Hawke shrugs. His eyes focus in on my fingers. Embarrassed, I press my palms down on the table.
“You miss your guitar,” he guesses correctly.
This guy is really observant. And smart. “Yeah.”
“Here.” Hawke leans to one side and digs in his pocket. Pulling something out, he holds his closed fist over the table.
I open my hand palm up. Hawke drops a small, grey, heart-shaped stone into it.
“What’s this for?”
“You’re a lot like me. I can tell. I always need to be doing something with my hands or I think too much. Like you said, I can drum anywhere. Now you have that.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, wondering why someone would be so nice.
“Yeah. I don’t want it.”
“Why did you bring it then? You know, if you don’t want it?”
Hawke stops drumming. His entire body tenses but he doesn’t look up. “It was my sister’s.”
The door bursts open, Mitch barreling through like a bull on steroids.
“What the hell, man?” Hawke cries out when the edge of the door clips his shoulder.
“Christ, Gavin. You’re supposed to tell me where you’re going,” Mitch barks, clearly irritated. He scowls at me, his grey eyes flashing with anger.
And damn if that doesn’t make him even hotter. I imagine us wrestling for domination, kissing and grappling and slamming each other against the wall.
Fuck.
I turn my back to him. Gritting my teeth as I try to force down the wood that just sprung up in my pants.
“You know,” Mitch hisses. “You don’t have to like me. Hell, you don’t even have to be nice to me. But I can’t keep you safe and catch this guy if you duck out and hide from me like a bratty little girl.”
“Ummmm, I’m gonna go back to the other room,” Hawke says. He knows how pissed I get when someone calls me a girl among other things. Certainly, he doesn’t want to stick around for the fallout.
I shove the stone back in my pocket and spin around, my erection gone from Mitch’s callous insult. Stepping into Mitch’s personal space, I get right up close so he can see exactly how furious I am.
“Don’t fucking call me a girl, Utah,” I growl.
Surprise registers on Mitch’s handsome face. Then he scowls right along with me. “Don’t act like one then!” he shoots back, stepping forward, trying to bully me back.
Too bad he doesn’t know that thanks to my dad, I’m an expert at dealing with bullies.
Fuming mad, I shove at his shoulders with my hands, sending him crashing into the wall behind him. “You work for me!”
Oh god, my dark fantasy is coming true. What’s the chance he’ll throw me against the wall and kiss me right now?
Mitch growls, a deep, masculine sound that comes rumbling from his wide chest. Christ, I can’t do this in here. It’s too hot, he’s too close, and now I’m fucking hard again from staring at those grey eyes and smelling his cologne mixed with the scent of him.
Knowing I’ll do something I’ll regret if I don’t leave, I spin and fling open the door, stomping down the hall to rejoin the rest of the band. I don’t have to look to know that Mitch has fallen into step behind me.
I’m being an asshole and I know it. Taking out my anger out on Mitch isn’t fair. It’s not his fault I’m attracted to him. That all he has to do is exist and I’ll sprout a hard-on that can pound nails.
But the fact that I can’t get laid is his fault to some extent. I plan to remedy that tonight. A cute brunet cruised me earlier during the meet and greet. Maybe he’ll be in the VIP section and I can convince him to come over later. If I can’t have Mitch, I’ll have the next best thing.
Ross catches me in the hall. “Hey, we’re heading upstairs.”
“Fine.”
I follow Ross out into the main club and up to the corded off VIP area. Catching a glimpse of Mitch out of the corner of my eye as I take the seat next to Hawke, I note his chiseled jaw is rigid and his eyes are hard slits. Mitch scans the area, looking for threats, I’m sure. When those cold eyes land on mine, heat floods my body. Unable to pull my gaze from his, I watch as streaks of crimson flush his cheeks, a slight twitch pulling at one eye, before his gaze darts away.
Shifting in my chair, I realize that I am completely fucked up. I might hate him, I might feel like punching him, but it’s undeniable that I want him.
How the hell am I supposed to function like this?
Mitch
Unreal.
