The simple philosophy had worked quite well for him. He’d had some amazing lovers and never regretted any of them.
None of them, however, had been world-famous heterosexual actors.
And none of them had looked at him with such conflicted, tormented confusion after he’d kissed them.
That haunted internal struggle had stayed with Liev throughout the duration of last night. Despite the fact every fibre in his body demanded he storm into Chris’s bedroom and pick up right where they’d left off in the office, he’d stayed in his bed, his cock a rigid, aching pole of unfulfilled need, his stare locked on the dark ceiling above him.
He’d left his bedroom at dawn, resolved to treat Chris Huntley like he would a political client who needed guarding—with detached interaction. Guard the body. Be indifferent to the personality.
That resolve had lasted throughout the morning. While Chris was at the press conference, Liev congratulated himself on sticking to his plan. Had told himself he fancied the hot little blonde who seemed to be a part of Scarlett Johansson’s entourage. She’d flirted with him and Jeff the whole time they’d waited on the car-park level for the conference to finish. When she’d slipped a small piece of paper into his hand a minute before the lift chimed to tell them the actors had arrived, he’d gladly pocketed it.
But when Chris had exited the lift, all thoughts of the hot little blonde vanished.
He’d fought the undeniable for the rest of the day. Had ignored the warmth spreading through his chest as he watched Chris bring joy to the children in the hospital. Had refused to acknowledge the way he wanted to smile whenever the American did.
He’d battled his mounting desire for the man, right up until they’d bumped into each other on the stairs. The second he’d wrapped his hands around Chris’s arms to steady him, all fight had left him.
And then Chris’s tortured confusion had erupted in vitriolic anger and Liev had known he was lost to the man. The hurt and self-hate that had shone in Chris’s eyes tore at Liev’s heart. He’d taken Chris’s insults, knowing the man needed to vent them.
He’d taken them and promised himself he wouldn’t respond.
All he’d done was try to soothe Chris’s tumultuous self-contempt with calm words.
That was all he could allow himself.
All he would allow himself.
He’d left, intent on getting to Caitlin. Seeing his niece would calm his own tormented self-denial.
It was the thought of his niece as he’d stormed away from the house that had led to thoughts of his parents. They’d died in a car accident before he could truly tell them how amazing they were, how much he loved them. Teenage boys didn’t tell their folks they loved them, not even bi teenage boys.
Unable to stop himself, his body no longer under his control, he’d turned and reentered the house, doing what he’d sworn for the last twelve hours he wouldn’t.
And now here he was, standing on the curb, waiting for Turps to arrive, his lips still tingling from the soft kiss he’d stolen from Chris. It was the last kiss they would share, it had to be, but he needed Chris to understand how amazing he thought Chris was. He
needed
him to know that.
Even as Liev knew stealing the kiss was just as much for himself as it was for Chris.
“Idiot,” he muttered again, balling his fist. “You’re a stupid bloody idiot, Reynolds.”
He was. And something had to be done about it.
The kiss stayed with Chris for the entire walk down the red carpet. He spoke to reporters, signed autographs for screaming fans, posed for pictures with local celebrities. He even accepted a soft toy koala from a wildly giggling young woman who blushed fifty shades of red when he took it from her. He was there on the carpet in body, but his mind was on the kiss. The tender, gentle kiss.
He turned often during the walk down the red carpet, his gaze seeking out Liev who walked a few yards behind. Every time he looked at him, his breath caught.
He’d never seen a man look so goddamn hot in a tux. Liev Reynolds filled out the tailored black suit with such exquisite perfection Chris didn’t want to do anything but gaze at him. Devour him with his eyes.
The late afternoon summer sun swathed the carpet in a golden-red glare, and more than once Chris wanted to walk over to Liev and remove the dark Ray-Bans he wore. He wanted to see Liev’s eyes. Wanted to see himself reflected in their clear blue depths.
