My hand goes to the juncture of my shoulder and my neck, rubbing over the spot that Mitch marked. The bruise is gone, but just the thought of it has my dick hardening.
Shit.
Unnerved and desperate for something to distract me, I wander into the bright kitchen and make a cup of coffee. I should eat. Food has been difficult to get down, nothing sounds appetizing. I look out the large kitchen window. It’s a beautiful day out, sunny, not a cloud in the sky, and no humidity. It makes me miss the beach. If I could surf, I could forget for a while—lose myself in the waves.
Of course Hawke wouldn’t buy a house on Hawaii where I could surf all day. He might love being outdoors, but the beach is definitely not his thing. If I’m lucky, he’ll come with me every once in a while and watch me ride the waves. No, Hawke’s prefers wide-open spaces to get his thrills.
I take my coffee and add a generous amount of sugar before taking it to the back deck. For a moment, I hesitate at the door, wondering if I should be leaving the safety of the house. Then I chuckle to myself. We are in the middle of nowhere, and no one knows where we are.
Aggravated with myself for thinking the worst, I lie back on one of the cushioned lounge chairs and sip my coffee, letting the sun heat my skin. I focus on the symphony of nature—the birds, the insects, the rustling of the trees—and I can almost convince myself that I’m not thinking about a pair of strong arms and gunmetal grey eyes.
* * *
“Gavin! Gav!”
The faint sound of my best friend’s voice rouses me from a deep, dreamless sleep.
“Gavin…! Fuck! He’s not here! I told him not to leave!”
The distraught tone of Hawke’s voice has me fully awake. I stand up and head for the patio door. Opening it a crack, I pause, listening to my best friend’s heated exchange.
“Mitch, stop fucking yelling at me!”
“No, I was only gone two hours!”
“Well fuck you! You’re supposed to be the one watching him! If you weren’t such a dick, maybe he’d be with you instead of me!”
“The fuck you are! He doesn’t want to see you, asshole!”
I stiffen. I didn’t tell Hawke anything about Mitch and me. He must have guessed what happened between us.
Steeling myself for the worst, I slide the door the rest of the way open and enter the kitchen. Before I can call out, Hawke comes barreling into the room, nearly knocking me down in his frantic state.
“Jesus fucking Christ. He’s here.”
Hawke’s tight expression relaxes a bit, relief evident in his unusual eyes. Mitch must say something on the other end of the line, because Hawke’s hand tightens around the phone and his mouth curves into a scowl.
“No.”
“Fuck you. He’ll call if he wants to talk to you.”
With that, Hawke ends the call and drops the phone into his pocket. He reaches out and yanks me into a hug, squeezing me tight. Shocked, it takes me a minute to wrap my arms around my best friend and hug him back. Hawke is not big on people being in his personal space. In fact, I’d say we’d only hugged once or twice in all the years I’ve known him.
“Shit, Gav. I thought you were dead or something,” he confesses, his voice cracking.
When Hawke finally releases me, he leans back on the counter, removes his glasses, and runs a tattooed hand down his face.
“What happened?” I ask, concerned with his level of distress. “I thought you were riding?”
“I was.” He lays the glasses on the countertop. “Then I got a call from Mitch. He’d been trying to reach you but you wouldn’t answer. I figured you just didn’t want to talk to him specifically, so I tried to reach you. No answer.” He glares at me accusingly.
My face heats up. “I was outside. My phone is—”
“On the couch,” he finishes for me, pulling my phone out of his pocket and holding it up.
Sheepishly, I take it from him. “Sorry.”
“Fuck, Gav. You gave us all a heart attack.” Hawke’s eyes shine and he swallows loudly. I feel like shit. Hawke has lost so much in his life. The thought of losing me must have been terrifying.
“I’m so sorry, Hawke. I didn’t think. I didn’t mean to…shit.”
He looks at the ground, scuffing his shoes on the mosaic stone floor. “Don’t do that again.”
“I won’t.” I realize something and pull my brows down in confusion. “What did Mitch want?”