Gavin Walker is one of the most stubborn men I’ve ever met. And the only one who refuses to listen to my advice. I’m fuming from the far end of the limo while Gavin drunkenly makes out with some guy he picked up at the club.
Gavin has no idea who this guy is. For all we know, he could be the stalker! Now I’m in for a long night because I’m sure as hell not going to leave him alone in the house with a random person who may or may not want to chop him up into little pieces. The security set up outside wouldn’t get to him in time if something were to happen.
I watch as the dark-haired guy climbs up on Gavin’s lap, straddling him. Long, thin fingers skate down the guy’s back, gripping his ass tight while they grind together.
Jesus. They can’t wait until we get back to Gavin’s house? The neck of my dress shirt is choking me. I dig my fingers in and pull, loosening my tie. It’s not enough. It feels as if I’m slowly suffocating. I have to swallow down a gag and focus on breathing.
I hadn’t planned on seeing a live sex show. And in a million years wouldn’t have guessed it would turn me on. The unexpectedness of that fact pisses me off, as does the hard cock in my pants.
When we get to the house, I hop out first, checking to make sure there isn’t a crazy person waiting to ambush Gavin. Of course Gavin doesn’t wait for me to finish my sweep. Instead, he stumbles out of the limo with what’s-his-name in tow, both of them giggling like the drunken idiots they are.
They shove past me to the front door and are inside before I can check for threats in the house.
“Christ,” I mutter under my breath.
I follow them inside and lock the deadbolt just in time to hear an upstairs door slam shut.
Fucking celebrities. This is why I don’t do this shit. Corporate bigwigs have more sense of self-preservation than spoiled rotten rock stars.
May as well finish my sweep of the house before settling in for a long night of babysitting.
First, I take off my jacket and hang it on a chair. Then I pull the knot out of my tie and slip it off, folding it up and sticking it in the jacket pocket. After loosening the top few buttons of my shirt, I still feel restricted, but less than before.
I move through the house to the back windows, looking out over the dark, deserted beach. Despite the lack of privacy, it’s beautiful. The moon is three-quarters full, so the sand and the waves glisten an eerie grey under the light. There’s not a soul to be seen. Not unexpected seeing as it’s—I pull out my phone and check the time—three-thirty in the morning.
Exhausted, I drag a hand down my face wondering if Gavin’s friend is going to stay all night. Something outside catches my eye. A faint shadow cast across the sand flickers.
Using small movements, I reach for my Glock. Thank god I haven’t turned any inside lights on yet. Hopefully, whoever is out there can’t see me. I turn the lock on the back door and slip outside, soundlessly closing it once I’m on the deck.
Sticking to dark shadows and corners, I creep down the stairs that separate the house from the sand. The back gate is locked and I realize I don’t have the key.
Bollocks!
I have to holster my weapon so I can climb over the six-foot privacy fence. When I drop to the other side, the soft sand makes a lot more noise than one would think. The shadow bolts.
“Hey!” I shout. “Stop!”
I give chase, following the black-clad figure down the paved path that parallels the shoreline. He’s too far ahead. He reaches a gap betwee
n two houses and ducks through and is gone by the time I catch up. I hurl myself down the narrow alley, coming out on the other side and darting into the street. All I see when I get there are the taillights of the fleeing car.
“Son of a bitch!” I put my hands on my hips, pissed that I let him get away.
When I realize that I left the back door to Gavin’s house unlocked, I hurry back the way I came. When I make my way back over the fence, I land hard on my knee, nearly busting my ass.
Standing, I wince in pain from the inevitable bruise that’s sure to form. My knee is going to hurt like hell for a few days.
I slide the Glock back out of its holster and hobble up the stairs of the deck. The lights are still off, so I can’t see much. I open the back door and peek inside, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. A quick sweep of downstairs proves futile.
Sighing, I realize I’ll have to check the upstairs as well. Where Gavin and his boy toy are currently getting it on. I pull at the neck of my shirt again. Jesus, it’s tight. I return the Glock and undo another button.
