The Complete Rockstar Series (59 page)

“Okay.”

I stand there, mesmerized, as subtle changes happen to Gavin’s gorgeous face. The smile fades and he swipes his tongue out to wet his lips. His pupils enlarge and his eyes drop to my mouth. When his lids lower, I notice how long and dark his eyelashes are. Christ, he really is good-looking—like grace the cover of magazines and sell designer underwear good-looking.

A rosy flush speads up his neck to his defined cheekbones, cutting deep red slashes across the tan skin. I try to swallow but my own tongue is too thick and too dry all of a sudden. Gavin leans in a little closer. Close enough for me to get a whiff of coconut, sending even more blood rushing to my dick.

I swear I’d think Gavin is about to kiss me.

With that realization, I jump back as if electrocuted, pulling my arm from his grasp.

“Uh, yeah. So your room is down that way. I’m going to, uh, grab a shower,” I stammer.

Without looking back, I flee for my bedroom as fast as my aching knee allows and shut the door, leaning against it. Jesus. What the hell was that? Untapped lust zings through my blood, pounding behind my eardrums.

I rub my forehead and groan. I can’t even begin to comprehend what just happened in the kitchen. He’s a fucking client for Christ’s sake. He’s a fucking
man
! That’s the more important bit in this scenario. The bit I’m determined to ignore.

My cock, however, is determined to remember every single part of my encounter with Gavin. I press down on it with the heel of my hand, but that only makes things worse.

Annoyed and feeling grubby from not having brushed my teeth or changed my clothes in twenty-four hours, I strip and start the shower, turning it as cold as I can stand. After shivering for five painful minutes without my dick budging an inch, I give in and crank it up to a normal temperature.

“Dammit,” I mutter, staring at my traitorous cock. “You stupid bastard.”

Now I’m talking to my dick.

I can’t go back out there with a massive erection in my pants. That’s something I expect Gavin would notice immediately. Screw him for putting me in this position! I’m not attracted to men. It’s just been awhile, that’s all.

Uh-huh.

Thoroughly pissed off, I grab the soap. When I pour some out and lather up. I think about the soap at Gavin’s house. It’s why he always smells like a day at the beach. His soap. Shaking my head, I wash everything except the pulsing red hard-on jutting out angrily from my groin.

The temptation is too great and the ache is too unavoidable, especially thinking about Gavin’s scent. Unable to hold back any longer, I wrap my hand around the hot length and give my cock a firm squeeze. That action sends sensations so powerful through my body and down to my toes that my legs almost buckle. A long, slow, pull draws a groan from my chest.

Jesus, it’s been too long since I’ve come. After the disaster with Hailey and the case and everything else, I haven’t so much as touched my dick. And now the need for release is bordering on desperation.

I stroke faster, swiping my thumb over the bulbous head with each pass. The pleasure is so intense, I have to brace my free hand on the tile wall so I can drop my head and piston my hips to fuck my fist. The orgasm begins deep in my balls, rapidly building into the perfect storm of ecstasy that gathers toe-curling power.

The first pulse takes me by surprise, and Gavin’s face flashes in my mind as I stroke and groan my way through each jet until I’m drained. Panting from one of the strongest orgasms of my life, I rinse away the evidence and turn off the water.

My cheeks heat up with shame. Then I get angry. Who cares? It’s only a fantasy, right? It’s not like I actually want the guy.

Not entirely sure if I convinced myself, I pull my clothes on so I can get started on solving this damn case.

A
doorbell followed
by the loud noise of feet pounding unevenly down a flight of stairs lures me out of my room. After the horrifyingly uncomfortable moment I shared with Mitch this morning in his kitchen, I locked myself into the only spare room with a bed and haven’t been out since.

I can’t even look at the guy without sprouting wood. Especially not after passing the master bedroom earlier and hearing him moan in the shower. I stood there like a creeper, listening and briefly entertaining the idea that Mitch might be jerking off to images of me. Afterwards, I realized how stupid I was being.

The man is straight. Quite obviously so. He probably went to his room to look at het porn in order to bleach his brain of any trace of my gayness.

