Guarded Desires (27 page)

He slipped his hand under her shirt, his head swimming at the velvet warmth of her skin. His fingers danced over her ribcage before brushing the under-swell of her breast. Lace rasped his fingertips and an image of Lauren in her underwear from a lifetime ago filled his head, making it swim some more. She’d always loved beautiful underwear—lacey bras and knickers, usually white or the deepest burgundy. What colour was she wearing today?

His heart slammed faster at the thought and, unable to stop himself, he shifted his arm, bunching up her shirt to reveal that which his hand so desperately wanted to possess.

“Oh, babe,” he groaned, his stare falling on a cherry-red bra perfectly cupping her breast. Her nipple strained at the delicate lace, drawing his attention and making his breath quicken. “You are as beautiful as I remember.”

He bent and took her nipple in his mouth, rolling its taut form under his tongue before suckling on it hard through the lace.

“Nick,” Lauren raked her nails over his shoulders, her hips bucking forward. He pressed his free hand to the small of her back, holding her still as he drew on her breast. She whimpered, clinging to him, those wordless sounds slipping from her again. Wordless sounds that grew to raw pleas. “Oh, Nick, that feels so good. So good…”

He laved her nipple, caught it between his teeth and flicked his tongue over it. She arched in his arms, one long leg wrapping around the back of his thigh. His blood roared through his veins, in his ears at the warmth of her sex, her pussy, so close to his groin. It shoved him dangerously close to the edge.

“Fuck me,” he ground out against her breast, raking his hand down to her arse to cup her left cheek, “I’m about five minutes away from—”

She reached up and yanked her bra aside, freeing her nipple of the concealing lace, and the rest of his sentence was lost to him.

He latched onto the taut point of flesh, drawing it into his mouth with hungry need. Lauren moaned and arched into him, stroking her heat against the length of his erection through their clothes, her nails digging into the backs of his shoulders. A disconnected part of his mind wondered where his leather jacket had gone. A far more involved part pointed out it didn’t fucking matter. Lauren Robbins was in his arms. Who the fuck cared about a jacket?

He scooped her breast, now completely released of her bra, deeper into his palm, massaging its beautiful weight as he feasted on her nipple. With every suck and nip, she whimpered, thrusting her pussy harder to his cock. His straining, throbbing cock.

Ah, Christ, he was close to coming.

It was always this way with Lauren, Nick. You lost control every time she touched you. Lost control and lost yourself in her heat, her smell, her taste…

The thought seared into him, hot and powerful. Every song he’d ever written was about her, every rhyme forged by what they’d had and what he’d walked away from.

And now here he was, her flesh in his mouth, her nipple under his tongue, her pleasure turning the air musky.

Christ, he wanted to be inside her.

He straightened from her breast, grazing her chin and mouth with his lips before dragging his thumb over her nipple. “Let me make love to you, Lauren. Right now.”

She opened her eyes, gazing up at him through heavy lids. “Nick…”

His name fell from her lips, part supplication, part request.

Without another second wasting time, he hauled her off her feet, threw her onto the bed and crushed her to the mattress with his body. He captured her lips with his, his kiss as savage as his lust. His head roared, the pain of his concussion insignificant to the dire need, the concentrated pleasure consuming him. She writhed beneath him, her hands raking over his back, her sex grinding to his erection.

Fuck, it felt so good. So good. So potent and raw. It was as if they were two horny teenagers all over again, discovering each other with the full force of hormonal need. The first time he’d possessed her they’d been just that, barely legal and so fucking on fire he’d hardly stroked into her tightness once before losing his load. The second time—fifteen minutes later—had been just as hot, just as powerful. She’d cried out his name both times, begged him for more. Told him she loved him.

And he’d buried his face in her neck, one hand on her breast, one hand knotted in the sheet of her single bed, his cock sheathed inside her wet heat, and told her he loved her too, would love her forever.

Fuck, how had he let it all go so wrong?