I bite the proverbial bullet and limp up the stairs, glancing around when I reach the landing. About half of the doors in the hall are open. Starting furthest from the master bedroom, I clear every room.
When I stop outside the final door, I hear moaning.
And grunting.
And slapping of flesh.
Wide eyed, I hurry back down the stairs as fast as my aching knee will allow, fleeing to the safety of the kitchen. I grab a Coke out of the fridge to keep me awake and an icepack out of the freezer and settle into one of the kitchen chairs with the ice balanced on my knee. It’s going to be a long night.
Gavin
“Bye. Thanks. You were amazing.” Ron or Rob or whoever he is says, giving me a kiss before disappearing out the front door into the darkness. I watch as he climbs into the waiting cab.
“Date over so soon?”
I let out a terrified yelp and spin around to face a furious Mitch Hale.
“Jesus, Hale. What the fuck?” I clutch at my chest, only remembering that I’m not wearing a shirt when my hand hits bare skin.
I don’t miss the quick sweep of Mitch’s eyes over my torso, lingering a little too long on the silver hoops threaded through my nipples, before his face twists into an expression of both pure rage and disbelief.
“What the fuck? What the fuck?” His deep voice gets louder and louder as he crowds me against the front door.
I realize I haven’t heard him curse until now. It sounds strange coming from his rather uptight, fidgety persona in his odd, barely-there accent.
I step back, pressing my palms flat against the wood. If I wasn’t so shocked, I’d find this incredibly erotic. Mitch’s steely eyes focus on mine. His tempting red mouth is only inches away. He’s so close I can smell a tantalizing combination of both his cologne and sweat…his sweat. It takes all of my willpower not to lean in and inhale.
“I’ll tell you what the fuck!” he continues ranting. “While you were upstairs with a complete fucking stranger, I chased your stalker down the beach! That’s what the fuck!”
I blink as I try to process this information. What was I expecting? For him to be jealous? I’m not sure, but I sure as fuck didn’t expect him to tell me he pursued my stalker—that the psycho was right outside my house.
“What?” I whisper.
“You heard me,” Mitch growls, moving even closer. I can feel the heat radiating off of his body, searing my skin. A large palm slams down on the door next to my head, rattling the door on its hinges. “While you were being a drunken, spoiled brat, I was busy protecting you!” His breath caresses my face. It’s sweet, intoxicating.
My eyes flutter shut. I can’t look anymore. It’s too heady, too erotic. Instinctually, I lean forward.
A gust of cold air brushes across my naked torso. When I open my eyes, Mitch is across the room, gathering up his coat and tie.
“I’m staying the night. Tomorrow we’ll discuss this and where we go from here.”
I swallow loudly, still pressed against the door. “Where we go from here?”
Mitch gives me an incredulous look. “We need a plan. The guy knows where you live. This is a game changer, Gavin.” He shakes his head. Then he limps over to stand in front of me again, his face twisted with rage and pain. “Do you even want me here? To protect you? To investigate this?”
“Yes,” I respond without hesitation, wondering what happened to his leg but deciding it’s not the time to ask.
Mitch moves towards the stairs, climbing slowly as he speaks. “Then act like it and help me out.” The click of a bedroom door closing signals the end of the conversation.
I sag against the door. My heart is still pounding a hundred miles an hour—from Mitch being so damn sexy and from knowing the stalker was right outside my house while I was busy getting my rocks off.
I trudge up the stairs, mentally berating myself for being so irresponsible. Mitch is right, Rob or Ron or whoever that trick was, could have been the psycho. He could have been the one we’ve been looking for. I could have invited him right into my bedroom.
A full-body shiver gives me goose bumps at the thought.
Light from one of the guest rooms seeps out under the closed door. The faint sounds of the shower running in the en suite bath can be heard from the hall.
I close my eyes and picture Mitch naked, running soapy hands all over his body. I shiver again, and this time not from fear.
Damn. I’ve got it bad. Shaking my head, I return to my room. The messy state of the bed and the scent of sex remind me of my foolishness. Getting laid is not worth getting killed.