But the sounds he made in the shower, the grunts, the groans, that shocked gasp at the end? I want to see what Mitch looks like when he makes those noises. I want to be the one to
cause
Mitch to make those noises.

And don’t those thoughts just make me hate the man even more.

“Gavin!” Mitch’s deep, decidedly angry voice booms from downstairs. I put down my guitar and descend to the main floor, where I find Mitch fuming in the kitchen.

“Yes?” I cross my arms over my chest and stare, letting him know I don’t care for his tone of voice.

“Did you tell your assistant to come here?” he snarls.

Fuck him. He is one snotty comment away from getting a fist to his perfectly rugged, uptight face.

“I did. I need to work, Mitch. She brings me my important documents, we go over my schedule, and do other things relevant to my livelihood.”

That dark head of hair drops and I watch Mitch’s broad shoulders move up and down as he huffs, trying to rein in his anger.

“Is that a problem, Utah?” I challenge.

“Is it a problem?” Mitch barks out a very unamused laugh. “Yeah, it’s a problem.” He lifts his head to stare at me, stormy grey eyes meeting mine. “The stalker could follow her right to you. To
my
front door! You said you would do what I tell you to!” Mitch shouts.

I flush with embarrassment at my now obvious mistake, but my spine still prickles with fury. “You never said my assistant couldn’t come over! How the hell was I supposed to know?”

The way Mitch is acting reminds me of how I felt when my dad would show his disappointment for being saddled with such a pussy for a son. How he would belittle me every chance he got.

“
S
top spending so
much time diddling your guitar, Gavin!”

“Real men join the armed forces, son! You’re such a disappointment. Surfing and music aren’t going to pay the bills.”

“Drop and give me twenty! Now! If you weren’t such a fag, I wouldn’t have to do this to turn you into a man!”

“Do I need to get you a girl, Gavin? You can’t get laid on your own?”

“
C
hrist
,” Mitch grumbles. “Use your head, Gavin! That’s all I’m asking!”

Mitch’s hand darts towards me in a way that reminds me of my dad reaching out to backhand me across the face. My fight or flight instincts kick in and, unfortunately for Mitch, fight wins.

Lightning fast, I grab his arm, digging my fingers into the hollow space between the tendons just below his elbow and squeeze. Mitch yelps in pain and goes down to his knees immediately. I lower myself with him, not wanting to let go and give him a chance to fight back. The man can fight, of that I have no doubt.

“What. The. Hell.” He gasps between heavy, strained breaths.

“Don’t
ever
try to hit me,” I growl, squeezing harder.

“Jesus, Gavin. I was—” he groans in pain, “reaching for my drink.”

“What?” I twist my neck up. Sure enough, on the shelf next to where I was standing is an open bottle of beer.

I let go of his arm and jump back.

“Oh my god. I’m sorry, Mitch,” I sputter. He staggers to his feet while I spin around to fill a dishtowel with ice. “You’ll need to put this on your arm.” I turn to face him and wince. “It’s going to hurt for a few days.”

“Holy—” Mitch rubs his forearm and snatches the icepack, scowling. “Where did you learn that?”

I feel my face and ears heat up. “I took martial arts when the band first got together. My teacher showed me how to use pressure points to prevent a fight or stop someone larger than you.”

Mitch balances the icepack on his arm and braces it on his chest so he can use his free hand to swig his beer. “Why?”

“Why?” I ask, scrunching up my face.

Despite the large amount of pain he’s sure to be feeling, along with the accompanying sharp buzz in the nerve I pinched, Mitch smiles.

“Yeah, why? Why did you take martial arts?”

“Oh.” I duck my head, embarrassed. “Can we sit?”

“Sure.” Mitch heads for the living room and collapses onto the large sectional sofa. Damn, busted knee and now a seriously bruised nerve—being around me is not good for Mitch’s health.

“Where’s Vera, by the way?”

“Vera?” Mitch repeats.

“Yes. My assistant. Where is she?”

Now it’s Mitch’s turn to look sheepish. “I sent her away.”

