Guarded Desires (22 page)

They’d arrived at their destination. The only reason Chris knew that to be the case was the large sign a few yards away, a kangaroo and a koala smiling at each other above the words
Sydney Wildlife Park and Reserve
. If it weren’t for the sign, he’d just as easily believe he’d driven to the gates of some messed-up hell.

Hordes of chanting people crowded the area directly in front of the park, spilling onto the road, shoving against each other. Some smiled and laughed, the signs in their hands shaken with fervor. Signs that read
We Love Chris Huntley
,
Chris Huntley is Hot
,
Twice Too Sexy
, and
Marry Me, Chris
. Those people Chris were familiar with. Their kind appeared at every public appearance he made. They were part of his existence.

It was the other kind that made his gut roll now. An angry kind he’d never encountered before. The kind waving placards with
Go Home Yank Pervert
painted on them. The kind brandishing signs that declared
Australia Doesn’t Welcome Sickos
and
Protect Our Children
. The kind wielding signs that stated
God Hates Homos
. The kind who announced, with succinct conviction,
Huntley Is A Fag
.

“How…” Beside Chris, Bethany bit her whispered question short.

Jeff pulled the SUV to a halt and shook his head. Chris couldn’t miss how white his knuckles were as he gripped the steering wheel. “Huntley is a fag? What the fuck are they talking about?” He shot Chris a frown over his shoulder. “You’re not gay.”

Chris swallowed. Or at least tried to. The lump that kept filling his throat over the last seven days was back.

Beside Jeff, Liev was a statue of silent tension, studying the madness beyond the car.

“Oh God, no. No, no, no.”

Bethany’s breathless gasp jerked Chris’s attention to his personal assistant. Her head was bowed over her iPad, moving side to side as she stared at the device on her lap.

The headline on the screen caught Chris’s attention first. He had to admit, it wasn’t anywhere near as creative as the ones he’d imagined a lifetime ago.

Actor and Bodyguard in Poolside Passion

Below the bold black typeface, so large it filled the rest of the iPad’s screen, was an image. Blurry, dark and almost indistinct with grain, but recognizable for what it was nonetheless—an image of a very naked Chris lying between the legs of a very naked Liev, Chris’s lips closed around Liev’s right nipple.

“At least they got my good side,” Chris said, his mouth dust.

Bethany jerked her stare up to his face, her skin a sick pallor. “I don’t understand…”

Chris nodded at the image, a dull buzz in his ears. “My ass. I’ve always said it’s my good side.”

Bethany shook her head, her eyes the size of saucers. “No, I don’t understand how they got the image. The pool is…” Her teeth worried her bottom lip as she studied the image again. “I made sure the pool was secluded. Private. I scoped it all out. Even asked the neighbours if I could try and see it from their homes while you were at the party.” She lifted her stare to his face again, her cheeks paler still. “I made sure.”

“Who took the photo?”

Chris started at Liev’s flat question. So did Bethany.

Pulling his stare from his personal assistant, he found Liev’s arm extended over the seat, hand open.

“Let me see who took the photo,” Liev said without taking his attention from the crowd outside the park.

Chewing on her lip, Bethany placed her iPad on the Australian’s flat palm.

Liev took it without another word, his head dipping as he searched for the answer.

“I’m confused, dude.” Jeff twisted behind the steering wheel to frown at Chris. “Why do they think you’re gay?”

Chris opened his mouth. Closed it again.

Jeff’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? You’re gay? Holy shit. Since when?”

The lump in Chris’s throat grew thicker. His face grew hot. “I…”

Jeff laughed. “Dude, doesn’t matter to me at all. These people here though…” he tossed a sideways nod at the protesting crowd, “…seem pissed. How’d they find out about—”

“Holston.”

Once again, Chris jumped at Liev’s flat growl.

Jeff leaned toward the Australian, no doubt peering at the iPad in Liev’s hands. “Ahh, I see.” He looked up at Liev, a grin on his lips. “They’re some seriously worked thighs you’ve got there, dude.”