“Oh.” Hawke blanches. “Ummmm, he got a package.”
“What do you mean? Mitch got a package? From the stalker?”
My mind can’t comprehend this information. No way. The guy wants me, not Mitch. Right?
“Yeah. He wouldn’t give me details, but it sounded like it was…similar to New York.” Hawke flicks his gaze up to me, but all I see is a bright white light surrounded by darkness. The darkness grows until the light becomes a tiny pinprick in the distance.
My last thought is that maybe I should have eaten something.
Then, nothing.
Mitch
As we wait for the record label’s private jet to land, I try to stay as calm as possible so I won’t giveaway how agitated I am. After explaining to Ross that my ‘relationship’ with Gavin was a rouse to lure out the stalker, I don’t want him to notice that I actually have feelings that clearly run deeper than client and employee.
Hell, I don’t want Gavin to see it. I don’t want to be the clingy guy who falls in love after a single hookup. Wait. Love? No, not love. Feelings? Yes. But that could be me projecting a lifetime of denial onto Gavin. Mere gratitude for accepting the real me and for giving me a life-changing sexual experience.
“Hale,” Ross snaps from his seat in the surprisingly plush terminal of the Van Nuys airport.
“Yeah?” I take the seat across from him, tapping my fingers on the armrest and bouncing my knee in a staccato rhythm. I chew on my lip nervously.
He stops typing on his phone long enough to glare at me. “Relax. We have enough security to keep this sicko away from you and Walker.”
Ross thinks I’m nervous because the stalker targeted me. I’ll admit, the ‘gift’ was disturbing, but I’ve seen way, way worse. Granted, I’ve never been on the actual receiving end of such attentions. Unfortunately, that’s not why I’m an anxious mess. I’m worried about seeing Gavin again. When I couldn’t reach him and Hawke couldn’t find him…hell, I swear I nearly had a breakdown. I need to see him more than I need my next breath. But will he want to see me?
We’ve had zero contact over the last eight days and I’m losing my mind. My hands literally ache to touch his smooth skin and hard muscles. Sometimes, I swear I can taste him on my tongue, sweet and salty and completely addictive. I dig my fingers into my thighs to stop my wandering thoughts from giving me a hard-on in front of Ross.
A sleek, white jet lands on the runway and makes it’s way towards the terminal. It takes forever to lower the stairway and the passengers to disembark. Gavin’s blonde head of hair comes into view and for the first time in eight days I physically relax. He’s safe and in one piece. I knew this, but I had to lay eyes on him to believe it.
The group makes its way to the doors. Gavin and Hawke have their heads down, their demeanor subdued. The four large bodyguards surrounding them are alert, scanning the area continuously.
The doors slide open with a whoosh, bringing in a gust of hot air along with the loud sounds of jet engines whining. Ross hops up to greet them, giving his nephew, Hawke, a hug before turning to Gavin for a fist-bump. Jealousy spikes into me, painful and sharp. Not because of Ross, but because Ross can touch Gavin freely.
I can’t.
I hover on the fringes of the group, unsure of how welcome I am. Hawke is discussing something with Ross when Gavin tiredly glances around the terminal and locks onto me. Those gorgeous blue eyes widen in surprise and that damn luscious mouth falls open.
Neither of us looks away. It’s only when Ross takes Gavin’s arm to pull him towards bag
gage claim that the connection is broken. I trail behind the group wordlessly, wondering how Gavin will react when he finds out the newest plan to catch our friend.
He’ll probably be so angry he’ll put me down again with one of those excruciating pressure point moves. Oddly, I don’t find the thought disturbing in the least. As long as Gavin is touching me, I can deal with the physical pain. It has to be better than the hollow ache I feel inside.
I guess I’m a masochist, because I welcome whatever he’s willing to give.
* * *
“This is complete bullshit, Ross!” Gavin shouts from one of the bedrooms of the hotel suite.
“Calm down, Gavin. It’s necessary, and frankly, the only way to get rid of this guy once and for all.” Ross’ calm voice does nothing to placate an agitated Gavin.
