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“Come on. I need to check my computers,” he snaps.
“Jesus, Mitch. Who do you think did—?”
“Really, Gavin?” He shoots me a look that makes me feel like an idiot. “Who the fuck do you think did this?”
My earlier anger comes roaring back. “Don’t yell at me, Mitch! I didn’t ask for this, all right? None of it! So if you’re going to be a bitch, you can fuck off!”
Mitch spins around, his eyes wild, his mouth pulled up in a sneer. I watch as those damn eyes flick down to my mouth before coming back up to meet my gaze.
Desire sizzles down my spine like an exposed electrical wire. The memory of his mouth on mine—his taste, his smell, the brush of his stubble across my chin–burns fresh in my mind. Raw testosterone clouds the air so thick I can almost feel it. At the same time I realize that I’m getting turned on in the middle of a crime scene, Mitch steps back.
“I’ll check my computers, then we need to leave. He could still be around outside watching,” Mitch states calmly.
I don’t bother responding. I don’t know if I can respond. Right now, I’m trying my damndest to talk my half-hard cock into backing down. Plus, we’re both too edgy and combustible. Saying the wrong thing would be like tossing a lit match into a pool of gasoline.
Mitch approaches a door that has a stainless steel panel next to it. He presses his thumb to a small screen and the door opens with a hiss.
“Stay with me,” he insists.
I follow him into the room. It’s filled with computers, each one buzzing softly, creating a symphony of white noise. The room is cool, at least five degrees less than the rest of the house.
Mitch checks everything out, fiddling with different electronics. He decides his room hasn’t been compromised and leads me back down to the car after sealing the room up.
“Shouldn’t you call the police?” I ask.
Mitch starts the car, tearing backwards down the driveway. “Later. Once you’re safe.”
We begin the drive home surrounded by yet another awkward silence.
Mitch
What a total clusterfuck of a night. Ross should fire me. I deserve to be fired. Not only did the stalker find out where I live, but I threw myself at my client. My male client.
“Where are we going?”
Gavin’s low, melodic voice interrupts my self-flagellation. My brows pull down in confusion. “Back to the rental house. Where else would we go?”
“Oh. It’s just that this isn’t the way,” Gavin murmurs.
“I’m making sure we’re not being followed. We already led your number one fan to my townhouse. I don’t want to do it again.”
Gavin sits in the passenger seat, gazing out the window at the lights of the city. Out of the corner of my eye I see him tilt his head towards me, his mouth pulled up in a smirk.
“So, you’re ‘losing our tail’ by driving the long way, Utah? Like in the movies?” A soft snicker follows his remark.
“Yeah, smart-ass. We’re losing a tail.” Despite the stress of my fuckups, I laugh.
Gavin laughs with me and damn if that sound doesn’t do things to my body that I wish it didn’t. My mind begins to wander down a road I’ve been avoiding for most of the last decade. It
remembers how the rigid planes of Gavin’s body felt against mine, how warm and soft his mouth was when I tasted it, how hard my cock became when he kissed me back.
Damn. I shift uncomfortably in the seat.
Certain no one is following us, I take a left at the next light and head up into the Hollywood Hills. The rest of the ride is silent, neither one of us wanting to break the fragile peace we’ve constructed, even if it is all a façade.
Once we’re in the house, I call a friend I’ve employed in the past. The phone rings several times before it picks up.
“This better be good, Mitch. It’s midnight,” growls the voice on the other end.