Ignoring Jeff, Liev passed the iPad back to Bethany, his stare once more on the crowd. “Carl Holston.” Dark contempt cut the familiar name. “Rhodes warned me about him.”

Chris looked down at Bethany’s lap, noting the image on her iPad’s screen was now slightly different, taken a few moments after the first one. The headline was different as well. This one utilized a bad pun along with the words
World Exclusive
to make its derisive point.
Huntley Heads Down Under
.

He laughed, a hollow mirthless sound. “Clever.”

The attached image—as blurry and indistinct as the first—showed Chris exploring Liev’s navel with his lips. Liev’s hands were fisted in Chris’s hair, his head thrown back, his eyes closed. Carl Holston was accredited as the photographer.

Chris’s blood roared in his ears. Holston was the same photographer who had captured the image of Chris looking up at Liev outside the restaurant. The same photographer who last year had captured images of Rowan and Aslin making out on the back of Aslin’s Ducati. Chris had damn near broken his hand punching Aslin in the jaw over those images.

Rowie hasn’t seen these yet. Otherwise, she’d be calling you right now.

A tiny beat of relief struggled against his numb shock at the thought. God, what was he going to say when she
did
call?

“I’m sorry, Mr. Huntley,” Bethany whispered beside him. “I never meant for this to happen.”

He lifted his gaze to her face to give her a warm smile. “Look at the photos, Bethany. The prick must have been miles away, perched in a tree somewhere using a massive zoom lens. Even with the full moon and light from the pool, it’s still a dark, fuzzy image. I’m surprised anyone could recognize me with all the grain.”

“Look at the next image.”

Chris’s heart thumped harder at Liev’s blunt instruction.

Her hand trembling, Bethany tapped the screen. The next image appeared and she moaned.

This
photo was taken only an hour and a half ago. Chris knew the exact time, not because of the bright sunlight in the frame, but because he’d noticed the clock on the chest of drawers beside his bedroom door as Bethany walked through it.

Holston had captured the moment just after Chris had asked his P.A. to leave. He sat in the middle of the bed, amongst the crumpled sheets, obviously naked. Liev was perched on the end, equally bereft of clothing, his head in his hands. A white blur on either side of the image told Chris the paparazzo had taken advantage of the sheer curtains wafting apart on a playful breeze. The man must have been waiting in a boat out in the harbour for the perfect moment.

It seemed Holston had been stalking him since the restaurant. And, knowing the celebrity gossip sites like Chris did, the payoff for the prick would be massive.

“I’m sorry,” Bethany whispered again. “So sorry.”

Chris shook his head, smiling. “It’s not your fault, sweetie. Honest.”

“It’s not your fault, Bethany.” Liev’s monotone statement filled the Audi’s cabin. “It’s mine.”

Liev studied the crowd, a crowd he couldn’t help but notice was growing more frenzied by the second. And brave. The chanting people were drawing closer to the Audi, as if sensing their prey nearby. He didn’t turn back to Chris or Bethany. He didn’t dare. Not when he was consumed by black rage and self-contempt.

If he’d done his job the way he was meant to, none of this would be happening. None of it.

“What do you want me to do?” Concern laced Jeff’s voice.

Liev shook his head. “It’s too volatile. Not safe. I’m surprised the cops aren’t here yet.” The path of one particular protester drew his attention and his gut knotted. The man was swinging a placard with the slogan
Go Home American Poof
painted over a printed image of Chris’s face. Grinding his teeth, Liev shot Jeff a quick look. “Turn around. Chris isn’t getting out here. Bethany can—”

“Wait a minute,” Chris burst out from the back seat. “I’m not running away. I run away, they win.”

“Mr. Huntley,” Bethany spoke, the distress in her voice clear. “I think Liev is right. This is not—”

“Something I’m running away from,” Chris cut her off. “I’ve got no reason to run. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Liev ground his teeth and, unable to stop himself, he finally twisted in his seat to glare at the actor. “You may think that, but they don’t.”