Instead, he schmoozed the crowd, wooed the media, flirted with the ladies and mocked his status as both a sex symbol and action star whenever it was raised. He pretended he was what the world knew him to be, but for the first time since fame had found him, he realized it wasn’t enough.
He realized he wanted something more.
By the time the length of plush red carpet ended at the open doors of the IMAX Theatre the squealing cheers of the crowd had grown so loud it was almost deafening. Preparing to enter the theatre, to sit in the dark and stare at a film his movie career hinged on even as he contemplated what that career really meant to him, Chris turned and waved at the ecstatic spectators.
It took a second for his mind to register something falling from the sky toward him—a dark object arcing through the air high over the heads of the people crushing against the velvet-rope barricade in front of him. It took another second before his body began to respond to his mind’s command to move.
He frowned, trapped in surreal slow motion. The dark shape fell toward him, growing closer at a phenomenal rate. His brain told him it looked heavy, possibly hard. Told his feet to hurry the fuck up and move.
And then a black-sleeved arm shot out above his head and snatched the dark shape out of the air.
“Got it,” Liev muttered, pulling his arm in.
Chris pivoted on his heel, staring into the black lenses of the man’s sunglasses.
The crowd burst out in raucous applause. Chris forced a smile to his lips. With every breath he took, Liev’s distinct scent filtered into his being.
Black Ray-Bans regarded him for a split second, the tiniest hint of a smile playing with Liev’s lips before the Australian turned his attention to the object gripped in his hand. “Bloody hell.”
Chris frowned, drawing his head closer to Liev’s. Reveling in the stolen moment of being close to the man without fear of rumour or rejection. “What is it?”
Liev chuckled, and for a second his eyes met Chris’s over the thin metal rims of his sunglasses. “Someone really wants you to call them,” he said, unraveling what was in his hand.
Chris lowered his gaze to what Liev revealed, a warm softness at his elbow telling him Bethany now stood beside him.
Liev held a cell phone in his hand, a Post-it note stuck to the screen with a phone number written in red pen. Under the cell phone, crumpled but undeniable, was what had wrapped it for its short flight through the air—a pair of black satin panties.
Liev chuckled. “Classy.”
“Get those out of here,” Bethany instructed, the clipped distaste clear in her voice.
Chris shot her a look.
She pulled a face. “It’s gross.” Turning from the panties and cell phone in Liev’s hand, she moved aside, waving over one of the red-carpet event’s security team.
“We love you, Chris!” a chorus of excited female voices cried from the crowd behind him.
“Good thing Liev was here,” Bethany said. “Or you’d have skanky panties on your head.”
Chris studied her for a second. His heart beat fast, working its way up to his throat. He slid his gaze to Liev. The Australian was watching him with wordless calm. With a nod, he grinned at Bethany. “You’re right.”
Snaring Liev’s hand, Chris swung around and faced the crowd. “My bodyguard, everyone,” he shouted, hoisting Liev’s arm high in the air. “I couldn’t survive without him.”
The crowd went wild. Women started chanting
bodyguard, bodyguard
. Camera flashes fired, a maelstrom of detonations that peppered Chris and Liev in white light.
Chris laughed, smirking up at Liev. Liev grinned back, raising his free hand to wave at the squealing, cheering, clapping horde.
And the
whole
time the flashes fired and the crowd cheered, Chris’s body thrummed with rising, elemental happiness. Because his palm was pressed to Liev’s palm. Because he was touching him, flesh to flesh.
Right here. In public. For the world to see.
He reveled in that brief moment, loving it. Never wanting it to end.
A soft hand pressed at his shoulder. “It’s time to go inside, Mr. Huntley,” Bethany whispered in his ear.
He bit back his growl of frustration, shooting Liev a quick look as the man disengaged his hand from Chris’s. With a single nod, Liev stepped backward, distancing himself from Chris once more. Returning to his place in the background—where the bodyguard of a celebrity belonged.
Chris’s gut rolled. He balled his fist, ground his teeth and strode away through the open theatre doors into the opulent foyer.