In that case, I guess I’d better get used to celibacy.
This is going to be torture.
***
The next morning Mitch’s mood hasn’t improved at all. In fact, he’s even grouchier than the night before. Wearing his rumpled dress shirt and suit pants, a cup of coffee in hand, he keeps glaring like he wants to punch me.
Hell, he probably does after last night. I want to punch me.
“What now?” I question, sitting down at the table with my own coffee and a bowl of fruit.
Mitch raises an eyebrow from where he’s leaning against the granite countertop. He puts down his mug and glances out the windows at the beach.
“Now I have to figure out what to do with you,” he replies.
I freeze, a spoonful of fruit halfway to my mouth. “Do with me? What do you mean?”
Mitch sighs and rubs his bloodshot eyes with the heels of his hands. He speaks slowly and enunciates each word as if I’m a toddler and he’s the exhausted parent who’s tired of having to explain.
“He knows where you live, Gavin. You can’t stay here. And since he was able to get into your hotel room I’d say checking into a hotel isn’t a great idea either.”
“Oh.” That does seem obvious now that he’s said it.
“Yeah, oh,” he mocks.
I bristle at his attitude. “You don’t have to be an asshole about it.”
Mitch scowls right back at me. “Obviously, I do, because you have absolutely no common sense when it comes to your own safety!”
I stand up, shoving the chair back. It tips back and clatters to the floor. “One mistake! One! I’m not fucking perfect, okay?”
Mitch shakes his head, laughing sarcastically. “One mistake? You ditched me at the club last night. Have you forgotten that already?”
My mouth opens to say something then I snap it shut. God, I want to scream and rant and slap that stupid smug look off of his face. But he’s right. I did disregard his advice.
The reality of my behavior settles over me and the fight bleeds out. I pick up the chair and sink back down. “You’re right.” I catch his surprised look and laugh to myself. “What? I can admit when I’m wrong.”
Mitch Hale, stunned into silence. That’s a first.
“So, what do we do now?” I question.
“You�
�ll do whatever I say?” he asks. There’s that damn twitch in his eye again.
I nod. “As long as it’s necessary, yes.” Mitch picks up his coffee and limps over to take the seat across from me. I hold up a finger. “And as long as you keep me informed.”
“I have no problem with telling you what’s going on. You’re not a delicate flower that needs to be lied to,” Mitch states.
I choke on my breakfast. Mitch watches in amusement as I struggle to swallow. Once I’m able to breathe, I poke fun. “I thought I was a spoiled brat?”
He gives me a sexy, lopsided grin and my stomach does a backflip. “You are a spoiled brat. That doesn’t mean you’re not tough.”
“Oh, so now I’m tough?” I joke. “Your opinions of me are giving me whiplash.”
Mitch chuckles. “Maybe your behavior gives me whiplash.”
I point at his knee. “With the injured knee, you really are Johnny Utah.”
“I have no idea what that means.” He scowls, but I can tell it’s fake. We laugh together for a minute. I think I see a flicker of fondness in his eyes before it disappears. Mitch’s face suddenly becomes serious.
“This guy isn’t an amateur, Gavin. He’s dangerous and he seems to know what he’s doing.”
I put down my spoon and push the half-eaten food away. “Will you tell me what you’ve found so far?” My hands have nothing to do and my lucky stone is upstairs. I have to rub my fingers together to keep them occupied.
Mitch nods. “Keep in mind this is a very basic profile. I’m still going through the evidence. The original notes and gifts weren’t kept. That means I have to interview everyone involved to gather the threats and exact wordings, or as close as can be remembered.”
“Yeah. We didn’t think it was a big deal. Ross said they didn’t want to worry me so they didn’t even tell me about the threats until I discovered one myself. It freaked me out.”
“The one at the recording studio, right?” Mitch clarifies.
“Yeah.”
“This guy, he’s…inconsistent,” Mitch explains. “Sometimes, like yesterday, he’s very basic. A note telling you to stop being a—” Mitch clears his throat. The tips of his ears turn bright pink.
Resist: Gavin Page 5