“Well what the hell, Hale. She was already here. I do need to make a living, you know.”

What a high-handed asshole. And once again, I’m ashamed to admit that it totally turns my crank. The thought of Mitch all bossy and demanding as I get on my knees in front of him…shit.

“Sorry.” He sounds contrite and I did just injure him, so I let it go. “So,” he continues, “tell me about the pressure point trick. Why you learned it.”

I sigh. “My dad was—
is
a complete douchebag. He never felt that I was,” I make air quotes. “
Manly enough
.”

Mitch laughs and his gaze travels up and down my body, stroking me like a caress. “You look like a man to me.” Then he realizes how that might sound and his cheeks pink up. I notice that faint twitch in his eye.

Hmmmm, embarrassment equals twitching? Interesting. And fuck, he’s adorable in a big, powerful, non-swearing, uptight FBI kind of way.

“Yeah. Most people can’t tell I’m gay. I know that. I just wasn’t interested in the same things as my dad. He was career military—Air Force. While in the service he wrote a military thriller, sold millions of copies, a producer bought the rights to the franchise, we moved to L.A. and now he’s just another Hollywood asshole.”

I glance over and notice Mitch’s beer is gone. “Want another?” I ask, pointing at his bottle.

“Sure.” I take the empty and return with a new one for him and one for me.

“So your dad does what now?” Mitch asks, adjusting the melting icepack on his arm.

“Besides make my life miserable by reminding me what a failure I am? He’s a producer and a consultant on military films. You know, making sure everything is authentic. That was after his own movie franchise finished.”

“What franchise is that?” Mitch takes another long sip. I watch, entranced, as his full lips wrap around the neck of the glass bottle and his throat works to swallow the beer.

Christ, it’s hot in here.

“
The Hero Series
,” I murmur, waiting for the inevitable response.

“The ones with Reid Tannen? I love those movies! Man,
Anti-Hero
is one of my favorites.”

Of course he loves them. Who doesn’t? I shouldn’t complain. Those movies gave me a privileged upbringing. Private schools, a mansion in Beverly Hills, I could surf every single day because I lived on the beach and had more free time and money than most kids.

“I’m sorry,” Mitch says, reaching out to put a hand on my leg. It’s cold, from gripping the beer, but I can still feel the heat of his touch through my jeans.

I glance down at his hand then up at his face. “Sorry for what?”

“For your dad being a douche.” Sincerity exudes from his kind face.

“Thanks,” I whisper, caught up in those gorgeous eyes.

“What about your mom? You said she was from London.” Mitch pulls his hand back and adjusts the sopping wet towel. When he can’t get it to sit right, he gives up and dumps it on the coffee table with a wet splat.

I shrug. “After, ummmm, high school, she brought me to London to live with my grandmother, her mother. Hawke came with me. He had…personal reasons of his own to want to leave L.A. The intention was for me to stay in London long term, but I met Adam and Dax and Hawke’s uncle was able to get us into some big clubs here, so I came back.”

“And your mom?”

“She stayed behind and filed for divorce. Still lives there.”

My head hurts, I’m emotionally drained, and I’m still horny as hell from hearing Mitch whacking off in the shower this morning. I stand up and stretch.

I have to hide my shock when Mitch’s eyes zero in on the strip of skin that is revealed at my waist before quickly dropping back to his beer.

“It’s been fun, but think I’ve had enough of the heart to heart for tonight,” I admit.

Mitch stands up as well, finishing his beer. “Right. And we have to find a new place to live.” He shoots me a side eye, but I can tell he’s not angry. Maybe annoyed, but not angry.

“Sorry.”

“No worries, Gavin. Let me make a few calls.”

Mitch limps from the room. I hear his bottle clatter into the recycling bin in the kitchen. Without the work my assistant was bringing, I decide to get my laptop and Skype her so we can coordinate my schedule.

Hopefully it will be enough to distract me from the fact that I’m now sharing a house with one of the hottest, most intriguing men I’ve ever known. Oh yeah, did I mention he’s straight? But after that look he just gave me, I’m thinking it’s possible he’s a little bit bent.

