Guarded Desires

by Couper, Lexxie

  If the nights were peppered with uninvited guests, the days were fraught with potential hazards from over-enthusiastic fans. Chris had appeared on five television programs so far, each one filmed in the penthouse suite of the Sydney Hilton. Getting the actor into the hotel for the interviews had proved troublesome. The police had needed to control the writhing, enthusiastic crowd three times. Once again, someone had leaked the whereabouts of the interviews. Liev suspected the network that had aired Chris’s residence, possibly as retaliation for having their assigned interview time taken away in response to invading Chris’s privacy.

  And now, approaching the restaurant in which Chris was to share lunch with a reporter from Empire Australia, Liev was dismayed to see the footpath outside the eatery overflowing with screaming women.

  “What do you want me to do, Mr. Reynolds?” Jeff Coulter, Chris’s friend and personal driver who’d arrived from the States three days ago asked, shooting Liev a quick glance from behind the steering wheel. “Is there a back entrance?”

  Liev bit back a growl. There wasn’t. He’d had an argument with Bethany about the lack of an alternative entry last night. The one thing he’d learned quickly about Chris’s personal assistant was she was stubborn when she wanted to be. She’d studied him with those piercing green eyes of hers, folded her hands in her lap and informed him he’d just have to keep Chris close—real close—entering and exiting the restaurant.

  Of course, the thought of keeping Chris real close made Liev’s gut knot, his heart thump faster and his groin tighten.

  “If he gets hurt, it’s on you,” he’d grumbled at her before storming from the breakfast table. A cold shower had followed. It hadn’t helped. Nor had discovering Chris swimming laps in the mansion’s pool a few minutes later, his muscular body slicing through the clear water with fluid ease and perfection.

  “Keep him close,” Bethany had murmured beside him, no doubt determined to make Liev suffer. “And he won’t get hurt.”

  Studying the cheering horde outside the restaurant, Liev weighed up his options. He could call the cops, ask them to set up a barrier. That would be the safest option, but it would take a while to organize, and in the meantime the writer for Empire was waiting inside the restaurant. Liev didn’t like the idea the journalist could use the delay as a means to paint Chris as a prima-donna actor in the article. Liev was familiar with the technique. It was common for political journalists to use it to discredit their subject, and as such, Liev never allowed crowds to keep his charges away from appointed meetings with the press.

  He wouldn’t do so now either.

  Twisting in his seat, he gave the actor sitting behind him a steady look. “Are you okay with a mad dash into the restaurant, Mr. Huntley?”

  Chris chuckled. “The last time I was in Australia a kangaroo tried to rape me. I think I can deal with a little crowd.”

  Liev blinked. “Tried to rape you?”

  Beside Chris, Bethany snorted, her lips twitching.

  Chris pulled a face. “I’ll tell you all about it after lunch.” He cast a look over Liev’s shoulder through the windscreen at the crowd. “They don’t look that ravenous. Do you think there’ll be a problem?”

  Liev shook his head. “Just stay close to me, okay?”

  “He can do that,” Bethany answered before Chris could say a word.

  “So I’m driving closer?” Jeff asked with a grin.

  Liev bit back a curse. During introductions three days ago, Chris had declared Jeff the best driver in the U.S. So far, Liev had needed to remind Coulter six times to drive on the left. Coulter was an affable bloke, but Liev suspected the crowd posed a challenge to him. He fixed the man with a level stare. “You’re driving closer. But don’t run anyone down, don’t go over ten Ks and don’t pull into the curb.”

  Coulter’s eyebrows pulled into a quizzical frown. “Ks?”

  Liev bit back a curse. “Kilometres. Just don’t drive faster than a slow walk, okay?”

  Behind him, Chris laughed. “I love this country.”

  A minute later, Coulter pulled the Audi to a halt outside the restaurant.

  The squeals and screams and cheers attacked Liev the second he opened his door. Women, and quite a few men, surged around the SUV, adoration and excitement turning their faces to masks of rabid delight. Some held signs with Chris’s name on them with big love hearts. All pressed forward, desperate to see the object of their affection.

