Muscle for Hire (17 page)

Aslin didn’t miss the way Rowan’s lips twitched. Nor the way Chris drew a slow breath before turning to his personal assistant. “Tilly, can you get me a bottle of coconut water, please? Luke warm. Unopened. Oh, and an apple. I’d prefer a red delicious.”

“Sure, Mr. Huntley.” The young woman hurried away, the ever-present spring in her step. She was joined by her boyfriend a few steps away, Warren McCreedy flipping Chris a wave before wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

“Now,” Chris said, grinning at Aslin. “About the prom—”

Aslin met his smirk with an unwavering stare. “Do you want me to hurt you, Chris?”

The actor held up his hands. “Okay, dude. I get the point. How ’bout I go talk to my director over there about something important while you talk to my sister about—”

Something in Aslin’s face sent Chris running.

“What’s going on, soldier boy?”

Aslin’s heart thumped hard. He leveled his gaze to her face, noting the uncharacteristic uncertainty in her eyes. “Are you going to New Delhi?”

Rowan stiffened. “If I am?”

“I’d like to come with you.”

She was quiet for a long moment. “What about the film shoot? Berlin?”

“I’m not interested in Berlin.”

Her lips parted at his not-so-subtle answer. She gazed up at him, her eyes battling his, her eyebrows pulling together. “Is this…” She paused. “Can we, you and I…can it work?”

Aslin drew a long, slow breath, refusing to let her stare go. “I fucking well plan on it.”

His crude respond made her chuckle. A faint pink tinge painted her cheeks. She looked up at him through lowered lashes. “What if I’m still not one hundred percent certain?”

Aslin lowered his head slightly. His heart was pounding fast. “I can be very convincing.”

Rowan tilted her chin. Just enough to bring her lips in line with his. “Then convince me.”

He caught his growl of eager approval before it could vibrate through his body. Turning on his heel, he strode toward his trailer. Behind him, Rowan chuckled again, the sound low and decidedly suggestive. In two steps, she was by his side. Two steps after that, her fingers were threaded through his. It was a surreal moment, one Aslin didn’t think he’d ever forget. He hadn’t held a girl’s hand like this since he was a kid—a silly lad of twelve hoping to snog Janine Wellings after walking her home from school.

This was completely different. For starters, he was forty-one. But more importantly, it wasn’t just a kiss he was hoping to score when they reached their destination, but a future.

Ah, boyo, it truly does seem that you’re in love.

A few minutes later, minutes passed in silence both delicious and tense, Aslin’s trailer was in front of them.

His pulse quickened, especially when Rowan slipped her fingers from his and slid her arm around his back.

He turned his head to look at her, unable to stop his smile as it stretched his lips.

“Mr. Rhodes?” Someone called behind him and his smile vanished, replaced with an impatient scowl. “Can I have a word?”

Rowan pulled away from him, her eyes sparkling. “I’ll wait for you inside.”

He nodded, fighting the powerful urge to ignore the man calling him—the head of the film’s security—and kiss her witless.

Planting his feet hard to the ground, he watched her walk toward his trailer. She reached for the door, flicking him a quick grin over her shoulder as she twisted the knob.

“Ms. Hemsworth?” he said, his voice loud enough for her to hear his teasing tone. “Come here.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him and tugged on the door. “I think you need to learn some—”

Aslin’s trailer exploded in an abrupt detonation of fire, splintering metal and black smoke. Destroying the mobile abode in the space it took Aslin to scream Rowan’s name.

In the time it took her body to fling backward from the blast and land on the ground in a boneless, jarring crunch.

Chapter Eleven

Nothing was in focus. Sound was muffled. Blackness swirled across her vision. A high-pitched ringing drilled into her ears. Her breath balled in her throat, choking her. She couldn’t move. Everything was pain. Like she’d been slammed into by a wrecking ball of molten metal.

Pain tore through her lungs. Blistered up her spine.