“
I
s it necessary
?” I demand, pacing the length of the back deck of the rental house.

Ross snaps back in a clipped tone. “Yes, it’s necessary. It’s the launch party for their next album, Mitch. I wouldn’t make Gavin go if it weren’t important. You know that. He has to be there.”

I brace one hand on the railing, drumming my fingers, and look out over the city. When I asked Ross to get a rental house, I should have known it would be a ridiculous mansion in the Hollywood Hills.

“Fine. We’ll be there.”

“Great. The car will pick you up at three,” Ross instructs.

“No car. I’m driving him from now on. I don’t want anyone else knowing where we are or coming to the house. We’ll meet you at the studio and go with you from there. And three o’clock, Ross? The event isn’t until six!”

Ross huffs. “There’s wardrobe, makeup, photo sessions, meet and greets—”

“Whatever. Fine, fine, we’ll be there at three.” I disconnect the call before Ross goes off on another tangent.

Christ. I never knew how much work it was to be a celebrity. There are more pointless meet and greets and photo sessions than I ever thought possible. It’s not surprising Gavin is ready to snap. He has people tugging on him from a million different directions. It’s the contact with so many strangers on a daily basis that makes me nervous. You never know if one of them is about to attack.

“Gets old, doesn’t it?” Gavin quips from behind me, bringing with him the faint scent of that damn coconut body wash. “The nagging and expectations everyone has?”

I laugh. “Yeah. And it’s only been a week. How you don’t snap and go out of your mind is a mystery. I’d be in the loony bin by now.”

Gavin flinches and his mouth presses into a tight line.

What did I say?

“So,” I hesitate. “We’ll be leaving at two-thirty.”

He nods, leaving the deck in a cloud of unexplained fury.

Spoiled brat celebrities. Never again.

Flummoxed, I call Sasha to vent.

“Mitch, my gorgeous darling. Miss me?”

I smile. “You always know how to cheer me up, Sasha.” I settle onto one of the comfy deck chairs and close my eyes, letting my skin soak up the sun.

“That’s because I’m brilliant. And because I know you, Mitch,” she purrs.

“You do.” I agree.

“Uh oh, is there trouble in Hollywood paradise?”

I snort. “You could say that. I’m saddled with a client who’s either bipolar or has a split personality. I haven’t decided which.”

Sasha giggles. “Don’t say that. You know he isn’t either of those things.”

“How would you know? You’ve never even met the man,” I challenge.

“Because, Mitch. You would have diagnosed him already and told me as much. It wouldn’t take you an entire week to figure out something so obvious.”

“Hmph.” She’s right.

“You two don’t get along. That’s the problem,” she says with certainty.

“We do sometimes. Then it’s like oil and water. I swear, Sasha, my head can’t keep up with his mood swings.” I flex my sore knee cautiously. It feels much better today, but not one hundred percent.

“It’s like living with a whiney girlfriend, huh?”

“Exactly.” I exhale and kick my feet up in the chair. “That’s exactly what it’s like.”

“I wonder why that is?” Sasha murmurs.

“What?”

“Oh, Mitch. You’ll figure it out when you’re ready. For now, just keep that boy safe.”

“He’s not a boy,” I grumble.

“Bye! Love you!” Sasha calls out.

Before I can answer, she’s already hung up. Odd.

I check the time and realize I have to get changed soon. Jesus, this suit thing is growing old. The thought of putting on a constricting tie has me gagging.

There has to be another way to be part of Gavin’s entourage and not be the bodyguard or the executive. Since I don’t want any extra outsiders knowing where the house is, our entourage is small.

When the idea comes to me, I spend a few minutes wondering if Gavin would be willing to go along with it. I spend zero minutes wondering why it has me growing hard.

Nope. Not going there.

“
Y
es
. Of course, Ellie… I’ll see you there… I’m leaving in a few minutes… Okay… Bye.”

I catch the tail end of Gavin’s conversation and come down the stairs in time to see him hang up his phone.