Fix it now. Give her everything you should have the last fifteen years. Make her remember what it was like. Make her cry your name. Make her plead for more. Make her love you again.

He tore away from the kiss, hooked his hands under the hemline of her shirt and yanked it up over her head before she could utter a sound. Her breasts jiggled with the force of his disrobing, her nipples hard points—one still trapped by the cup of her bra, one revealed to his gaze. With a growl, he ripped the skimpy undergarment apart, Lauren’s squeal making his cock jerk in his jeans.

He captured first one nipple and then the other with his mouth, suckling with ravenous want. She moaned and twisted beneath him, her fingers scraping at his shoulders. With another growl, he snatched her wrists and pinned them to the bed beside her as he thoroughly sucked on her breasts. She made sounds, sweet sounds, wordless sounds, her legs wrapping around his thighs, pulling him harder to her sex.

Nick’s heart punched faster, driving eager blood into his shaft. His pulse thumped in his ears, a rapid beat echoed by the throb in his groin. He dragged his mouth over her smooth flesh, nipping at the under swell of her breasts with increasing urgency before sliding his tongue and lips down the line of her belly to the indent of her navel.

Protecting her was never going to be easy.

Muscle for Hire

© 2013 Lexxie Couper

Heart of Fame, Book 2

After sixteen years as the personal bodyguard to the world’s biggest rock star, ex-SAS commando Aslin Rhodes excels in the role of intimidating protector, oozing threatening menace. Now that the singer has retired, Aslin takes a new assignment as a military consultant on a blockbuster film. But just as he’s getting comfortable in the world of Hollyweird, he faces an unexpectedly immovable object. An American martial arts expert no taller than his chin, who promptly puts him on his arse.

Rowan Hemsworth’s focus is two-fold—keep her famous brother grounded, and never again be a defenseless victim. She has her hands full as the fun police, keeping her brother’s money-sucking entourage at bay. But nothing prepared her for the British mountain of muscle who makes her knees go uncharacteristically weak.

When a string of accidents on set convinces Aslin that Rowan—not her brother—is the target, things get bloody tricky as he tries to convince the stubborn woman she needs his protection. And accept that she belongs with him. In his arms, in his bed…and in his heart.

The strong, silent type don’t come much more silent and strong than Aslin Rhodes. But when he does speak his British accent will drive you mad with desire. As will his menacing, dominating power. And what he can do to a woman on the back of a motorcycle.

Warning: The strong, silent type don’t come much more silent and strong than Aslin Rhodes. But when he does speak his British accent will drive you mad with desire. As will his menacing, dominating power. And what he can do to a woman on the back of a motorcycle.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Muscle for Hire:

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.”

“I’m not a member of the union. Film folk are very particular about their unions.” She smiled, a hint of her dimple making Aslin’s gut clench. “And thank you. I think I would too. Next question?”

“Huntley? Hemsworth? Which is the real name?”

Rowan picked up the sauce bottle, squeezed a steady stream of the condiment onto half the chips and then plucked one from the bowl. “Hemsworth. But when Chris went to register his name with the Screen Actors Guild there already
was
a Chris Hemsworth.”

“The current Thor.”

She nodded, popped the chip into her mouth and selected another one. “The current Thor. So Chris went with Huntley, which was our mother’s maiden name.” A stillness fell over her and her gaze lost focus for a moment. A heartbeat. Long enough for Aslin to see a raw pain in her eyes.

And then she grinned, as if the shadow had never been there, and tossed another chip past her lips. “These fries are really good.”

“I’m glad you like them.”

“The perfect texture, the perfect length—” she plucked a long chip from the bowl, dipped its end into some tomato sauce and held it up for inspection, dimple denting her cheek. “—sweet but a little salty.”

As Aslin watched, she placed it—end first—into her mouth, and then sucked the salt from the tips of her fingers. A groan threatened to escape him. Low and deep in his chest. His balls tightened. Christ, why did he imagine it was his dick sinking past her lips, not the potato?