Engulfed her. Owned her. Tried to tear from her throat in a cry.

“Rowan?”

Aslin’s voice. Faint. Almost lost in the ringing.

She tried to open her eyes. To see him. Tried to focus on him through the pain. Tried to claw her way up out of the excruciating agony.

“Rowan, open your eyes and look at me.”

The pitch in his voice changed. Grew deeper.

“Look at me, Hemsworth.”

She ground her teeth. Fuck, she hurt. All over. She hurt. Why the fuck did she—

“Open your sodding eyes, Hemsworth.” She felt something warm and steely hard slip around her fingers. “Now.”

She swallowed. Writhed. The ringing grew louder. The pain in her body snarled. Grabbed at her.

Or was it hands? Fast hands? Hands pushing at her neck? Fingers drilling into her—

“Please, Rowan,” Aslin’s voice slipped into her ear, soft and gentle despite the constant high-pitch sound she heard. “I need you to open your eyes, love.”

She tried to open her eyes, but the pain tore at her.

“Look at me, Rowan.” The warm steel around her fingers squeezed with gentle force. The pressure on her neck faded. “Look at me.”

She forced her eyes open, squinted up at him, swiped her tongue over her lips. The copper taste told her they were bleeding. “Y-you’re a…” She winced, the whispered words were like sandpaper in her throat. “You’re a bossy son…of a bitch, aren’t you, soldier boy?”

The tormented worry etching his face vanished. The gentle grip on her fingers eased…a little. He chuckled, a low sound barely audible over the sirens squealing in the background. “You could call me that.”

Rowan hiccupped out a scratchy laugh. “Can I…can I say ouch?”

Aslin’s knuckles brushed against her jaw in a delicate kiss. “Only if you want me to call you a big girl’s blouse.”

Another laugh tore at Rowan’s chest, sending shards of pain through her body. “A what?”

He shook his head. “I’ll tell you—”

“Rowie?”
Chris’s scream cut him short, her brother almost skidding to his knees at her side. “Jesus, Rowie, what…are you okay?”

His expression told her she wasn’t. Stunned horror twisted his face. His stare jerked all over her, no doubt jumping from bloody wound to bloody wound to bloody wound, before he looked at Aslin. “What the fuck happened?”

“An explosive device detonated in my trailer.”

The horror on Chris’s face evaporated at Aslin’s level answer and was replaced with stunned confusion. “What the
fuck
do you mean an explosive device? Did you leave something on? The kettle? The toaster oven?”

The muscles in Aslin’s jaw tightened and he shook his head. “I’ve only been in there once, Chris. Yesterday.”

“So how the hell—”

“What the Nigel McQueen’s shout cut Chris short. The director appeared at Rowan’s side followed by two police officers. “What the fuck is going on?”
hell
is going on?”

Before anyone could do or say a thing, two paramedics were shoving the cops and the director aside. Rowan flinched, hissing in pain as they began to investigate her injuries. She glared at them when they tried to placate her with reassuring words. Words she could barely discern over the ringing in her ears. Damn it, why wouldn’t the ringing stop?

Aslin’s low chuckle calmed her irritation, as did his fingers threaded through hers. She flicked him a quick look, biting back a groan at the pain the move caused behind her eyes.

“The pain in your head, Rowan,” one of the paramedics asked, flashing a narrow light in and out of her eyes, “on a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst, one being—”

“Eight,” she answered.

“Are you sure?”

She gave the man a shallow nod, once again suppressing a groan. “I’ve had a ten a time or two.”

Fifteen minutes later, she climbed to her feet.

She had to argue with them, of course. And Chris. No one wanted her to stand up. Nigel, her brother, the paramedics, they all wanted her to stay on her ass.

The paramedics insisted she stay motionless until they fitted a neck brace on her and moved her to the ambulance. Chris insisted she did what they said. Nigel
ordered
her to do what they said. She ignored them all.

Just as she ignored the pain threatening to engulf her again as she pushed herself off the ground.