He didn’t turn around to see if Liev followed him. He knew he wouldn’t. Bodyguards did not sit beside the ones they were charged to protect during film screenings. Bodyguards sat a few rows back.
Away.
Exactly where Chris didn’t want him to be.
Chapter Eight
“Tell me all about it. Don’t leave out a thing.”
Liev chuckled, his niece’s excitement evident not just in the joy in her voice and the smile on her young face, but in the way she wriggled on her seat.
“You look like a puppy about to get a treat,” he said, flicking the turn indicator to the right. He should be angry at her. He should be giving her an ear-bashing about skipping out of the house without her parents knowing and travelling halfway across Sydney so late at night.
Truth was, he didn’t have it in him. He was so happy to see her that the last thing he could be was the responsible adult uncle. So instead, he was being the cool uncle who promised not to tell his uptight brother about Caitlin’s misbehaviour. Within reason. He was still driving her back to her home. As much as he loved seeing her, if his brother or sister-in-law walked into her bedroom where she was meant to be sleeping and found her bed empty they would have a heart attack. Liev may not like his estranged brother’s attitude toward his sexual choices, but he still loved him. He could only imagine the terror Ian would experience finding his seventeen-year-old daughter missing.
“Tell me, Uncle L.” Caitlin smacked his biceps with the back of her hand, impatience cutting the laughter in her voice. “Everything. Who did you meet?”
Negotiating the late-night traffic, Liev gave her a sideward grin. “I meet Burt Newton, Karl Stefanovic, Bill Collins and the Red Wiggle.”
Caitlin growled at him. “Seriously? You spent the night at a Hollywood movie opening and the only celebrities you met were Australian ones? Lame television celebrities at that?”
Liev pulled a wounded face. “Hey, nothing lame about Burt Newton, missy. And the Red Wiggle? I remember when you were so happy to see the Red Wiggle you
cried
. Who was I
meant
to meet?”
Caitlin waved her hands about. “Oh I don’t know? Maybe the other actors in the movie? Jeez, Uncle L. Did you talk to them? Are they nice? Is Diesel as hot in real life as he is in the movies?”
“Yes, they are nice,” Liev answered with a laugh. “And yes, he
is
as hot in real life as he is in the movies.”
Caitlin sighed, slumping in the Audi’s passenger seat. “I knew he would be. Any chance you could get his autograph for me?”
Liev tossed her a playful scowl. “After the way you laughed at me when I gave you the prime minister’s autograph? Hell no. I’m never collecting autographs for you again.”
Caitlin’s answering snort was so like her father’s Liev felt his chest squeeze tight. Damn, he missed his brother. He really did. “Do I have posters of the prime minister on my bedroom walls, Uncle L? No. Posters of hot actors? Yes.”
“Ah, see now there’s the trouble.” Liev made his voice grave. “I haven’t seen your bedroom since you were thirteen. You had posters of kittens and ponies and Justin Bieber the last time I saw your bedroom.”
His niece let out a sigh. “That sucks. Seriously, Mum and Dad are idiots.”
Liev shook his head. “No, they’re not. They love you and want what’s best for you. At the moment, they don’t think I fall into that category.”
Her face set in a furious frown. “They’re wrong.”
Looking to change the subject, Liev let out a loud gasp. “Hey, guess who I
did
get to talk to?”
Caitlin squirmed on the seat, her eyes alight with excitement. “Who?”
“The bloke that was in charge of the on-set porta-loos during filming.” He grinned at her. “Maybe I could get
his
autograph if you—”
His niece thumped his biceps with the back of her hand again. “Oh God, gross!”
Laughing, Liev turned his focus back on the road. He hadn’t expected to see Caitlin tonight, but he was glad she’d defied her parents.
Half an hour ago, when he had exited the IMAX theater to scope out the surrounding area as
Dead Even’s
end credits began to roll, he’d been less than impressed to find her standing a few feet away, waving at him.