the wildness, especially when he was still in his twenties. It hadn’t been easy. At times, he was still surprised Nick had survived it all.

  And that’s what she fears, boyo. Her brother getting caught up in it…and maybe not walking away with his life.

  “I won’t lead him astray,” he said. “Nor tell him any tales of Nick’s wild days.”

  A calm stillness fell over Rowan. She stared at him, a fine muscle in her jaw bunching. “I would hurt you if you did.”

  “I know.”

  She didn’t take her focus from his face. “I’m serious. He’s too important to me to lose to the lifestyle. He doesn’t need another party buddy or drinking chum. Or someone to help him spend his money or to tag along to celebrity dinners and award shows. If you think you can gain something from him, if you think he’s a free ride to your next change of scenery, you’re sorely mistaken.”

  Warm approval rolled through Aslin. It threaded through the base physical attraction he felt for Rowan. There was so much more to this woman than just a gorgeous body and sexy strength. She was protective, stubborn and not afraid to face any challenge to those she loved.

  The realization was unsettling. It made the heavy pressure in his groin all the more exquisite and painful. Mindless fucking wasn’t mindless when the woman he was fucking stirred him on an emotional level as well. And Christ, did Rowan Hemsworth stir him on an emotional level.

  His blood roared in his ears. The adrenaline still lingering in his veins from his earlier mechanical-bull ride surged through him again, this time fed by an excitement far more potent.

  He could fall for Rowan Hemsworth if he let himself. Hard. Fast.

  The thought made his mouth dry. He’d had numerous lovers in his time, but nothing serious. Protecting Nick—and then Lauren and Josh—had been his priority. He met his sexual desires when needed and went back to work. But that work, that life, was almost in his past. What did that mean for everything else in his life?

  “So tell me, super soldier—” Rowan’s stare held his, a shadow deep in her eyes Aslin longed to understand, “—what exactly are you hoping to achieve working on Dead Even with my brother?”

  To get to know you better.

  The words, the confession, almost slipped from him. They were there, right on his tongue. They made his heart thump harder and his stomach coil. Instead, he leant forward, drew his gaze level with Rowan’s and said, “To make him the most believable super soldier Hollywood has ever seen.”

  “Oh well, in that case—” she chinked her glass against his, a smile playing with her lips, “—here’s to super soldiers on and off screen.”

  She downed her scotch in a single mouthful and then ran the tip of her tongue along her top lip. Aslin stared at the small pink tip of flesh, hypnotized. He wondered what it would feel like sliding against his. Would she taste of scotch if he kissed her now? Or would her mouth be sweet and warm?

  Would he lose himself in the kiss? Would she moan into his mouth and
wrap her arms around his back?

  Would she press her hips to his?

  Would she—

  “Here’s your fries.” A woman’s voice sounded to Aslin’s right. He started, snapping his stare up to the waitress leaning over their table. “And your ketchup.”

  She placed a large basket of thin, hot chips between them, followed by a red plastic bottle. A disconnected part of Aslin’s unsettled mind told him it was tomato sauce, not ketchup the waitress was giving them, another part thanking bloody Christ she’d arrived when she had. His cock was threatening to burst free of his fly. He needed the distraction from his overwhelming response to Rowan.

  Rowan smiled up at the woman, her cheeks flushed. “Thank you. These look delicious.”

  Aslin bit back a growl. He’d never experienced such a predicament. The need to fuck Rowan so badly twisted through his overwhelming desire to do nothing but get to know all about her—her dreams, her hopes. It was…it was….fuck, he didn’t know what it was. Confusing?

  Disorientating?

  Scary.

  A snort left him at the word. Since when had he been scared of anything?

  “So.” Rowan’s low voice drew his attention back to her face. Her cheeks were still flushed, her lips moist, as if she’d licked them again. “Tell me more about Aslin Rhodes. Married? Girlfriend? Dog? Cat?”

  He chuckled, forcing some semblance of calm through his wired muscles. “No. No. No and no. You pretty much know it all, I’m afraid. Ex-SAS commando for the United Kingdom Special Forces, followed by fifteen years as Nick Blackthorne’s bodyguard. And now advisor to the film Dead Even. That’s my story.”

  “Wow. I don’t know what’s sadder? The fact that’s your story, or that you summed it up in one sentence.”

  Aslin raised what was left of his soda water to his lips. “Two, actually.”

  Rowan narrowed her eyes again. “There’s that lame humour again. I thought you British were meant to be funny.”

  “No, that’s the Irish. And sometimes the Scots. Billy Connelly is bloody funny, don’t you think?” He snared a hot chip from the bowl between them and tossed it into his mouth. “Now,” he spoke around the deep-fried strip of potato, “your turn. Why can’t you be stunt co-ordinator on the film? I suspect you’d do a very impressive job.”