Holy shit, she hurt.

She straightened, biting back the tight sob tearing at her throat. She wasn’t going to just lie around all day waiting to feel better. She was—

“Sis.” Chris reached for her, but she shrugged him off. And then stumbled sideways.

Aslin caught her, his expression unreadable. “Okay, you need to go to the hospital.”

She protested. Right up until black swirls of dizziness stole her ability to stand. Strong bands of steel wrapped around her back and beneath her knees, and it was only the distinct scent of Aslin’s body in her breath that told her he’d scooped her up. The rest of her mind didn’t seem to want to register anything but pain.

Pain.

When was the last time she let pain defeat her?

If the answer came, she didn’t remember it. Nor did she remember the trip to the hospital, but apparently there was one. Because that was where she woke up, connected to an intravenous drip, her favourite jeans and cowboy boots no longer covering her body, a hospital gown in their place, the ringing in her ears only marginally softer.

She pushed herself—gingerly—up onto her elbows. “Ouch,” she muttered, a sharp shard of pain sinking into her right side.

“Big girl’s blouse.”

Cocking an eyebrow, she turned toward Aslin’s voice.

He stood next to the door, his shoulders pressed to the wall, one ankle crossed over the other. A dark growth of stubble covered his chin and jaw, making him appear far more dangerous than ever.

Or maybe that was the morphine talking?

Rowan caught her bottom lip, shot the clear plastic tube connected to the pump beside her a quick look—
was
that morphine?—and then returned her attention to the silent Brit.

He studied her, his sculpted biceps all the more impressive due to the way his arms crossed his broad chest, his faded denim jeans emphasizing the corded strength of his thighs.

Rowan’s belly knotted. Menace oozed from him in waves.

“How do you feel?”

She shifted on the bed and winced.

“That good?”

Before she could answer, a nurse hurried into the room. “How are you feeling, Ms. Hemsworth?” The woman fiddled with the controls, adjusting something on the drip. “Are your ears still ringing?

“A little.”

The woman made a note on the chart she’d placed beside Rowan and then stared hard into her eyes. “Can you tell me your level of pain?”

Rowan frowned, letting her body talk to her for a brief moment. “Maybe a four?”

The nurse made a
hmm
sound, nodded, made another note and then adjusted something else. “What day is it today?”

“Friday,” Rowan answered.

“Who is the President of the United States?”

“Obama.”

“Are you feeling hungry?”

Rowan turned her frown on Aslin. “How long have I been out of it?”

The corner of his mouth tugged into a small smile. “Forever. I’m going to call you Rip Van Winkle from now on.”

“Three hours, Ms. Hemsworth,” the nurse answered with a glower at Aslin. “But you’ve been asleep for most of it, not unconscious. It’s good to see you awake and lucid. If for no other reason than the bossy mountain here can stop harassing the doctors.”

A soft snort sounded in the back of Rowan’s throat. “Told you you were bossy.”

Aslin shrugged. “I didn’t argue with you.”

The nurse clicked her tongue. “No, but you did argue with everyone who came in here. Including Ms. Hemsworth’s brother.” She smiled at Rowan, checking something above Rowan’s left eyebrow. “That’s looking very good. I doubt it’ll leave a scar.”

“A scar?”

The nurse smiled again. “You’re very lucky. No stitches required, but you do have a deep cut above your eye and your right eardrum is damaged, I’m afraid. Nothing permanent, but you will be feeling a little groggy for a few days. The doctor will be here in a moment, but until then…” She shot Aslin a look over her shoulder. “I need to check Ms. Hemsworth’s other injuries now. Can you please step out?”

Aslin shook his head. “I’ve seen every inch of Rowan’s body, love. I’m not leaving her now.”

“Jesus, Rhodes.” Rowan’s cheeks grew warm, the pit of her belly fluttering at the memory of
how
he’d seen every inch of her body. “Way to behave like a Neanderthal.”