“No way, Ross. There has to be another way.”
I shouldn’t be eavesdropping. Hell, I’m not eavesdropping. Gavin is so loud, there’s nowhere in the suite I can go where I won’t hear his ranting. We can’t go back to the rental house and the only way I can go on tour without alerting the stalker of my presence is to continue the façade as happy lovers. Gavin is pissed.
“Yeah, there is,” Ross agrees. “We can cancel the tour, let the album tank, and you can hide out in seclusion until the guy fucks up big enough to be caught. How’s that sound?”
I can barely hear Gavin mutter a string of curses.
“Shit, no. I don’t want that,” he grumbles.
“Then please, just do what I’m asking Gav. I don’t ask for much.” Ross’ voice has lowered to that of a concerned friend or family member.
“Fine.”
I hear Gavin’s begrudging acquiescence and close my eyes. That means eight weeks of living in each other’s back pockets. How I’m supposed to get through this without losing my sanity is beyond me. Hell, I’ll be shocked if I can control the rock hard erection that springs up whenever Gavin’s around.
The bedroom door opens and Ross walks out. “Hale, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” He doesn’t stop or look at me as he speaks, moving quickly through the suite. The click of the door closing is the only evidence that Ross is gone.
I’m alone. With Gavin, who, judging by the loud protesting he was doing, is not happy with this arrangement.
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. The tension between us can’t continue. If we’re to do this, we have to be in agreement. I stand up, raking a hand through my hair. My neck is so tight I roll it around a few times to loosen it. Better to get this over with now.
I turn around, intending to knock on Gavin’s bedroom door only to find him standing in the doorway, watching me. Those bright blue eyes do a quick scan of my body and a rush of heat floods my skin, scorching me from the inside out.
“Gavin…”
His eyes narrow and his full mouth twists into a scowl.
“I’m agreeing to this laughable plan, Hale. Only because Ross says it’s the only way to end this shit and I don’t want to disappoint my band mates.”
My mind goes blank when my gaze drops to his chest. Gavin’s shirt is so tight I can see the outline of his piercings. I swallow back lust, need, and whole lot of dirty thoughts and force my eyes back up to his face. “Okay.”
My stupid eye twitches.
Gavin smirks, crossing his arms over his chest to hide the glorious view, knowing exactly what I’m thinking. Dammit.
“Good,” he snaps.
“I-I’m sorry, Gavin.” My hand lifts towards him of it’s own volition, wanting desperately to feel the heat of his skin.
His expression softens, revealing something more than the irritation he’s revealing. Regret? Longing? I’m not sure. Before I can figure it out, Gavin disappears into his bedroom, shutting the door and effectively ending the most awkward conversation to ever take place.
Gavin
“Gavin!”
“Over here!”
“Mitch! Are you two getting married?”
“How does it feel to be out?”
“Can we get a shot of you two kissing?”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise as the paparazzi shout out their questions. My palm is slick where it’s woven with Mitch’s. I can only hope his is just as sweaty as mine so he won’t notice.
“Come on, guys! Kiss for us!”
The crowd in the pressroom at the record label is getting rowdy, clamoring for a physical display of affection between my ‘boyfriend’ and me. A glance over at Ross shows him urging me on with his eyes, begging me to continue the ridiculous charade.
Putting on the most convincing smile I can manage, I lean in and growl in Mitch’s ear. “We have to kiss for the cameras, Mitch. Is that a problem?”
Mitch’s hand grips mine tighter and his body tenses up. “No, not at all.”
I desperately want to roll my eyes but the whirring of cameras reminds me that I’m on display. I let go of Mitch’s hand and cup both sides of his face. His day-old stubble rasps against my palm as I tilt his head to one side. When I lean in, I get a full-on hit of his familiar scent. Lust rears its inappropriately timed head, sending a rush of blood to my cock.
Thank god we’re sitting behind a long table, the entire band, Ross, and our PR manager, Rachel Whatley, all in a row with us.