“Why? Because some low-life pap photographed us fucking?” Chris grinned at him. Grinned. If Liev wasn’t so aware of the unruly mob but a few meters away he could believe Chris was just shooting the breeze. “Nothing wrong with that. In fact, I remember quite clearly the words
amazing
and
incredible
being uttered after the deed. Oh, and we
both
agreed holy was the only term appropriate for how
amazing
and
incredible
it was. So their signs about God hating homos is misinformed, wouldn’t you say? At least let me explain to them how much we
homos
love God, okay?”

Cold anger knotted through Liev’s hot rage. “That’s enough, Chris.”

Chris laughed, an infuriatingly relaxed sound. “No it’s not.” He slipped his fingers under the door handle and dropped a wink at Liev. “Not even close, lover. Watch this.”

Before Liev could say a word, Chris opened the door and stepped out of the Audi. The crowd of fans and protestors erupted into squeals and shrieks at the appearance of their target. They ran at him, a single frenzied horde.

“Oh no,” Bethany moaned from the back seat.

“Shit.” Liev scrambled to release his belt buckle. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Fuck,” Jeff echoed the sentiment.

Liev yanked open his door just as Chris walked past the nose of the SUV, heading for the crowd. The screams assaulted his ears, as did the shrill ring of his mobile phone bursting into life. Snatching the communication device from his hip pocket, he tossed it to Jeff without looking at the screen. “Deal with whoever it is,” he ordered over his shoulder as he hurried after Chris.

Above the noise of the crowd, the sounds of sirens wailed. Liev wanted to curse. The situation was volatile and dangerous, more so than the restaurant riot had been. At least at the restaurant there hadn’t been people after Chris with hate and contempt in their narrow-minded heads. If Liev had kept his fucking dick in his pants, if he’d been professional about the job, none of this would be happening. But no, he’d not only had sex with the client, he’d done it outside. Outside. What the fuck had he been thinking? He’d been so consumed by his desire and need for Chris he’d forgotten the first rule of being a bodyguard—never, ever let the client be exposed.

Thanks to Liev, Chris
had
been exposed. On every imaginable level.

“Huntley,” he called, lengthening his stride to catch up with the American. “Stop.”

Chris didn’t.

Nor did the swarming crowd. In fact, at the sight of Liev, the squeals and shrieks and chants grew louder.

“We love you, Liev!” someone shouted.

“Poofta!” someone else shouted in reply. “Fucking fag.”

Liev ground his teeth, snaring Chris’s forearm in a tight grip. “Huntley.”

Chris turned and gave him a wide grin, his backward steps a springy skip. “Trust me, lover.”

He spun back to the crowd, held up his hand and waved. “Heya, guys. You all here to see me play with a furry little thing?”

Chris’s fans squealed and giggled. Those there because of the images hurled abuse, waving their insulting placards and signs.

Chris laughed, still walking toward the wildlife reserve’s entry. Liev stepped up beside him, arms out, protecting him from any attack or threat forthcoming. “Of course, I’m not talking about this guy here.” Chris whacked the back of his hand against Liev’s chest in a playful slap. “There’s nothing little about him.”

A large proportion of the crowd laughed.

Chris dropped Liev a sideways wink. “As you probably all saw in the photos, am I right?”

People chanted Chris’s name, Liev’s name. The laughing adoration coming from the fans grew louder. So loud it almost drowned out the insults of the shouting bigots.

A kerfuffle to Liev’s left drew his harried glance. He bit back a growl. The press had found them.

“Chris, Chris,” the reporter from the country’s leading current affairs program cried into a microphone. “How are you feeling about this invasion of your privacy? Are you officially declaring your homosexuality?”

Chris smiled, continuing to walk for the park’s front door. “The photographer captured my good side. Can’t complain about that.”

Another reporter, this one from the second-highest rating breakfast program, shoved a mic at Chris. “Are you gay, Mr. Huntley?”