  Adrenaline turned Liev’s blood to liquid electricity. He climbed out of the SUV, planting his feet firmly on the road to scan the ecstatic crowd. No one appeared suspicious or threatening. That didn’t mean they weren’t. Moving close to the Audi, he stretched out his right arm, forcing back the wall of fans trying to cram closer to the car.

  More than one person pushed back. More than one tried to duck under his arm.

  Clenching his jaw, he swung to face them, fixing them with a glare he knew was borderline murderous. “Unless you want to experience what a size-thirteen boot up your arse feels like, I’d suggest you back off.”

  It worked. The wall of hot flesh and delirious fans fell back. A step.

  He stood motionless for another second, promising everyone lots of grief with his stare if they did anything stupid.

  Charged tension stole through his muscles. His heart slammed faster in his chest. His balls rose up, prepared for what was to come. Every aspect of his working life survived on this mental and physical state—fight or flight. Enter a burning house to rescue someone trapped inside or run away from the flames? Stand down a furious protestor at a political campaign rally or let the politician deal with the voter’s rage alone? Liev’s mind, his body, chose fight every time. It was who he was. What he was born for.

  He loved it.

  And yet today, he was more on edge, more on guard than ever.

  Because of the American man inside the SUV.

  Okay, Reynolds. He steeled himself with a sharp intake of breath, wrapped the fingers of his left hand around the door handle and positioned himself so as to immediately shield Chris from the crowd. Here we go.

  He opened the door.

  The squeals were deafening. The feverish fans pressed at his back in a wave of maniacal rapture. He pressed back, holding his right arm out to protect Chris as he maneuvered on the backseat.

  The actor looked up at him, his grin bemused. Their eyes connected for a second, just a second, but what Liev saw in their light-blue depths stole his breath. Slammed into him with more force than the screaming crowd trying to mow over him in an effort to see and touch their idol.

  Desire.

  Chris Huntley looked at him with desire.

  There was no denying it.

  Jesus.

  “Let’s go,” he said, forcing his voice to sound stern as he threw the crazed crowd a threatening glare.

  Chris alighted from the SUV.

  The crowd squealed again. Surged forward. Pressed against Liev’s back.

  He braced against the pressure, curling his hand around Chris’s upper arm to support him.

  Protect.

  Touch him.

  Hot energy shot down his arm. Into his chest. His soul.

  He ground his teeth. Ignoring the disturbing reaction, he pulled Chris into his body, tucking him close to his side. The subtle scent of expensive aftershave threaded into his breath and, completely indifferent to the volatile moment, a tight lick of heat stole through his groin.

  Clenching his jaw harder, he turned just enough to shield Chris from the crowd and began walking, parting the shoving fans with one arm.

  They protested louder but scurried backward, enough for Liev to hurry Chris toward the entrance.

  And then a stark white light flash right in front of Liev’s eyes.

  He flinched, raising his hand to his face. Chris stumbled, his shoulder bumping into Liev’s armpit. The flash fired again and a man chuckled. “Nice.”

  Liev caught the actor before he could trip again. But the action
was enough for the crowd to sense weakness.

  “Oh my God, I love you, Chris!” a female voice screeched at Liev’s right.

  “I love you, Chris!” a new female voice squealed.

  “I love you, Chris!” another woman cried.

  “I love you, Chris!”

  “Chris!”

  “Chris! Chris!”

  The horde erupted, pressing in with greedy excitement. Hands snatched out. Fingers scraped at Liev. Chris let out a shout.

  With a snarl, Liev hauled the actor hard to his side and swung out his arm, his fist bunched.

  People went tumbling, falling over each other. The flash fired again, joined by others.

  Madness took over. Like a feeding frenzy, the mob attacked.

  Liev didn’t let Chris go. Nor did he falter. Shoulder down, he barged forward.

  He didn’t know where Bethany was. He couldn’t risk looking for her. She was smart. Smart enough to sense the crowd and not get out of the SUV. At least, he hoped to God that was the case. For now, all he could focus on was getting Chris off the street. Out of danger.

  Away.

  “Here!” a man shouted somewhere in front of him. “Mr. Reynolds, here!”