Mitch allows me to lead the kiss, parting his lips for me at my urging. As much as I want to dive in and devour him, I keep the kiss quick and G-Rated considering we’re not alone. Also because I hate him right now even if he is a sexy son of a bitch.
When I pull away, the crowd claps and cheers, but all I hear is the beat of my heart thundering in my chest. My eyes lock onto Mitch’s, the grey nearly eclipsed by large pupils. Longing like I’ve never felt before slams into me, threatening to drag me under and steal my breath.
The spell is only broken when Mitch blinks a few times, a shocked look on his face. Those rough cheeks turn red and he pulls away, clearing his throat nervously. Finally, I can suck in a lungful of much needed air to clear my head.
“There,” I announce, hoping no one saw the quick exchange of emotions. I grin at the audience. “Satisfied?”
The journalists toss more questions at us, including some very explicit and frankly, quite rude ones about our supposed sex life. I can see Hawke shaking with laughter out of the corner of my eye.
Ass!
Of course they’re not satisfied. They never are.
* * *
I’m so antsy I want to crawl out of my own skin. The stress of being on lockdown for the duration of the tour is going to kill me. If it doesn’t, then being close to Mitch on a daily basis—touching and kissing for the cameras and, pretty much living together—most certainly will.
We just arrived at the hotel in Miami and have a few hours to kill before tonight’s scheduled appearance at a local radio station. Then there are two concerts in the city starting tomorrow. That means a whole lot of downtime until then with Mitch. I check the time on my phone, three hours to kill.
Wound up and agitated, I leave my bedroom and head into the common area of the suite, hoping to find some sports on T.V. Mitch is already sitting on one of the sofas, typing on his laptop with a pen in his mouth. My eyes zero in on that pen. Drawn by the way his lips move around it, alternately sucking then chewing on the end. I’m fully hard in less than two seconds.
He must feel my eyes on him, because Mitch stops typing and looks up.
It’s the third day of the tour and we’ve hardly said two words to each other outside of scheduled appearances. It’s awkward, and to be honest, lonely as fuck.
I may as well be the one to break the tension because the big, gun-toting, ex-FBI guy is too nervous to do it himself. “Hey.”
Way to make conversation, Gavin.
Mitch’s eyes widen. He pulls the pen out of his mouth and I mourn the loss of the erotic display.
“Hey.”
I guess neither one of us is good at breaking awkward silences.
I drop onto the
couch next to Mitch, desperate for some sort of truce or even friendship if that’s all we can have, though I wouldn’t say no to getting him naked again.
“What are you working on?”
Mitch shuts the laptop and places it on the side table. “Nothing. Just emails.”
“Oh.” Fuck it. I can’t stand it anymore. “Are you gay?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
This time, those grey eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. Under that sexy dark stubble, a deep crimson flush appears.
“Uh… I, well… I…”
He’s at a total loss for words, stammering and turning red.
Without thinking, I reach out and pat his knee, feeling guilty for causing him embarrassment. His gaze drops to my hand before returning to my face. Raw lust has replaced humiliation by the time those eyes finish their scan up my torso and land on my mouth.
“Sorry.” I snatch my hand back. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. If anyone deserves to know, it would be you.” Mitch laughs sarcastically and drags a hand through his sexy, tousled hair. “The truth is, I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Maybe I’m bi, but I don’t think so. I’ve always noticed men. I mean, I’ve had sex with women, but it didn’t…”
He ducks his head and the blush returns. I find it utterly adorable.
“It never felt right?” I finish his sentence.
Mitch takes so long to speak I begin to think he’s not going to answer. “No. It didn’t.”
“It’s okay, you know, to be gay. Trust me. It’s taken me years to realize that what everyone else thinks just doesn’t fucking matter.”
He grunts in agreement.
“Would your parents disapprove?”
Mitch finally looks at me again, those steel-colored eyes locking on mine. “No. That’s not it. Well, I don’t know, maybe. I’m pretty sure they’d be okay with it. Shit, I really should call them,” he mutters.