  Liev flicked his attention upward, glaring at the screaming mob. Behind the wall of waving, grabbing people, a man in a suit pushed toward him. His face was red and covered in sweat, his hair disheveled. He grabbed at shoulders and clothes, yanking people out of his way, clearing a path for Liev and Chris. “This way,” he shouted.

  Without hesitation, Liev tightened his grip on Chris and charged forward.

  Hands and fingers raked over his back and arms and shoulders, but he didn’t slow. Behind him, growing louder every second, a police siren wailed over the noise.

  “This way,” the man shouted, a second before Liev reached him.

  He waved Liev and Chris through the open restaurant door, muttering something Liev didn’t hear.

  For a split second, Liev dared to slow, to draw breath, and then the man behind him slammed into his back and he stumbled forward.

  “Through the kitchen,” the man shouted, just as Liev watched the crowd surge through the door, even as the man tried to shut it. “To my office. Go!”

  Without a word to Chris, Liev pulled him through the restaurant. Passed the gaping diners, passed the wait staff, through the kitchen with its busy cooks and into an office.

  Releasing Chris, he spun around, slammed the door shut and rammed the locking bolt into place. “Fuck,” he ground out, palms flat on the door. “That was insane.” He looked over his shoulder at the panting, gasping actor. His gut churned at the stunned shock on Chris’s face. “I’m sorry, Mr. Huntley. That was—”

  He didn’t get a chance to finish.

  Chris grabbed his shoulder, yanked it hard enough to jerk Liev around and kissed him.

  Liev froze.

  For a heartbeat.

  And then he growled into Chris’s mouth, dug his fingers into the man’s biceps, spun him around and drove him backward. Pinned him to the door.

  Their tongues battled in a fierce mating that sent shots of scalding need straight to Liev’s cock. Chris bit at his lip, sucked on it. He tore at Liev’s clothes, seeking the hem of his shirt.

  Liev’s heart beat harder when Chris’s fingers found his flesh. He drove his hips forward, ramming his engorged shaft against the rigid bulge that was Chris’s groin. The man moaned, his lips growing more savage. He scraped at Liev’s chest. Pinched his nipples. He ground his erection to Liev’s, his tongue exploring Liev’s mouth with savage greed.

  Liev met the ferocity with equal need. He snared a fistful of Chris’s hair and pulled, tugging his head back. The man whimpered and drove his cock harder to Liev’s groin. Liev lashed his tongue into Chris’s open mouth before dragging his lips over Chris’s chin, his jaw, down his throat.

  “Fuck,” Chris groaned, the curse a ragged breath. “Fuck, yes.”

  Liev captured the curse with his mouth, seeking out and dominating Chris’s tongue.

  Chris returned the assault, raking one hand down Liev’s stomach to his fly as he captured Liev’s tongue and sucked.

  Raw pleasure sheared through Liev. Hot and tight and absolute. He tugged with demanding pressure on Chris’s hair.

  Chris responded, rolling his hips, the thick, trapped pole of his erection driving Liev mad with lust. With need.

  When the actor’s fingers fumbled with Liev’s belt buckle, Liev thought he’d pass out. When Chris yanked the buckle free, when he reached for Liev’s fly, black swirls of need erupted in Liev’s head.

  “Fuck,” he rasped against Chris’s lips.

  It was Chris’s turn to capture the curse. He drove his tongue into Liev’s mouth, as if petrified of breaking contact, of relinquishing the kiss to something as simple as breathing.

  Liev gave himself over to his wild hunger. He couldn’t fight it anymore. He released Chris’s hair and reached for the man’s fly, desperate to release Chris’s cock. To wrap its length in his fingers.

  To feel it in his grip.

  To rub its distended head against his own.

  To smear its—

  A sharp knock detonated on the door right beside Chris’s head. “Mr. Reynolds?” a male voice called through the wood. “Is Mr. Huntley okay?”

  Liev snapped upright, jerking away from Chris.

  “The police are here,” the man continued from the other side of the door.

  Chris stared up at Liev. His expression was shocked, his lips swollen and red and glistening with Liev’s saliva. His nostrils flared. His chest rose and fell with rapid, shallow breath.

  “It’s safe to come out now,” the call came through the door. “The restaurant is on lockdown.”

  Liev stared back at his boss. His blood roared in his ears. The climate-controlled air of the office caressed the flesh beneath his navel that his open fly had exposed.

  Without a word, he took another step backward. He snared the toggle of his zipper and closed his fly with a single, swift action. He didn’t break his stare with Chris. He couldn’t.

  His gut knotted. His balls throbbed.

  Shoving his hand past his waistband, he tucked his shirt back into his jeans. His fingers scraped at his straining erection and a wave of raw pleasure rolled through him.

  He ground his teeth, sucking in a sharp breath.

  Chris just stared at him. Watched him.

  The man on the other side of the door knocked again. “Mr. Reynolds? Is everything okay?”

  “Liev?”

  Liev squeezed his eyes shut at Chris murmuring his name.

  Jesus, what had he done? What the fuck had he done?

  “Liev?”

  Chris didn’t think his heart could slam any harder or faster. He couldn’t tear his stare from the Australian. Couldn’t breathe. No matter how quickly he tried to suck in air, it couldn’t get past his goddamn heart in his goddamn throat. The man’s name was barely a rasping whisper as it passed his lips.

  Holy fuck, he’d just kissed Liev Reynolds. Why the fuck had he just kissed Liev Reynolds?

  You were toked up on adrenaline. The rush of the madness outside, that’s all. You were caught up in the insanity and your head just flipped out and you lost touch with reality and control and…and…

  Kissed Liev. Because yeah, that’s what all guys did when they found themselves in a potentially dangerous situation—kiss the guy that helped them through it. Jesus Christ, he’d kissed Liev Reynolds and nothing he could tell himself would deny the fact he’d wanted to. That being pressed against the man’s strength and power as Liev had protected him from the frenzied crowd had turned him on so fucking much, made his cock so fucking hard, there had been nothing else to do but kiss him. Crush his lips—lips he saw every time he closed his eyes—and plunge his tongue into his mouth and die in the pleasure that instantly consumed him.

  He’d surrendered to the urgent, demanding need to taste Liev’s lips that had tormen
ted him from the first moment he’d seen him.

  And then Liev had kissed him back, and Chris’s head had exploded with raw, elemental lust, total, complete rapture. Nothing had mattered any more except that lust, that euphoria. He’d given himself over to every urge and want and longing that filled him. He’d touched the man, flesh to flesh, and was engulfed in new lust and rapture all over again the second Liev’s erection pressed to his.

  Christ, he didn’t think it was possible to experience such absolute, pure pleasure as he had when their cocks mashed against each other.

  Even now—heart pounding, blood roaring in his ears, the constant knock on the door behind him telling him reality had crashed back down on him—the urge—no, the need—to step back to Liev’s body and grind their groins together made his head swim.

  What the fuck was happening? And how the fuck did he deal with it?

  Liev’s mobile phone burst into life in his back pocket. He flinched, grabbing the thing to stare at the screen.

  “Mr. Reynolds?” There was more knocking from the other side of the door. Chris ground his teeth, hating whoever was on the other side. Hating him and thanking God for him at the same time.

  “Mr. Huntley?”

  With a long, ragged breath, Liev stepped back closer to Chris and looked straight into his eyes. Chris couldn’t stop his lips parting. Couldn’t stop his body aching for contact.

  But it didn’t come. Instead, Liev’s expression grew unreadable. Almost disgusted. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

  The blunt statement sheared into Chris’s chest. He didn’t answer. How could he when wretched pain, tortured shock and base want ruled him?

  Liev placed a hand on Chris’s arm. The simple contact sent shards of hot tension through Chris’s body, and he swallowed the groan that rose from his chest before the Australian could hear it. Liev’s expression grew steely. “Are you ready for me to open this door?”

  Chris closed his eyes and swallowed again, grief and confusion warring in his soul. For an insane moment, he wanted nothing more than for Liev to press his lips against his throat, to press his tongue to Chris’s flesh where his Adam’s apple slid up and down.